Chapter Thirteen
Double treachery! How much Valentine wished she had refused to go on this excursion. Even now she could be at an exhibition of paintings with Lady Mountjoy, safely in London, and not here in this impossible situation.
The day had started in brilliant sunshine, but the heat had become more oppressive, and now dark clouds began to mass on the skyline. “We shall have thunder before the night is out,” Sir Richard said. “Now I shall leave you to your devices while I go to the stables. Do not try to escape, for there is nowhere for you to go. Those few cottages in the hamlet we drove through all belong to tenants of mine, and you would find no succour were you to manage to walk that far; although, given the shoes you have on, that does not seem very likely. Besides, I shall lock the front door, and you will notice that all the lower windows are barred.”
Valentine had to get away from here. She had no idea where she was or in which direction London lay, although she could probably remember the road back to that hamlet. But what if what he had said were true? What if the cottages were all inhabited by tenants who would shut their doors on her? Could people behave like that? She supposed they could if their livelihoods depended upon it. They would do nothing to incur Sir Richard’s displeasure.
She ran up the stairs, avoiding a broken step, and reached the first floor. She went into the drawing room. It must once have been a gracious room, but now the curtains were faded and in shreds, and the furniture shabby and moth-eaten. She crossed to the windows and looked out across an overgrown lawn. The room faced the other way from the stables. Ha, Sir Richard did not know her as well as he thought he did. A tall magnolia tree grew against the brick wall, and she thought that she might well be able to swing herself out of the window and into its branches. She raised the sash, wincing at every squeak it made, and when there was space enough, she slid out on to the sill. From there she stretched her feet toward the magnolia. Her heart thumped, for there was quite a gap, but she thrust herself out and reached her goal. Moments later, she was climbing down the tree, and she jumped the last few feet to the ground.
Now there was nothing for it but to run, and she set off round the corner of the house before bolting down the drive. Sir Richard might see her, and even if he hadn’t, he would guess the way she would go. She needed to cut across the lawns and get away from the house and the drive. A house in such disrepair would surely not have its hedges or fences or walls in a state to bar her escape. How long would it be before Sir Richard came after her? Her case seemed desperate; she only had light sandals on her feet, and in any case could not hope to outrun a man of Sir Richard’s height and fitness.
Valentine heard a shout from the house. She had no time at all; he would be after her at once, and she shuddered to think of the consequences. It would put him in a temper, and the stories of his violence came back to her. She would have to fear not only for her virtue, but for her physical safety. Spurred on by this prospect, she ran as hard as she could, and coming to a hedge, managed to scramble through to find herself in an open field. By now the sky, heavily overcast, was darkening fast, and big splashes of rain were falling on her shoulders.
She looked around and saw, on the other side of the field, a horse tugging peacefully at the grass. She must not run; she didn’t want to frighten the creature. So she walked steadily toward it, making hissing sounds as she went. The horse raised its head and looked at her. Then it ambled over to her, interested and curious. She held its soft muzzle and patted its neck and then, wrapping its mane around her hand and thanking God that it wasn’t hogged, she swung herself onto its back. She could hear shouts; not only was Sir Richard coming after her, but that wretched groom as well.
She dug her heels into the horse’s sides, and it broke into a trot, then a canter. Thank goodness it was a riding horse and not some lumbering farm animal. With some trepidation, she set it to the hedge on the other side of the field. The horse cleared it easily, landed, and cantered on. By now the rain was coming down heavily, and the sky was slashed with lightning. A crash of thunder made the horse shy, and she nearly came off but managed to cling on. Her dress was soaked through, and the horse’s back was slippery from the rain, but as she tightened her calves to grip the horse’s sides, there was another immense crack of thunder. The startled horse bolted; she could do nothing but hold on for dear life.