A warm, heavy arm enveloped her upper back and shoulders, and she heard the grass shift as Paul settled in beside her. She looked up at him, and met his gaze. He flashed her an easy, confident smile. With his other hand, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her composure returned in his presence, and she wondered how she could manage a life without him.
“Did you miss me so much, Lady Kathryn?” he teased.
“Oh Paul,” she gushed, and then kissed his mouth fiercely.
After their embrace, he nudged her makeshift knapsack with his foot. “What is this?”
“All my worldly possessions.”
He took both her hands in his. “Kathryn, what’s going on?”
“I’m running away.”
“Running away? What are you talking about, Kathryn?” For an instant, Paul looked at her bewildered and confused, before the obvious dawned on him. “It’s Cromwell … isn’t it?”
“Yes. The rumors are true. It’s been arranged; I am to wed Mr. Cromwell. Papa said Mr. Cromwell intends to propose to me in three days, when he returns from London. So, I must leave now.”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. But … I was hoping you would come with me.”
“Of course I’m coming with you.”
She blushed, but he could not see this because the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the gloaming had taken them.
“Oh, Paul. I knew you’d say yes.”
Then, epiphany struck him. “Wait a minute. We don’t need to run away. You can stay with me, at the farm. We have plenty of room.”
Her brow furrowed. “No, Paul. Papa and Mr. Cromwell are not stupid. The first place they’ll look for me is at your house. I must altogether leave Eyam.”
“You’re right,” he said, rubbing his chin. “So we leave Eyam tonight?”
She nodded.
She had been thinking about running away for hours, but Paul had just begun to consider the implications. She knew that in the passion of the moment, he was forgetting something, something so important that he might resent her later if she did not mention it to him now. She did not want to do it, but if they were going to be together, then they needed to trust and support each other.
“What about the harvest? You’ve been talking about it for weeks,” she said, tentatively. “Are you sure you can leave?”
His mind raced. The harvest! He had completely forgotten about that. Paul was the eldest son in a family of seven. The mantra of duty and responsibility had been pounded into his head by his father from the time he was six years old. If he ran away with Kathryn, he would feel like a traitor to his family. On the other hand, if he abandoned her, he would feel like a traitor to love. His heart pounded. His feelings for Kathryn were ferocious. All-consuming. He knew the answer before the question was even posed.
“I will die if you marry Cromwell,” he said, his voice cracking, “and I will die if you leave Eyam without me. Father will be angry at my leaving, but my brothers will help him bring in the harvest. My duty is to you now.”
“And my devotion is to you.”
He dropped down on one knee. He plucked a wildflower from the grass and stripped off the leaves. With care, he bent the taut stem into a loop, and then wove the remainder repeatedly around itself, creating a rope-like twist. When he was finished, a violet flower sat atop an impromptu engagement ring.
Taking her by the hand, he said, “Kathryn Vicars, I love you, and I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?”
“Yes. Most positively, definitely yes!”
He slipped the wildflower ring onto her finger. She lifted his hand, motioning him to stand. They kissed in the twilight, held each other tight, and then kissed some more. It was Kathryn who broke away first.
“What do we do next?”
“We leave tonight, and we don’t look back. You wait here. I’m going back to the farm to fetch some clothes and ‘borrow’ one of father’s mares. We’ll take the road to Chesterfield; I know it well enough to travel in the dark. I have kin there, a bachelor uncle on my mother’s side who has no love for my father. Hopefully, he will let us stay a couple of days and not report our elopement to my mother. If we’re lucky, I can work for him in his tavern. If not, I can travel to Sheffield and look for an apprenticeship there. The rector in Sheffield can make our union legal, as well.”
She buried her face in his chest and squeezed him hard.
“Hurry, my love. Don’t make me wait one second extra to start our life together.”
“Not one extra second,” he replied, blowing her a kiss.
“Don’t forget to bring a lantern,” she called after him as he set off. “It’s dark.”
“I will.”
“And some food. I’m famished.”
“Yes, I’ll bring food.”
“Money, Paul. Don’t forget money,” she added, giggling.
“And shoes, and britches, and a saddle for the horse … Not to worry. I’ll pack everything we need. I love you, my bride.”
“I love you … husband.”
CHAPTER 4
Rector William Mompesson knocked on the door to George Vicars’ cottage. After hearing no reply, he knocked again. No reply. Something strange was afoot, the young clergyman thought. The tailor had come to him three nights ago, reporting that his seventeen-year-old daughter, Kathryn, had gone missing. But in the days since, he had neither seen nor heard from Vicars. It was Mompesson who had organized the search party the night of Kathryn’s disappearance, calling upon eight of the town’s most able-bodied and reliable young men. Using lanterns and horses, they had combed the village and surrounding countryside for Kathryn. To Mompesson’s chagrin, and Vicars’ dismay, they had returned from the mission empty-handed. It was not until the next afternoon that the mystery of Katherine’s disappearance had been solved. Henry Foster had ridden into town to report that his eldest son, Paul, had disappeared the previous night as well. Foster had also divulged that one of his grey mares had gone missing — a mare that Paul was particularly fond of. Having witnessed the two young lovers together many a summer afternoon, it had taken the young rector all of five seconds to put the pieces together.
Henry Foster’s reaction to the news of the elopement had been to smirk, shake the rector’s hand, and request that if any word of the children’s whereabouts reached Mompesson, to please send for him at the Foster farm. George Vicars’ reaction had been to take the Lord’s name in vain, curse the name Paul Foster, and then offer a flustered and dismal apology to the rector for his expletives. Vicars then beseeched Mompesson to send the previous night’s search party further afield and to continue searching until his daughter was found and brought home safely to him. Vicars went on to say that Ethan Cromwell would be none too pleased, and the entire foolish business needed to be resolved before Cromwell returned from London in two days’ time. At least, this is what Vicars attempted to communicate amidst a furious and frothy coughing fit that spanned their entire conversation. The tailor’s hair was drenched with sweat and plastered to his forehead. The freckles on his normally cheerful face were drowned by a fever-red complexion. Mompesson pardoned the tailor’s ill temper without taking offense. Clearly the man was under considerable stress; everyone in town was aware of Ethan Cromwell’s intention to marry Kathryn Vicars. Everyone in town was equally aware of Cromwell’s hot and venomous temper. Evidently, the previous night’s search had taken its toll on Vicars, because he had come down with what appeared to be a dreadful case of flu. Mompesson had instructed Vicars to strip down to his knickers, drink a large glass of water, and go straight to bed. Vicars had nodded, turned, and dragged himself toward his bedroom, without bothering to shut the door to his cottage. The rector had wished him a good night’s sleep and told him not to worry — they would find Kathryn and bring her home to him before the morrow.