“Good night, cariad.” He formed the words with his lips, though he did not speak them aloud.
There were special constables in the area. They were staying, apparently, at Tegfan, four of them, housed in the servants’ quarters. But they had been seen walking about the park, deep in conversation with the Earl of Wyvern. And Glenys Owen had reported to her brothers that they had dined with him.
They called at almost every house in Glynderi and at almost every farm, asking questions, demanding that each man account for his whereabouts on the night when two tollgates and houses had been pulled down by Rebecca and her children. They offered immunity to anyone who would confess to having been there but who would give them the names of Rebecca and perhaps some of her daughters. No one could give them any assistance at all, of course. Every man had been in his bed, where he belonged at night, and every man’s wife would vouch for the fact.
Marged heard all about it from Ceris, who called at Ty-Gwyn two days after the attack. The constables had not been there themselves, having ascertained, no doubt, that there were no men living there. Ceris was pale and shaking and huddled inside a shawl, even though the weather had turned warm. Marged took her into the empty cow barn and they leaned against the partition between two stalls.
“It must stop now,” Ceris said. “Surely it will, Marged. Someone is going to get caught.”
“I don’t believe it will stop,” Marged said. “This is what we wanted, Ceris—to attract attention. There would be no point in doing what we have done if no one took any notice of us. We want the government to take notice. We want them to ask questions, to find out why it is happening. We want the gates down permanently, and we want the government to know that the gates are only one grievance out of many.”
Ceris put her hands over her face, and Marged heard her take a deep and ragged breath.
“At least it is not the Earl of Wyvern himself going around this time,” Marged said. “He must have been discouraged by the reception he had on Monday.”
But she could not whip up the appropriate anger against Geraint. And she could not get as excited as she ought about Ceris’s news. She was too selfishly wrapped up in her own emotions. It was selfish, she knew. The greater cause was all that mattered, and yet all she had been able to think about since Wednesday night was the fact that he did not really want her.
Her heart had felt so leaden for almost two days that she felt that she was dragging it about on the soles of her feet with every step she took.
If she was with child, he would not leave her in disgrace. She might communicate with him through Aled. She supposed he meant that he would marry her if she was pregnant. Only because she was pregnant. Not for any other reason.
It would not be a good situation, Marged. It would not make you happy.
His words had repeated themselves so many times inside her head, that she felt dizzy with them. And yet she had told him—and she had meant it—that she did not lay any claim to him merely because she had lain with him.
She had lain with him! With a stranger. She could hardly believe that she had done such a thing and that she had felt so little shame—and still felt almost none. It had felt so right. As if they belonged together. She had never had a stronger sense of belonging even with Eurwyn. And yet it was ridiculous. She did not even know his name. She did not know what he looked like, where he lived, what he did for a living. She knew nothing about him except what she had learned about Rebecca. She could think about him only as Rebecca. But he was not Rebecca. She did not know who he was.
And yet she loved him. It was a foolish idea. It was the natural defense the mind made against sin, she supposed. It seemed less sinful, what she had done, if she could persuade herself that she loved the man with whom she had sinned.
She loved him.
It would not be a good situation, Marged.
He did not love her.
And yet he was an honorable man. He had given her a choice before lifting her down from his horse. And he had agreed to take responsibility for any consequences of their folly.
“Marged.” Ceris laid a hand on her arm. “You look tired, girl. Will you at least stop going now? You have made a point. You have proved to everyone that you are as brave as any man and that you are willing to stand up for what you believe in. But you have Eurwyn’s mam and gran to look after. Don’t go again.”
“Everyone has someone to look after, Ceris,” Marged said. She was tempted not to go out again. It might be better to hold her memories intact, not to have to go through the pain of finding herself ignored. But as she had told him, she had other reasons for following Rebecca. More important reasons. “I will go.”
They had reached an impasse. But before either of them could say more, there was an interruption in the form of a knock on the outer door. Since it was open, Marged could lean her head out into the passageway and see that it was Aled.
“Come in, Aled,” she called to him. “We are in the barn here, Ceris and I.” She would have avoided the meeting for both their sakes if she could, but it was impossible.
“Hello, Marged,” Aled said, striding into the barn, his wary look at variance with his firm stride. He nodded in Ceris’s direction. “Ceris.”
Ceris had scurried a little farther into the barn. “Hello, Aled,” she said, not quite looking at him.
“I had something I wanted to talk over with you, Marged,” he said.
Ceris moved, drawing her shawl more tightly around herself as she did. “I’ll be leaving, Marged,” she said. “Mam will be needing help with the wash.”
But Marged held up a staying hand. She remembered with shame the way she had suggested just a few days ago that Ceris might perhaps, however inadvertently, say something she ought not to Mr. Harley.
“Don’t leave, Ceris,” she said. She looked at Aled. “You can speak in front of Ceris. She is my friend.”
Ceris stood where she was, and Aled, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded.
