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  TUPPENCE

  The Tipton Hollow Series

  Book Three

  by

  REBECCA KING

  © 2020 by Rebecca King

  The moral right of R L King to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  COVER DESIGNED BY COLLYWOMPLES.COM

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE LOCAL HEROES SERIES (STAR ELITE)

  OTHER BOOKS BY REBECCA KING

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tuppence Smethurst shuddered and tugged her cloak tighter around her narrow shoulders as a wicked northerly wind persistently slid icy fingers of malice down her back. It immediately snatched all traces of warmth lingering beneath her clothing and left her sniffing miserably. Her hands were frozen, her toes numb. Her cheeks stung from the endless scratching of the menacing winds. Dropping the half bale of hay she was carrying into a stable, Tuppence did her best to ignore her discomfort and shook the hay out into puffy clouds before dropping it at the feet of the waiting flock of sheep. She then trudged back to the hay barn across the yard to fetch more. All the while the relentless wind howled wolf-like through the open barn door, snatching the faint warmth emanating from the sconces lining the walls with as much ferocity as a bear would gnaw at prized flesh. Tuppence wrung her hands and blew on her fingers to get some feeling back into them before slicing another bale of hay open, which she then delivered to the horses in the rest of the stables. Despite being chilled to the core, her movements were quick and efficient. She wanted to get out of the icy wind but also knew that feeding the animals was just one of the many jobs she had to finish before she could crawl into bed. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be able to spend a few hours sitting beside the fire, resting her weary bones. She was beyond tired, and needed to physically sleep as well as rest, but there was plenty of work to do and it couldn’t be ignored.

  “There is always work to do on a bloody farm. I don’t know why I do this,” she hissed. “I am going to be lucky if I finish all my chores before midnight. Then, tomorrow, there will be more chores, and the day after that, and the day after that.” Not for the first time since her brother had died several months ago, Tuppence wondered why she bothered to even try to live on a farm by herself. At times like this, it was difficult to see the purpose of it all. “I mean, I could sell it and go and find something else to do,” she murmured calculatingly, even though she knew she would never really go through with it. She wasn’t that bold.

  I have no idea what I would do with myself.

  “Because farming is what I do,” she muttered in disgust, more annoyed with herself for her inability to change her life than she was with the weather for making her so chilled and bringing her so much misery. “It is all I have ever done, and probably all I will ever do.”

  Arching her back, she snatched a few moments to herself and stared absently out of the barn doors, gazing across the miles of open countryside most of which belonged to the farm she was now the sole owner of. While she couldn’t see much of the lush emerald landscape beyond shadows and a thick dark blanket darkening the horizon, Tuppence knew her farmland was there. Miles upon miles of open countryside, interspersed by rows of stone walls and hedges, all belonged to Hilltop Farm, her home. She knew it like the back of her hand but, of late, it had become more of a burden than she had ever expected.

  “And in the middle of everything, here I am.” Not for the first time, Tuppence was struck by a sense of isolation that was sobering. It sat heavily upon her shoulders. She felt lonely; alone; isolated; and was miserably unhappy because of it.

  “Need a hand?”

  Tuppence screamed when she heard the deep drawl from the doorway behind her. Whirling to face her surprise guest, Tuppence pressed a shaking hand to her thundering heart and stared at Mark Bosville.

  “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Mark! What are you doing here? Is everything all right?” Because it was so unusual to see the local Detective Inspector, her best friend’s husband, on the farm, Tuppence immediately thought that something was wrong. Taking a step toward him, she urgently demanded: “Is it Harriett? The children? What’s happened?”

  Mark grinned sheepishly at her. “Nothing is wrong.” He tugged on his ear and squinted at her before his gaze almost guiltily slid into the darkness behind her.

  Tuppence was struck by how uncomfortable he looked and felt an instant sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. She suspected she wasn’t going to like what he had to say because Harriett was likely to have sent him on a ‘special errand’. Even so, she demanded: “What?”

  “Do you need that hay moving?” Mark asked with a nod toward several large bales of hay stacked neatly beside the barn door.

  “I was just going to get the rest of the sheep in. They can’t stay out in this weather,” Tuppence murmured, a heavy frown now marring her brow. Aware that Mark would prevaricate for the rest of her evening if she let him, Tuppence asked bluntly: “What did she send you for?” When Mark still hesitated, and indeed kicked at a bale of hay as if trying to think of a way to tell her what he was after without upsetting her, Tuppence sighed and impatiently prompted: “Come on, Mark. I have work to do.”

  “I can help,” he offered with an almost boyish shrug.

  “It’s cold, and wet, and going to snow soon,” Tuppence snorted, pointing one long finger at him. “You are hardly dressed for work on a farm anyway. Thank you for your kind offer, though.”

