“What is happening, Marged, fach?” her grandmother asked from the inglenook beside the fire.
“Visitors,” she said, and darted for the passage and the outer door.
“Marged!” Rebecca was calling for her even before she had the door open. There was a note of urgency in his voice.
Had they been out without her? she wondered. Or were they on their way and had come for her? But there was someone on the horse with Rebecca, she saw as she hurried across the farmyard toward him.
“This is Mrs. Phillips from the Cilcoed tollgate on the other side of the village,” he said. “They are after us, Marged. We have to get to Ninian Williams’s farm. May Mrs. Phillips take shelter here for the night? I’ll make other arrangements for her tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Marged looked in some bewilderment at the little old lady who had used to live in Glynderi until the death of her husband. Rebecca was swinging down from the saddle and lifting Mrs. Phillips down even as she spoke. “Ninian Williams’s?”
“He is giving an engagement party for Ceris and me,” Aled said with a grin. He was scrubbing at the blacking on his face with the sleeve of his robe. “Your father has arranged it.”
“Oh, Duw, it feels good to have my feet on firm earth again,” Mrs. Phillips said. “I do remember your Eurwyn’s gran well, Marged Evans.”
Rebecca was escorting her to the door. Marged went after them to open it. She was feeling rather as if she had stepped into some bizarre and senseless dream. “They are after you?” she said.
“Take Mrs. Phillips in, if you please, Marged,” Rebecca said. “Your in-laws would not appreciate the sight of me. I must be going.”
But her mother-in-law had come to the door, drawn by curiosity. Her mouth gaped when she saw Rebecca.
“You are not to worry, Mrs. Evans, fach,” Mrs. Phillips said. “It is only Rebecca. And a more courteous gentleman I could not hope to meet this side of the grave. He has rescued me from ruffians who would have harmed me—if they could have got past my big stick.” She cackled with amusement.
Marged caught at Rebecca’s sleeve. “You are going?” she said. “To Ninian Williams’s?”
“There is not a moment to lose,” he said. “They may be at our heels even now.”
“I am going with you,” she said. “Mam, look after Mrs. Phillips, will you? Give her my bed. I will sleep on the settle when I get back.” She stepped inside the door, grabbed her cloak from a hook inside, and strode over to the horse, which Rebecca had already mounted.
He reached down a hand and helped her up. “I have the feeling this is going to be the denouement,” he said. “I suppose it is fitting you be there, Marged.”
They followed Aled through the gate and turned downward toward the Williams farm. He had sounded reluctant, Marged thought, turning her head to look into his masked face. They had been out tonight—to Mrs. Phillips’s gate—and had not let her know. Had that been Aled’s oversight or had it been done on Rebecca’s instructions? I suppose it is fitting you be there. They were grudging words. Did he not really want her there?
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “There was a trap set for us tonight, Marged, and I knew about part of it. I could not stay at home, though. I had heard that they were to set up their own Rebecca to harm Mrs. Phillips and discredit me with my own people. There was more danger than usual tonight and still is. I instructed Aled that you were not to be told.”
“Because I am a woman,” she said.
“Yes, because you are a woman,” he said, his voice exasperated. “Not because I did not want you with me, Marged.”
But there was no time for more conversation. They turned into the laneway leading to Ninian Williams’s farm and were there a minute later. The door was wide-open and there was light and noise coming from inside. There were a few men in the yard, scrubbing their faces at the pump, and two women bearing towels.
“Down you get, men.” Ninian himself was greeting them in the yard. “I will have your horses put with ours and no one will know the difference. Into the house with you. We have an engagement to celebrate and now we will have both halves of the couple in attendance. Hello, Marged. I am glad you could come at such short notice.”
They were inside the house a few moments later, blinking in the lamplight. Rebecca had a hand against the small of her back. The room was full of men and women and even a few children. The kitchen table was laden with food, as though the party had been planned a week ago. And then silence fell.
“Rebecca,” Mrs. Williams said, her hands clasped to her bosom. She sounded frightened.
“Aled, you are safe.” Ceris flew toward him, her hands outstretched as he peeled off his dark wig. “Take off the gown quickly and we will hide it with the wig. Wash your face.”
Marged continued on her way across the room to hug her father, who was standing with his back to the fire. “Thank you, Dada,” she said into his ear. She was just beginning to understand what was happening. The trap must have been set in the village and this had been her father’s idea to give all the men an excuse to be away from home. But Rebecca need not have shared the danger. He might have ridden safely home.
The Reverend Llwyd patted her waist. “Get rid of that disguise quick,” he said, looking across the room at Rebecca. “There is no hiding the truth from everyone any longer. Get it off and we will have Ceris push it under the manure pile with Aled’s.”
Marged caught her breath in a gasp and whirled about to gaze across the room. Of course! But she did not want it this way. She had wanted it to happen when they were alone together. She did not want it to happen now. She was not ready for it. She was not sure she wanted it to happen at all. She would be staring at the face of a stranger—her lover.
The wig came off first. Mrs. Williams took it from his hand. The mask, as Marged had suspected, was a cap that fitted right over his head and face. It was peeled away next and handed to Mrs. Williams.
The silence became almost a tangible thing.
