didn’t blame you, Hugo. Really, I didn’t. After all your kindness to me I’d disgraced you again. You called it the curse of the Stauntons, and you were right.’
There was silence for a moment, then Hugo said, ‘Are you going to tell me why Miss Staunton left for Ireland so unexpectedly—leaving you to fend for yourself?’
‘I can tell what you are thinking, and once again you’re right!’ Deborah’s tone was bitter. ‘The Stauntons are not at all good Ton. I’m surprised you even bother to talk to one.’
‘Don’t be so stupid, Deborah!’
‘It’s not stupidity,’ she cried. ‘It’s shame! The real reason my aunt left was because she had taken money that wasn’t hers.’
‘What? What money?’
‘Mine! As I learned this morning from Aunt Elizabeth. I thought that the Inglesham allowance had finished when my mother died, but it hadn’t. It was transferred to me—though no one told me at the time.’ Deborah’s voice trembled and she stopped for a moment. Then she went on, ‘For eight or nine months my aunt regularly collected my allowance from the lawyer in Buckingham and said nothing at all about it. I suppose she simply pocketed the money.’
‘So that is why she left so suddenly? You started to suspect her?’
‘Far from it! I might have been puzzled when she packed and left within twenty-four hours, but I kissed her fondly and wished her a safe journey. I was a gullible fool. But she was in some kind of trouble, and I think she was running away from something—or someone. There was a man who called the day before she left. They had a furious argument—I don’t know what it was about, but I heard money mentioned. He left in the end saying that he would be back. She packed her things and departed early the next morning.’
‘With no thought for you?’
‘Well, before she went she did advise me to leave Maids Moreton as soon as possible. And I did.’
‘Did you see this man again?’
‘No. And I didn’t want to. He was dressed like a gentleman, but he didn’t behave like one. He frightened me.’
‘Have you told Aunt Elizabeth about this man?’
‘No! And I’m not going to!’ She clutched his arm. ‘Hugo, you mustn’t mention it either. It’s not as if I’m not in any danger, and…and the whole shameful episode is better forgotten.’
‘There’s no need to ruffle your feathers and stare at me so fiercely. I think you’re right. There’s no reason to upset Aunt Elizabeth. This man, whoever he is, is unlikely to come here. And I don’t suppose your Aunt Staunton will want to show her face again, either.’ At the touch of contempt in Hugo’s tone Deborah turned her head away in shame. She gave a sob. He swore under his breath and pulled her into his arms.
‘Don’t let it hurt you so, Deborah. Your aunt’s deceit must have been a blow, but you must forget her now and be happy here.’
‘But we all tr-trusted her, Hugo! She…she was f-family—my father’s s-sister. My m-mother l-loved her.’
Hugo held her tight, her face against his chest, while she wept away a hopeless mixture of feelings—sorrow, outrage, shame, a bitter sense of betrayal and, perhaps more than anything, a sense of relief after months of tension and deprivation which had followed her mother’s death—deprivation which she would have been spared, if only her aunt had been honest. It was all perfectly understandable, but Hugo had never seen Deborah give way so completely, and it twisted his heart.
‘My poor girl! What a time you’ve had!’ He let her cry for a moment and when she grew calmer he said, ‘But think of your inheritance! I see I must be prepared to fight off the fortune-hunters, now that you’re a woman of substance.’ A watery chuckle told him that his nonsense had succeeded in diverting her. She pulled away and looked up at him, her face beginning to dissolve into laughter. Sunshine always followed swiftly after cloud with Deborah. He was filled with admiration at her courage, at her refusal to be daunted for long by the blows that life had dealt her. It seemed very natural that he should hold her like this, and his arms tightened round her. So often in the past he had held her so—after a fall from the apple tree, a slip on the stepping-stones over the stream, the death of some little animal she had befriended. Deborah had always come to him for comfort. And he had always found it surprisingly easy to talk to her.
After a short moment Deborah released herself. ‘Thank you, Hugo,’ she said, mopping her eyes. ‘You are very good to tolerate such a watering pot. I’m sorry I gave way quite so completely—it suddenly seemed just too much. I feel better now.’
They walked on in a companionable silence. Summer was at its height, and the oaks and elms, the ash trees and alders were in full foliage. Autolycus ran to and fro, rummaging in the undergrowth, leaping back with a startled yelp when a rabbit popped up out of its hole and as quickly disappeared again, chasing a squirrel with enthusiasm, only to bark with frustration when it sought refuge in a tall tree. Deborah occasionally made a short foray to gather some flowers, leaves and seed-heads, and when Hugo asked about them he was told of their properties.
‘I am surprised that you have to ask, Hugo! I suppose in London you merely called in the pharmacist when you had various aches and pains. Here in the country we make our own, and the woods and hedgerows are full of all kinds of remedies.’
‘I don’t remember that I ever had to call anyone in.’
‘Oh? So you’ve never had sprains and bruises during all those gentlemanly pursuits? You’ve been fortunate!’
He laughed. ‘Of course I have, you little shrew. What would you have done for me? Given me one of those?’
‘No, I’d use comfrey for any sprains and that doesn’t grow here. I’d have to go to the other side of the village for it. Agrimony is found there, too—that’s good for gout.’
‘Thank you, but I am not a victim yet. What do you have there to help me?’
‘This is burdock, which is good for burns, betony to help your digestion, bugle to cure dementia after drinking…’
‘How useful!’ Hugo interposed drily. ‘That yellow one is weaselsnout, isn’t it?’
Deborah pulled a face at him. ‘Hugo! Is that what you call it? It has a much prettier name—and a wonderful reputation.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s called yellow archangel, and the herbalists claim that it “makes the heart merry, drives away melancholy and quickens the spirits”. What else could one ask for?’
‘What indeed? Perhaps I should call you weaselsnout, Deborah. You often have the same effect.’
‘Hugo!’ Deborah protested laughing, not sure whether she was flattered at his compliment or not too pleased about the name.
‘Do you know all the plants?’
‘On the contrary. I am an ignoramus compared with Lavender Brabant!’
‘What? The Admiral’s daughter? Lives in Hewly Manor? I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than two words with her in my life.’
‘Years ago, when I stayed with Aunt Elizabeth, I sometimes met Lavender in the woods. She taught me the little I know—I think she can recognise every plant that grows round here. I’m not surprised you haven’t spoken to her—she’s somewhat elusive. A recluse, like Hester.’
‘Ah yes. Hester…’ He walked on in silence for a moment.
‘You’re worried about her, aren’t you, Hugo? What do you think she will do? About Lord Dungarran, I mean.’
‘My sister is famous for her stubbornness, but I think… I hope she might eventually give in. Dungarran can be very persuasive. He was saying something last night about taking extreme measures. I don’t know what