‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Give me a moment to fetch my greatcoat from the garret.’ He hurried away, returning moments later to find Grace waiting for him at the door, her heavy cloak about her shoulders. He said, as they stepped outside, ‘I have taken the liberty of borrowing your father’s umbrella. It is sufficiently wide for two.’
He offered her his arm, noting the tiny pause before she rested her fingers on his sleeve. The rain was little more than a fine drizzle as they set off and since there was no wind the umbrella kept them both dry.
‘Where are we going?’
She lifted the spring flowers she was holding in her free hand. ‘To the church.’
The High Street was deserted. Doors were closed against the chill of a damp spring evening and the smell of woodsmoke pervaded the air. Wolf felt a definite lightening of his spirits. She had invited him to come with her. How normal it seemed to be walking along with Grace at his side, howright.
‘You are standing too tall, sir. Do not give yourself away!’
The urgent whisper reminded him that he was a fugitive with a price on his head. Every hint of pleasure fled as bitterness and regret welled up. He wanted to rail against the world for the injustice of it but really, who was there to blame but himself? He had been a wild youth and the world was only too ready to believe he had capped his misdemeanours by murdering his wife.
Turning that around would take a miracle and Wolf did not believe in miracles.
* * *
It did not take them long to reach the churchyard. Grace dropped his arm and went before him, taking a narrow path between the graves. It was barely raining now and Wolf closed the umbrella. She had stopped beside one of the headstones when he came up to her.
‘Your mother,’ he said, reading the inscription.
‘Yes. I never knew her, she died when I was a babe, but I come here to pay my respects, especially if I am going away.’
She stooped to lay a bunch of flowers at the base of the stone and paused for a moment, resting her gloved fingers on the carved lettering. Wolf was silent, unwilling to intrude upon what was clearly a private moment and wondering why she had invited him to join her. When she rose he noticed that she was still carrying flowers.
‘Two bunches, Miss Duncombe?’
‘Yes. This way.’
She led the way to a far corner of the graveyard where a small, square stone marked a plot beneath an ancient yew tree, whose overhanging branches made the twilight so deep that Wolf had to bend close to read the inscription.
‘“Henry Hodges. Curate of this parish. Twenty-six years.”’
‘My fiancé.’ She placed the flowers on his grave and straightened. ‘He died five years ago. We were going to be married at Christmas, on my nineteenth birthday.’
Wolf knew he should say something consoling. Instead he found himself asking her how he had died. She did not answer immediately, she was staring fixedly at the grave and he wondered if she had heard him.
‘Violently,’ she said at last, her voice very low. ‘Henry was on his way home late one evening after visiting a sick parishioner. He saw a w-woman being attacked, robbed. Henry intervened and...and was stabbed.’ She shook, as if a tremor had run through her. ‘He was brought to the vicarage, but we could not save him. He died in my arms.’
Wolf struggled not to reach out to her. He said curtly, ‘And the man who killed him?’
‘Hanged. Not that I wanted that.’
‘You could forgive him, after what he had done?’
‘Not forgive, no. But I did understand.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My father spoke for the man at the trial. He was one of our parishioners and Papa said he had been a good man, a stable hand at the Hall until it closed. Since then years of poverty and want had driven him to despair.’
‘Is that why you wanted me to accompany you? That I might more fully appreciate the harm my family did by closing the Hall?’
‘No. You are not responsible for that. As I understand it your father’s profligate ways had long made the estate’s downfall inevitable.’ Her dark, troubled gaze was fixed on him. ‘I wanted you to understand that my heart is here, with Henry. Anything else is just...just earthly desire.’ She turned and began to retrace her steps, saying over her shoulder, ‘That k-kiss. It should not have happened. I should not have allowed it.’
So that was it. She was warning him off. Not that there was any reason to do so, he had already decided Grace Duncombe was a complication he did not need in his life.
‘Sometimes these things catch one out,’ he replied lightly.
‘Apparently so.’ She glanced at him. ‘I wanted to explain, before we set off for London tomorrow. I do not hold you wholly responsible for what occurred in the stable, and...and I want to think no more about it.’
‘Consider it forgotten, Miss Duncombe.’ A few fat drops of rain splashed on the path and he raised his umbrella again. ‘Shall we go back now?’
