Hope - Lesley Pearse [171]
He had spent so many evenings, summer and winter, gazing up at the house and dreaming of the day when it would be his. He had never once considered that anything could change them from the weak, fearful and guiltridden people he knew so well, not before their money ran out and they were forced to sell up.
But he hadn’t known them today. They were proud, confident and determined, and they had an answer for everything. He had no idea what it was that had given them this sudden strength, but he did know they meant what they said.
‘I’d sooner burn the place down than let you two beat me,’ he muttered, taking another swig from his bottle.
The cloud obscuring the moon swept away, and all at once Briargate was illuminated. He could even see the ghostly white of the marble statues in his rosebeds, and that taunted him still further. Even though his mind was befuddled with drink, the thought of a fire stayed with him.
The estate would have little value to anyone without the house. Master bloody Rufus was too busy lording it up with his flashy friends in Oxford to want to rebuild it. But it would have value to him, and he’d get it even cheaper then. No one would suspect him; they’d think it was just a burning coal that fell out of a fire. And he’d make sure he was up at the house doing his best to put the fire out when people on the neighbouring farms sawthe flames and came running to help.
The study! A few books and newspapers left on the hearthrug would soon catch everything else alight. Leave the study door open and the flames would be across the hall and up the stairs in no time and they’d be trapped.
Of course old Baines was up there too, but he was so frail now that he was no more use to anyone.
Just a few minutes later, Albert was making his way through the field outside the railings of the drive as he didn’t want William or Anne to be woken by a scrunching noise on the gravel. He had it all planned now. There was a spare key to the kitchen door kept under a box in the yard. In the past, Baines or one of the other servants had always locked and bolted the door from the inside at night, but for a year now Albert had seen Mrs Crabbe fishing a key out in the morning to unlock it. He’d go in that way, set the fire, and then relock the back door and go back to the gatehouse. He could watch the fire from there, and only run to attempt putting it out once it had really got going.
‘A stiff wind tonight too,’ he said aloud gleefully, turning his coat collar up. ‘That will help spread it.’
Chapter Eighteen
Matt Renton hesitated by the gatehouse of Briargate. He had spent the evening with a farmer friend at Chelwood, and as it was now well after midnight, and very cold and windy, he was anxious to get home quickly. Going up Briargate drive and skirting around the back of the big house was a shortcut, while the other way through Lord’s Wood was much longer and treacherous in the dark; he’d come that way earlier and got plastered in mud.
His indecision was because of Albert. If he spotted Matt, he was likely to take a pot shot at him, using the excuse that he thought he was an intruder. But as the gatehouse was in darkness he surmised Albert was fast asleep and therefore he’d be safe enough.
Matt was thirty-seven now. His hair was growing thin and grey, his face very weatherbeaten, but he was still as strong and lithe as he had been fourteen years ago when he married Amy. Life had treated him pretty well. He’d managed to hold his head above water through several bad harvests, and over the last three years he’d done well enough to put a bit of money away. He counted himself blessed that he had four healthy children and the best wife a man could wish for.
His younger brothers, Joe and Henry, had slunk back to the farm three years ago with their tails between their