Thomas Foster whistled and settled more comfortably in his chair, all sense of formality forgotten. “Tell me more,” he said. “This is fascinating and will make wonderful copy in The Times. A peer of the realm who is in sympathy with rebels, partly because he grew up as one of them. Tell me everything you know and everything you feel, if you will.”
Geraint laughed. “If you have an hour or two to spare,” he said. “Shall I replenish your drink first?”
Well over an hour later Geraint was sitting at his desk writing a letter to Mr. Thomas Campbell Foster from Rebecca, inviting the journalist to join her and her daughters and children two nights hence for a meeting.
It was safe to disclose both time and place, Geraint decided. Foster was a man of integrity and a man after a fascinating story. He was not going to turn informer. Indeed, he would protect his sources against all pressure. Geraint could remember a time when Foster had spent a few nights in Newgate for refusing to disclose the confidences of an accused murderer.
There were many places in the hills where a large crowd might gather undetected. If they were far from any road or tollgate, there was not even the chance of a stray constable detecting them. Foster could gather all the information he needed from such a meeting—from Rebecca, from her daughters, from any man in the crowd who cared to speak up and voice his grievances. Geraint half smiled. Or from any woman. He could not imagine Marged keeping quiet.
Perhaps after the meeting they would march on a gate and destroy it. Perhaps Foster would come with them so that he could witness and report exactly what happened.
Foster had told him earlier that there was talk of setting up a commission of inquiry to come down to Wales in order to interview as many people as possible to find out the truth behind the complaints and unrest. If Foster was given a good enough story to publish in the foremost London newspaper, then perhaps that possibility would become more of a certainty.
He could only hope, Geraint thought as he signed the letter with a flourish. Hope and keep working toward his goal, though doing so was becoming more dangerous every day.
Ceris and her mother were both working in the kitchen when Aled was admitted to the Williams farmhouse. Both were as pale as ghosts. Ninian Williams came in from outside before any words could be exchanged. He looked thunderous.
“Well, Aled Rhoslyn,” he said, “my daughter was betrothed yesterday to Matthew Harley. I will hear today that she is betrothed to you or I will see you outside with your fists at the ready.”
“Yes, Ninian,” Aled said, his eyes on Ceris. She was stirring a pot of soup that was suspended over the fire, her eyes downcast. “But it takes two to make such an announcement. I will talk privately with Ceris, will I?”
“My daughter lied to us last night,” Ninian said. “And then she shamed us and herself and her chapel by fornicating with you while she was betrothed to another man. I am not sure there can be forgiveness for such behavior. We will have to speak with the Reverend Llwyd. But marriage between those who have fornicated together is one step in the right direction. My daughter’s consent in the matter is unnecessary.”
His dear, gentle Ceris. Obviously after her ordeal of the morning she had made a clean breast of everything to her parents. And Ninian was reacting as any father might be expected to react. He had probably been scared out of his wits when Ceris was dragged off to Tegfan.
“Oh, Ninian.” Mrs. Williams lifted her apron over her face. “There is hard you are being on your own daughter. And you a follower of Rebecca yourself if it were not for your legs.”
“It is not the following of Rebecca I object to, woman,” he said. “It is the lies and the fornicating.”
“Ceris,” Aled said. “We will step outside together and talk about it, is it?”
Her hand paused in its stirring motion though she did not look up. “Yes,” she said. She set down the spoon, wiped her hands on her apron, and turned to the door. Aled followed her out.
“You stay within sight of the house, mind,” Ninian said.
Aled nodded.
She crossed the yard to the gate leading to the lane. But she did not open the gate. She turned to lean back against it and raised her eyes to his at last.
“Aled,” she said, “I told the truth when I said I would not be ashamed today. I should be, but I am not. But you owe me nothing. What I did, I did freely and knowingly.”
“Cariad,” he said, coming to stand close to her despite her father’s eyes, which he could almost feel on the back of his neck. “Geraint told me that you were very brave. I am proud of you.”
“Geraint?” She frowned for a moment.
“He was my friend,” he said. “He still is my friend.”
“And your enemy too,” she said sadly. “We live in hard times.”
“Did they hurt you?” he asked. “I wish I could have been with you to take the burden from you.”
“The constables were a little rough,” she said, “though not deliberately hurtful, I think. The earl stopped Sir Hector Webb when he would have struck me. I cannot believe the earl is altogether a bad man, Aled. I think that in some way he is as much a victim of circumstances as we are.”
It was something he had to say, though he did not want to know about it. He was afraid to know about it despite the way she had started their conversation. “Harley lied to set you free,” he said. It was not a question.
“Yes.” Her eyes grew sadder. “We betrayed each other last night, Aled, and of course the betrothal is at an end. But I believe he must still care for me a little to have done what he did this morning. I cannot hate him. But I do not love him and never did. I just—wanted to be married and thought it might work with him. I was foolish.”
“We will marry, then, cariad?” he asked her. He found his heart beating faster and his breath becoming labored. “Your dada demands it and the Reverend Llwyd will too if he finds out. And indeed it is the only right thing to do when we have been together as we were last night. If I must, if it will make you feel better, I will give up following Rebecca. I will talk to the Reverend Llwyd and set a date for wedding you, will I?”
