Syrie James

 

Chapter One

CORNWALL, ENGLAND

October 1849

 

Diana Taylor loved the rain. A long ramble across the moors during a gentle shower was one of her favorite pursuits. She was far from home, however, and this was hardly a drizzle. The relentless downpour had been pounding against the roof of the carriage for hours.

Wrapping her woolen cloak more tightly around her, Diana glanced out the rain-splattered window. She had been traveling for four numbing days, accomplishing the first part of the journey by train. But the new railway system in England, although a marvel of speed and technology, was still in development, requiring so many changes at so many stations and involving so many delays that Diana questioned its efficacy—and it did not yet extend as far south as Cornwall.

She had been obliged to complete the last leg of her journey by stagecoach and had been met this afternoon at the Crown Inn at Truro by this elegant vehicle. If all went well, they should arrive at Pendowar Hall before dark.

To Diana’s mind, she couldn’t arrive soon enough. She longed for a good, hot meal by a warm fire and to stretch out in a clean bed.

All at once, a flash of lightning erupted from the heavens, followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. Diana gasped as the bolt struck an ancient oak at the roadside, scattering sparks into the air. With a mighty roar, the uppermost section of the leafy giant crashed down across the road before them. The horses whinnied in terror and the carriage lurched to a halt.

Diana’s heart leapt into her throat. Now what?

The coachman descended from the vehicle and approached, his cloak sodden and moisture dripping from his cap. Diana let down the window and blinked back the rain.

“Well, miss, this be a fine kettle of fish. That tree has blocked the road entire.”

“We must find another route, then,” Diana advised.

“There be no other route, miss.”

“Surely, there must be a byway or cart track somewhere?”

“A few, but they’re a ways back and I don’t dare try ’em, not in this weather. We’d be sunk in mud for sure. Pendowar Hall still be six miles off and there’s not much to speak of between here and there. We’d best return to Truro.”

“Return to Truro?” It meant backtracking seven miles in the wrong direction and spending the night or even longer at the dreadful Crown Inn. “Oh, surely not.”

“Sorry, miss. There’s nothing for it. With any luck, the road’ll be cleared tomorrow, and you can try again.”

Diana was deeply disappointed. “Well, then—” Before she could complete the thought, the drumbeat of the rain was pierced by the tramp, tramp, tramp of approaching hooves. Diana peered out the window at the road behind them. A man thundered up on horseback. His boots and well-made dark cloak pronounced him to be a gentleman. Reining in the animal, he took in the fallen treetop.

“When did this happen?” His voice was cultured, deep, and gruff.

“Only a moment since, sir.” The coachman, seeming to recognize the gentleman, crossed to him and touched his cap.

The rider glanced briefly at the carriage from beneath the low, wide brim of his hat. Through the pouring rain, Diana caught a glimpse of stern features on a clean-shaven face. She guessed him to be in his early thirties. Turning, he exchanged a few words with the driver which Diana could not hear, finishing with:

“If we use the carriage horses, I believe we can clear away that tree. I’ve done it before.”

Nodding, the coachman retrieved a length of rope and set off to begin unhitching the horses.

Through the open window, Diana called out, “Sir, I should be glad to help.”

“Stay in the carriage,” the newcomer commanded bluntly. “This is man’s work.” 

Man’s work? Diana bristled. What exactly did that mean? A proper Englishwoman would not think of participating in an activity so filthy as road-clearing, but these were hardly normal circumstances.

The horseman dismounted, an effort which appeared to cause him pain. When he touched the ground, he grimaced and retrieved a cane affixed to his saddle. Diana’s annoyance vanished, replaced by sympathy. This man was either injured or lame. She could hardly sit idle in the safety of the carriage while he rescued her from the road.

Donning her hood, Diana opened the carriage door, stepped down from the vehicle and, braving the elements, hurried towards him down the muddy lane. “Sir!”

The gentleman’s horse, no doubt startled by her outcry and rapid approach from behind, danced skittishly and knocked into its rider, causing him to fall to his knees in the muddy road.

Diana, aghast, rushed to him and crouched at his side. “Sir! Are you all right?”

The man’s hat remained on his head, its brim preventing her from seeing any of his features but a deep scowl. “I told you to stay in the carriage!”

“I’m sorry. May I assist you to a stand?”

“Get away!” he growled.

Ignoring this directive, Diana took his arm and provided what support she could as the man maneuvered to his feet. He was drenched and muddy now, and it was all her fault.

“I’m so sorry,” Diana said again, handing him his cane. “May I help—”

“You have been quite enough help,” he barked irritably. “Get back in the coach! This is no weather for a lady.” Retrieving his horse’s reins, he limped to the vehicle and thrust out a hand to assist her to board, his demeanor brooking no refusal.

Diana, beset by conflicting emotions—embarrassment and regret for causing the man’s fall, sympathy for the pain from which he suffered, and resentment at his authoritative and condescending manner—grudgingly re-entered the conveyance. She closed the door and window and sat shivering in silence, upset with herself and the entire circumstance.

The rain beat down. The stranger tethered his horse to a tree. The man’s debility, although it appeared to give him great discomfort, did not prevent him from organizing and fully participating in the efficient removal of the fallen tree.

When the exercise was completed and the carriage horses returned to their former positions, the horseman took off down the road.

Diana watched him go, annoyed by his attitude, while at the same time, grateful for his help. He could have easily gone around the obstruction via the woods. Yet he had voluntarily undertaken a difficult task under miserable conditions.

The coachman, who more and more resembled a drowned rat, knocked on Diana’s window and she lowered the glass again. “Are ye all right then, miss?” he inquired. “We be free to move on now.”

“Yes, thank you. We are fortunate that gentleman came this way.”

“We are, miss. It just so happens he had business in Truro and was on his way home.”

“Home?” Diana recalled the driver saying there wasn’t much between here and Pendowar Hall. “Is he a neighbor of the Fallbrooks, then?”

“Why no, miss. That were Captain William Fallbrook himself, the new heir and master of Pendowar Hall.” 

Captain William Fallbrook? Diana’s cheeks burned. What a strange and mortifying way to meet her new employer.

And, if Mrs. Phillips was to be believed … her chief suspect.