The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter thirteen - The old barn

It was said that absence diminished small passions and increased great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire. He could attest to the truth of that for a day without seeing her—without spending a moment in her presence—had left a burning sensation in his gut that no amount of Mountford's best brandy had been able to extinguish.

He had spent most of the previous day criss-crossing the landscape, searching for any sign of her among the lanes and paths she most often frequented between her home and Haltford. In the end it had taken a chance meeting with the young boy Joe, chopping firewood near his parent's home, to reveal the time and place when he would most likely find her.

But it had meant waiting through an interminable evening of solitude, when he would have welcomed even Mountford's incessant chatter if it had momentarily distracted him from the tick of the mantle clock; an infernal mechanism that seemed to mark time while still slowing its passage.

Yet the long night had finally passed and the light through the windows bore testament to that fact. He withdrew his pocket-watch and checked the time. It only wanted half an hour before he could order his horse prepared. Then he would ride out to find Anabelle.

When he reached the clearing by the old barn, Fielding saw a figure through the trees, sitting on the log where she usually taught Joe. Although the straw hat—secured under her chin with a broad green scarf—obscured much of her face, he recognised the basket by her feet. He dismounted from his horse and wrapped the reins loosely around a branch.

As he crossed the clearing he whispered her name and she turned at the sound. Her immediate smile of pleasure rekindled the smouldering fire somewhere within him.

She stood, brushing her skirt with her hands as he came towards her. "Mr. Fielding. I...I did not expect to see you today. I am waiting for Joe."

"Joe is unable to keep his appointment. I offered to let you know so you would not be concerned by his absence."

"That is very thoughtful of you, as I would have most certainly worried."

He indicated that she should resume her place on the log. "May I sit with you for a few moments?" When she nodded, he took Joe's usual place, crossing his long legs in front of him as he studied the bare branches of a distant birch. "It seemed strange for us not to meet yesterday."

He heard a slight quiver in her voice as she said, "I did not go out. I had a headache."

"I am sorry to hear that. I hope you are recovered today."

"Yes, it is much improved, thank you."

They sat in companionable silence, and Fielding embraced the feeling of peace he derived merely from being in her presence. The six inches separating them on the log seemed both infinitesimal and a canyon of vast proportions. "I understand there is to be some kind of entertainment in Haltford?"

"Yes. The Red Lion has a room on the second floor that is large enough for dancing. Mr. Gent arranges public dances there occasionally. The last one I attended was the harvest dance, and this time he has arranged for some musicians all the way from London. Everyone comes, even from Redburn, and the floor becomes quite crowded."

He smiled as he calculated the combined populations of Haltford and Redburn. The number of people who could afford the cost of a ticket would barely number fifty; a far cry from the masquerade ball his aunt had organised last season. Even with over three hundred guests crammed into her ballroom, she had considered it a sadly quiet affair.

Anabelle teased the fringe of her shawl between her fingers. "Are you... Will Sir Henry return in time?"

"I expect him any day."