Man Behind the Façade. June Francis

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      Simon Caldwell thanked him again and escorted him to the door.

      As Phillip left the house, he pondered how Rebecca would accept the news that he would be escorting her to Oxford. She might resent his interference and not wish for his company, as it was obvious that she had cared for her husband. It seemed that Giles had replaced Nicholas in her heart, although now her husband was dead, she might wish to marry again. When his brother eventually arrived home, it would be best if he took a wife and settled down. Phillip frowned, remembering how he and Nicholas had discussed women, love and marriage whilst in their cups on the Greek isle of Rhodes. In truth, they had wagered two gold pieces on which of them would marry the first—the remaining one being the victor. Worryingly, it was some time since there had been news of Nicholas and he could only pray that he was safe.

      Phillip was halfway to Witney when he remembered he had left his costume stuffed behind the tub beside the front door. Hopefully it would not rain during the night. Maybe Becky would notice it and take it in? Becky! He was glad he would be seeing her on the morrow. What would they talk about on the journey? What would she think of Master Caldwell’s mention of having seen her father’s ghost? Somehow he could not imagine her dismissing it lightly, but it was not for him to discuss the matter with her. Even though both of them, no doubt, preferred him to remain buried in the past.

       Chapter Two

      Rebecca had spent a restless night and woke from a dream in which she was wiping the paint from Pip Hurst’s almost-perfect features amongst other things. The intimacy of the vision unsettled her and she wondered why the Almighty had decided that now was the time for their paths to cross again. Whilst married to Giles she had prayed that she would forget Pip and had managed, most of the time, to put him out of her mind. Then she had seen him at Greenwich Palace and the desire she had felt for him had been reignited and he had figured prominently in her thoughts after that. She felt hot and bothered thinking about those times. Now here he was, but still as unattainable. Despite his flattering words, he’d made it plain there was no room for a wife in his life. It also appeared that he believed that she had been in love with his brother, Nicholas, until Giles had come along. Obviously, he did not suspect that it was Pip, himself, that she had lusted after. It was true that she admired the older Hurst brother, who had kept a journal of his travels in the Americas. How excited she had felt when she had held a copy and read the words for herself! Pip and her friend, Lady Beth Raventon, who had inherited her father’s printing-and-stationery business in London, had shared the preparation of getting the journal into print as a birthday gift for Nicholas six years ago.

      The book had sold well and, after Rebecca had blurted out how much she wished she could read the book for herself, Beth had taught her to read and write. It had proved a task that had given them both great pleasure. But however much she had enjoyed the book, Rebecca had never considered Nicholas Hurst, explorer and merchant, as a possible husband for herself. After Beth had married her guardian, Sir Gawain Raventon, Nicholas had sailed away and disappeared from Rebecca’s life.

      A sigh escaped her and she turned over in bed. It was at times like these that she had missed Giles during those first weeks after he had died. A child would have been such a comfort. Fortunately her desire for children had been partially satisfied in helping to care for her young nephew and his half-sisters. But now Phillip had re-entered her life, she could not deny that he affected her still in a way no other man had ever done. Yet would she ever see him again? By the time she had left James sleeping, Simon had gone to bed and Phillip had vanished, just as her mother had done, without any words of hope for her to cling to that they might ever see each other again.

      Rebecca felt that sense of rejection experienced on waking as a child, knowing that her mother had not loved her enough to want her company. She sighed, knowing there was nothing else to do but to get on with life. She noticed that it was getting light. Time to get up. She dressed swiftly and as silently as possible and, lifting the latch with care, slipped through the gap between door and jamb. She went downstairs and outside to fetch water from the butt by the door. She had a drink, then she spotted Phillip’s gown and wig. She felt her pulses quicken. He would be needing them that day, so perhaps she should take them to him. It should not be so difficult to find the covered wagon he had spoken of.

      She fetched her cloak and set out towards Witney, hurrying up the hill, past a stream that dashed over rocks on its journey to the valley floor. The water was so clear that one could see the pebbles at the bottom and darting fish. It was as she rounded the foot of the hill that she caught sight of Phillip going up the hill in the direction of Draymore Manor House. Her heart leapt. The house was situated a short distance from the village of Minster Draymore and hidden by trees. How odd. Before she could call out to him, he disappeared from her sight. Had he come to collect the gown and wig and taken the wrong path? She set off in his wake. When she reached the brow of the hill she could see the surrounding area as far as the church spire of St Mary’s in Witney, but there was no sign of Phillip. She dithered, trying to decide whether to remain where she was and to watch out for his return or to walk to the manor house.

      Several birds flying up from the trees below made her think they had been disturbed by Phillip’s passing and she set off in that direction. She passed through the copse until the trees opened out to reveal an overgrown garden and a path in need of weeding that led up to front door of the manor house. It was a heavy door with studs on it and she had not really expected it to give way when she gripped the sturdy metal ring set in the wood, but the door creaked open. She hesitated before entering, remembering that Simon had told her to stay away from the house and not to take the children there as it was not safe. Even so, if the door was unlocked, that meant he must have forgotten to lock it yesterday.

      She placed the gown and wig in the corner behind the door and gazed about the hall. It was small in comparison to the one at Raventon; there was a pile of rubble and one of the walls appeared to be crumbling in places. She guessed that the building dated back maybe more than two hundred years ago to the time of Edward II who had married a French princess, Isabella. This royal lady had taken a lover called Mortimer, the first Earl of March, who had lived at Ludlow Castle. That Rebecca and her brother shared the same surname had caused Davy to wonder aloud whether they were descended from Mortimer and Isabella, who, if she had been a man, would have become the ruler of France. Such ancestry was what caused King Henry to fund the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles, betrothed to Henry’s daughter, Mary, to fight the French in the hope that at least his descendants would sit on the throne of France if Charles was the victor in that conflict. Rebecca was of the opinion that the closer one was to the throne, the more dangerous life could be. Mortimer, lover of Isabella, had been executed for treason, although she and their offspring had been pardoned by Edward III. She wondered what Phillip thought about King Henry and his ambitions in France and whether one day he would write a play about such stirring royal events from the past.

      She came to a decision and walked carefully across the hall to a door at the far end, noticing that some of the walls were blackened with smoke. She was startled by a shout and her first instinct was to head straight back to the front door and outside. Then she heard a banging and a crash; hesitating no longer, she ran towards the sound, almost tripping over a clump of fallen stone, thinking perhaps that Phillip might be under attack from ruffians. She came to a small chamber. The door was half off its hinges and on the opposite wall was shelving. Possibly it had once been a still room. There was a smashed jar on the uneven floor and a couple shrouded in cobwebs on a shelf. The room appeared to be empty, but cautiously she went inside to make certain, stepping over more rubble. The next moment she felt an arm go round her throat. Fearing she would be choked to death, she sank her teeth into the wrist of her attacker. Her captor released her and she wasted no time in trying to escape, but he seized hold of her again. With fists flying, she aimed for his chest, only to realise that it was Phillip.

      ‘Damn it, Becky, what are you doing here?’ he said harshly, seizing both her wrists and holding her arms aloft.

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