“My brother-in-law was a greater fool than his son!” Sir Hector’s voice had lost none of its viciousness. “But that is not the point now. He must be controlled, Harley. Once these Welsh farmers have spotted a weakness, they will exploit it. Before we know it, we will be having Rebecca Riots in this part of the country as well as in others. And it will all be Wyvern’s fault.”
“Perhaps,” Harley said, “he will take warning from all the accidents that have been happening at Tegfan lately. He must have realized by now that they are not really accidents at all.”
They had been strolling along beside the hedge surrounding the sheep pasture. But Sir Hector stopped and looked inquiringly at Tegfan’s steward. He laughed shortly when he had heard the account of the “accidents.”
“If we are fortunate, Harley,” he said, “his feelings will be hurt and he will crawl back to England and allow his estate to be run by those who know how to run it. If we are fortunate. In the meanwhile we need to keep a careful eye on the situation. The people are restless and word travels. There are gates being pulled down in Pembrokeshire and Cardiganshire and even in this county. Do you have any informants?”
“I have never needed any,” Harley said.
“Then it is time you did.” Sir Hector began to walk again back in the direction of the house. “They are not difficult to come by. Someone who is in your debt. Someone who has a grudge against his neighbors.” He looked assessingly at the other man. “Some woman. You are a fine enough young fellow, Harley. Get some woman panting over you. Women are loose-tongued as any man could wish when they fancy themselves in love.”
Harley thought of Ceris Williams, whom he was officially courting. He had found himself unexpectedly hot for her during the last couple of weeks. In addition to being pretty and sweet-natured, she seemed taken with him. She held his hand when they walked and listened attentively to what he said. She returned his kisses. She had even allowed him last night to fondle her breasts through the fabric of her dress, though she had pushed his hands away at first.
He did not doubt that he could use her as an informer. But the problem was—did he want to? He did not like the idea of mixing business with pleasure, and Ceris Williams was definitely pleasure. He even thought he might be falling a little in love with her. But then business—his position, the power he had enjoyed—had always been more important to him than any pleasure. And both were threatened at the moment, threatened by the presence of his employer at Tegfan and by the tense situation with the farmers.
Sir Hector Webb chuckled. “That silenced you,” he said. “Thinking of all the Welsh maidens you can tumble and milk for information, are you, Harley?”
“I will keep a close eye on the situation, sir,” he said. “I’ll keep you informed.”
“Good man.” Sir Hector slapped a hand on his shoulder. “These London beaux are all the same, you know. They know nothing about anything and think they know everything about everything. I’ll not forget who really runs Tegfan and has kept it such a prosperous estate. And Lady Webb will not forget, either.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harley said.
Marged had kept herself busy for almost two weeks. She had let the cattle out to pasture and had cleaned the barn with such thoroughness that her mother-in-law declared it was as clean as the kitchen. She had prepared the plow for the seeding and she had wandered slowly back and forth across the field, picking up the heavy stones that never failed to accumulate as if by magic every spring. It was heavy and backbreaking work that had used to exhaust even Eurwyn. He had never allowed her to help. Now she did it almost alone except for a little uninvited help from young Idris Parry, who spent a whole afternoon keeping up to her pace so that he could chat nonstop. So much like Geraint as he had used to be! She gave him some food to take up to his family and offered a few coins she could ill afford. He refused them.
She worked harder than she needed to. At first she was driven by fear. He had thought perhaps that she was a mere onlooker rather than a participant in the accidents that had been happening. But if he had seen her on that slope, the chances were good that he had seen her come from the direction of the house. Once he returned home and saw his bed, he would know. And perhaps he would guess that she was the leader he had asked her to identify.
She did not believe he would have her arrested. He would make himself look too foolish. But telling herself that with her mind and convincing her body that it was so were two quite different matters. She feared prison with an icy fear. She feared the hulks. She feared a foreign land and slave labor—perhaps chains, perhaps whips.
She lived with terror night and day and despised herself and held herself so stonily calm and aloof that even Gran noticed and asked her if she was feeling ill.
After several days the fear subsided. But in its place came a loathing even stronger than she had felt before. She could not bear to see him ever again. She could not bear to see him alive and handsome and—yes, and suffocatingly attractive while Eurwyn was long in his grave. Though he was not even there. She did not even have the comfort of a grave to attend. Eurwyn’s remains were somewhere on the ocean floor. She could not bear to see the Earl of Wyvern and remember that she had wanted him the night he had taken her home and kissed her palms.
She even avoided chapel on the first Sunday, persuading her mother-in-law to go for a change instead. Someone had to stay at home with Gran. It was a convenient excuse. She did go on the second Sunday, but shrinking inside with dread. He did not come.
And she went to choir practice on the Thursday following. It was unlikely she would encounter him between Ty-Gwyn and the chapel. She had heard that he had had the salmon weir removed from his land. Perversely, she did not want to believe it. Or she did not want to believe it had anything to do with her or Eurwyn. She did not want him to do her any kindness. Anyway, it had come two years too late. It would not bring Eurwyn back.
Chapter 12
SINGING was a balm to the soul. She had always known it and it was proved again. Even singing to herself while she was about her daily work was soothing. But singing with other people, hearing the richness of harmony all about her and lending her voice to it was as wonderfully soothing as a bathe in the river on a hot day. More so. She prolonged the practice, singing more hymns than they needed for the coming Sunday.
No one objected.
But when she finally signaled the end of practice, Aled jumped to his feet and held up his hands for silence.
“I have something of importance to say,” he said. His face was pale and set, Marged noticed. “Those of you who do not wish to hear it may leave now. There will be no compulsion put upon anyone as there is in some other places.”
Marged’s heart leapt and began to beat uncomfortably. This was it, then. She could tell from Aled’s voice that it was not the usual news of delay that he was about to impart. She looked fixedly at him as a few people got to their feet and left the schoolroom, among them Ceris, who hurried out, her eyes directed at the floor.
“Well,” Aled said when the door had closed again, “the time has come. All is planned. The night after tomorrow. Every man who wishes to follow me should meet me down by the river after dark.”
“Gate breaking?” Dewi Owen asked. “Which one is to go, Aled? Or which ones? I am with you every step of the way, man.”
“I cannot say which,” Aled said. “The less you know the better, Dewi. I am sorry but that is the way it must be.”
“Rebecca?” Marged leaned forward in her chair. “There is a Rebecca, Aled?”
“Yes.” He nodded curtly. “We have found a Rebecca, Marged.”
