Helen Dickson - One Reckless Night

Hester Atkins was always a quiet, unassuming woman—until she’s driven to commit a crime of desperation. Now on the run, she takes refuge in the home of her former suitor, Lucas Fryston. The Grange has stood abandoned since he sailed to America to begin a new life after the English Civil War…or so Hester thought. Lucas has returned to England, and their reunion reawakens a passion that neither can deny. But with Hester’s past catching up to her, will one night of pleasure be all they can ever share?

One Reckless Night

Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Author Note

About Destitute on His Doorstep

About the Author

Copyright

Chapter One

The young woman who got on the coach at Wellingborough drew Hester’s attention. She could not be more that eighteen, yet the pallor and sadness of her delicate features made her look younger. She glanced at her fellow passengers, her gaze finally settling on Hester. She smiled shyly before turning her head to look out of the window.

Hester was apprehensive about returning to Northampton and the house where her father’s presence would be felt, which was why, on leaving Avery where she had been staying with her good friend Jane and her husband, Francis Russell, at Bilborough Hall, she had gone to Goodmanchester to spend a little time with a maternal aunt. She didn’t believe that the dead could come back, but that didn’t stop her from feeling the brush of her father’s fingertips against her flesh.

On reaching Northampton she looked around her. Under the Puritan government, there was austerity everywhere, everything joyous forbidden. About to move on, the young woman caught her attention. She looked quite lost.

‘Can I be of help? Are you a stranger to Northampton?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Her voice was polite.

‘Are you visiting relatives?’

She nodded. ‘My name is Ruth Henshaw. Both my parents died recently and without means, I had to leave the house.’ She averted her eyes. Her shoulders shook in a silent sob, which she controlled, her voice quivering. ‘Forgive me.’

Her distress touched deep within Hester. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m Hester Atkins and I live here in Northampton. Where do your relatives live?’

‘It’s my aunt—Mrs Hobbs. She lives on the outskirts of the town—in a cottage off Houghton Road. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have.’ Mrs Hobbs—or Widow Hobbs as she was known locally, was an elderly lady who lived alone along Houghton Road, a road Hester knew very well. She forced to the back of her mind the disturbing thoughts this evoked. ‘I can direct you, but it’s a long way for you to walk.’

Now she smiled. ‘I don’t mind. I may not look it, but I’m quite strong really.’

After giving her directions, Hester watched her go on her way.

* * *

A coach from Cambridge had arrived and passengers were climbing out. Two men in particular caught Hester’s eye. One of them, a short, squat man she had seen before. She experienced a shudder of cold dread. He was a warder at the gaol in Avery. What was he doing here? What did he want? Her instinct for self-preservation caused her to shrink out of sight to the rear of the coach, but still within earshot. The other man was dressed like a country lawyer in dark, sober clothes. When he spoke it caused Hester to listen intently. Disturbed by what she heard, for it was of herself that they were speaking, her first instinct was to turn on her heels and run, but, in a moment, common sense prevailed over the terror which had taken hold of her.

Her heart beating wildly, she pressed herself against the back of the coach. Somehow they had found out what she had done—that she had killed her father—and had now come after her.

‘We’ll find her and question her and if we find her guilty of Jacob Atkins’s death by poison, we’ll take her back to Avery to stand trial,’ the soberly attired gentleman said. ‘She’ll not escape. The noose is already waiting for her.’

Hester thought she would faint at the grisly prophecy. The two men were walking on. She could almost feel the rope tightening around her neck and instinctively put a hand to her throat. What could she do? She could not go home. But where could she hide? That was when she looked in the direction Ruth had taken. Yes, there was somewhere she could go—Fryston Grange, two miles along Houghton Road.

The Grange belonged to the Fryston family. They had been manufacturers of leather, but like every family that had remained loyal to the Royalist cause during the Civil War, they had suffered severe hardships. Only Lucas Fryston survived his parents. Following the Royalist defeat at Dunbar in 1850, managing to escape his captors, and refusing to live under Puritan rule, Lucas had gone to America to start a new life. The Grange had remained empty and by some miracle had survived sequestration, despite Northampton’s support of Parliament during the war.

Drawing the hood of her cloak over her head, Hester set off along Houghton Road. The sky in the west was growing prematurely dark. An ever-deepening chill made her shiver.

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