Page 66

Leonora took her hand. ‘I can’t bear the risk of loss. Or never finding love again. And yet I think my own stupidity has thrown Lord Rokeby’s trust and affection back in his face.’

Mrs Priddy put her arm around Leonora and said in her motherly way, ‘I think you’ll feel much better after a night’s sleep. And so will Master Alistair.’

‘What will make me feel better is a swim. I’ve been longing to slip into that cold water since we’ve been home. I’ll ask Charlotte to come with me early when Lord Rokeby’s still abed.’

‘These last days may have been hot, but that lake water will still be winter-cold. Take care not to stay in too long.’

‘I think I’ll go round to the Vicarage and ask Lottie.’ Leonora stood up and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thank you for always being on my side, Nanny P.’ Leonora ran into their garden; the moon was growing brighter in the dusky sky and the birdsong had ceased as the birds roosted for the night. She swung through the connecting garden gate and started walking towards the house when she heard low laughter. Peering through the dim light she saw, in the distance, the pergola of roses and honeysuckle, with Charlotte and George Lockwood sitting on a garden seat, their hands intertwined and heads bent close.

Leonora felt she was intruding and was about to turn and go when Charlotte looked up and called, ‘Leonora, come and join us.’

Leonora shook her head, smiling, as she walked towards them. ‘I don’t want to disturb you.’

‘You’re not. Mama Mildmay doesn’t know I’m out here without a chaperone, so you can be her.’ Charlotte laughed and threw back her head to look up into George Lockwood’s face, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

‘I really can’t stay. I just came to ask you, Lottie, if you would accompany me swimming tomorrow early, about nine?’

Charlotte cast a smile at her betrothed and said, ‘I could manage noon, but Mr Lockwood—George,’ she corrected herself shyly, ‘George and I were going to ride round the estate just after breakfast.’

George Lockwood stirred and got to his feet. ‘We could always postpone our ride until the afternoon?’ He looked down at the woman he loved.

Charlotte had gained so much in confidence that she was perfectly happy to go against both him and her dearest friend and answered, ‘It’s going to be another really hot day, I’d much rather we rode early. Do you mind, dear George, and you too, Leonora? We could swim the following morning?’ Her face was questioning.

Leonora kissed Charlotte. ‘Thank you. I’ll think about that offer. Sleep well, my dear. Isn’t it good to be home?’

‘Oh yes! It’s where the heart is. Now with Mr Lockwood here, my heart is with him.’

As Leonora turned to go, she put out a hand to George Lockwood. ‘I haven’t congratulated you on finding the sweetest, most competent and generous-hearted wife you could hope for.’ Over her shoulder she added, ‘The garden door will be open for you when you return.’ They waved and Leonora walked back through the Manor gardens with the sound of their soft voices murmuring on the scented air.

The night was hot and heavy but Leonora was so exhausted by the day, she was quickly enfolded in a deep and dreamless sleep where no shame, jealousy, hope or fear of loss could follow. Even the insistent moon and its attendant stars did not penetrate the dark oblivion. She awoke with a start to a world wreathed in mist; it was the softest of mornings. The call of the lake and its reviving dark waters could no longer be resisted. She knew she had promised everyone she would never swim alone but all she needed was a quick dip, then she’d be out and home for breakfast. No one would be any the wiser.

Leonora slipped into her bathing dress of blue calico. She had followed the pattern and used a good strong fabric so it wouldn’t cling when wet, but high-necked, full-length and covering her arms, it was almost too hot for the day. She threw her plain green pelisse over the top and stepped out into the warm morning. The mist was clearing but the light was still milky as she clambered over the wall into the Abbey estate. She trod her old path down through the trees, bright with spring foliage. Excited birds were rustling in the branches and rummaging through the moss and dead leaves.

Emerging from shadow into the sun, the new grass springy beneath her feet, Leonora felt at peace at last, as if only the elemental forces of water and air, life and love, truly mattered. In the clarity of this moment all the petty everyday concerns were as nothing. As if to mark this revelation, a blackbird in the tree above her poured out its liquid song as she ran down through the dew to her favourite oak tree by the water’s edge.

Leonora’s heart was beating fast; how she had longed for this since last October when Diggory Shrubb had banished her and Charlotte from the lake. It was astounding to think how entirely her world had altered since she had last stood in this place, but here the lake lay before her, unchanging and beyond understanding, its water merged with sky, with no ripple to disturb its glassy surface.

She tossed off her pelisse and changed her shoes for canvas swimming pumps. Her hair was already swept upwards in a tight chignon as she waded into the shallows. The intense cold made her gasp, and the heat of the air made the contrast all the more shocking. As she breasted off into the inky black, exhilaration began to rise at her silky passage through the water. Leonora could feel her heart pounding in her chest and knew she should not stay too long, but the mysterious centre of the lake was seductive; she could not leave it undisturbed.

Leonora swam through the filaments of mist before slipping onto her back for a minute to gaze upwards into the sky where newly arrived swallows were inscribing airy curlicues in the blue. She could feel the cold beginning to work itself into her limbs and turned to swim for shore. As her left leg trailed into the deeper recesses of the lake she was filled with dread as something caught her by the hem of her garment. She tugged as vigorously as she could, but the fabric held fast. She tried kicking her legs to break free, but the toe of her canvas shoe hit something hard and pointed. With rising panic, Leonora realised she may have been caught in the branch of a petrified tree, part of the woodland that was flooded when the lake was first created. She had strayed into the part Lord Rokeby had warned was out of bounds for this very reason. She had broken every rule.

She felt her limbs grow weaker as she struggled. Her fingers lost all their dexterity as she tried to unloose her buttons. Perhaps she could wriggle free of the dress? But so quickly had the cold entered her body that she barely had the strength to reach her back, let alone manage to slip the buttons through the loops. She started to call for help but as her voice echoed over the water, Leonora feared there would be no one abroad this early to hear her. Where was Diggory Shrubb when she needed him? she wondered bleakly. How headstrong and foolish she had been to come alone, how impatient and obstinate in her determination to swim in her precious lake. She should have waited for Charlotte.

Leonora could not feel her limbs and keeping her head above water was increasingly difficult. She called out again, more weakly, and put up an arm to wave, but even the smallest movement took more energy than she had. Suddenly, there was a young man with a dog emerging from the woods. Was this a hallucination? she wondered. Then, as the sun caught the unmistakeable flame of his red hair, she recognised Silas Sproat and a spark of hope was ignited.

‘Silas!’ she called, ‘Silas!’ Her cry was feeble and took an almighty effort.

He seemed to have heard her and raced to the shore. ‘Miss Appleby, is that you?’

‘Yes, Silas. Quickly! My dress is caught. I can’t move.’

‘I can’t swim, missus!’ His voice was panicked.

‘Get help!’ And she watched him set off running up the broad ride towards the Abbey.

Leonora could feel her body closing down. She knew she could not resist this cold much longer before losing consciousness. Barely able to prevent her eyes closing and her head slipping under the water, she lost track of time. Her life began to pass before her: her darling mama smiling, with sunlight in her hair, holding out her arms; her favourite pony, Meg; her father; then brave William Worth so handsome in his regimental colours; Nanny P as a young woman, lifting her onto her lap; then a dark turbulent lord galloping, galloping on his black horse. With a sob she felt herself slipping away.

‘Miss Appleby, Miss Appleby! Hold on!’ The voice seemed to come from far away. Was it still part of a dying dream? ‘Miss Appleby!’ With enormous effort, she opened her eyes to see that dark-haired lord gallop up on Jupiter and before he’d reined his great steed in, he threw himself from the saddle. Alistair Rokeby was barely dressed, his nightshirt stuffed into his breeches; he hadn’t even pulled on his boots. He dived into the water and in an instant was surging towards her, a knife between his teeth. Without saying a word, he dived down to where her dress was caught and she felt the knife sawing through the hem. She was free but incapable of movement. He grasped her round the waist and started to propel them back to land.