  Mark, who was worried by how cold Tuppence looked, frowned when Tuppence snatched a shepherd’s hook off the huge barn door behind her. Tuppence then whistled for Baxter, the farm’s sheepdog.

  “It’s just that-” Mark cursed when he found himself talking to an empty doorway. Scurrying after her, he had to jog through the darkness after her and caught her disappearing through a gate beside a long stable block located next to the farmhouse. “Damn it, she escaped,” he hissed. Determined not to lose her, Mark lengthened his stride to catch up with her.

  Tuppence swung the gate open and issued an order to an excited Baxter, who was eager to get to work. Dancing about her ankles, Baxter barked repeatedly until Tuppence issued another order which sent the dog racing into the darkness.

  “How can you see what he is doing?” Mark demanded, tugging his woefully inadequate coat tighter about him. He was struggling to talk with a voice that didn’t shake alarmingly and stomped on the ground to try to get some warmth back into toes that ached from the cold. It was more alarming that Tuppence seemed oblivious to the biting wind, and the ice beneath her boots while he wished he were somewhere, anywhere else.

  “Baxter has been working on this farm for years
. He knows what he is doing. I moved the flock closer to the barn yesterday before the weather started to turn cool. Baxter knows the sheep are here.” Tuppence tapped on the large trough with her staff and broke the ice on it before nudging Mark out of the way. “Stand back.”

  Mark hurriedly stepped out of the way just as the first of the sheep appeared out of the darkness. He was pinned awkwardly against the fence when a large flock of sheep ambled past him and straight through the open barn doors across the yard. Inside the cavernous building, lanterns lit the pen the sheep were to call home for the next day or so. Beyond them was another barn within which was a herd of cattle. Mark wondered just how much work Tuppence had to do before she could get inside where it was warm but couldn’t find any clues within the darkness of the surrounding countryside and she was too far away to ask. As he stood listening to the wind and the noise of the cattle, Mark was struck by a worrying sense of solitude that was isolating. Hilltop Farm was nothing short of bleak, isolated, and a burden. Mark knew that Harriett was right to be worried about her good friend, and how much Tuppence had determinedly taken on when she had announced that she was going to keep the farm and run it herself.

  “I can help you,” Mark offered lamely over the heads of the passing sheep.

  “Have you ever worked on a farm?” Tuppence closed the gate and went to fetch more hay before he could answer. When she reappeared, she was carrying a large armful of hay, which she delivered to the sheep.

  Mark eyed the flock in the barn and the huge hay bale Tuppence had tugged her meagre armful out of. Taking up another, larger load, he hurried after her.

  “Thank you but you are going to get straw and hay all over your coat,” Tuppence warned, but wasn’t as sharp with him as she felt she should be given he was saving her at least three trips to the hay store.

  “God, this is relentless,” Mark muttered half an hour later when the last of the hay had been delivered to the cows, the horses, and the dog had been fed. What alarmed Mark was how pale Tuppence was in the moonlight. Amidst her wan complexion was a red nose and dark eyes above lips that were pinched from the cold. “Why don’t you tell me what to do and go inside and get warm?” he suggested. “I can close up here.”

  “I have to do this, Mark. While your offer of help sounds wonderful, you won’t be here in the morning when the animals need to be fed again, will you?” Tuppence smiled and shook her head. “I am used to it. It’s faster if I just get on with it.” She hoped he took the hint and left her alone. Strangely, his presence made her feel even more isolated because he made her pointedly aware that she was alone in her situation. Mark couldn’t help her because he wasn’t a farmer and had no idea what to do. Besides, he had a family waiting at home for him.

  “We both know that your brother used to do most of the work.”

  “Peter is no longer here to do it, though, is he? Besides, I used to help him. I know what I am doing.” Tuppence was aware that her voice betrayed how awkward she felt discussing her brother.

  “I am sorry.”

  Tuppence offered him a brisk smile. “I will get by.” She wished he would just get to the reason of his visit and go so she could get on with her chores.

  Then I can have a little cry before the fire before I go to bed.

  “It must be worth a fortune,” Mark muttered without thinking. He hadn’t realised he had spoken aloud until Tuppence whirled to face him.

  “I am not selling it,” she snapped, outraged that he would suggest she sell the very roof over her head.

  “But you could buy yourself somewhere smaller for just you,” Mark argued, more shaken by what he had seen than he had expected to be.

  “To do what?” Tuppence demanded, folding her arms in a defiant pose that was accompanied by a lifted brow and belligerent stare.

  “Well, whatever you want to do,” Mark edged. He mentally winced because he was annoying her before he had managed to broach the real reason why he was there.

  “This is what I do,” Tuppence bit out, waving a hand to the barns full of sheep and cows. “My father was a farmer, my brother after that. I have been born and raised on a farm. There is nothing wrong with what I do.”

  “I never said there was,” Mark countered. “I just think this is a heck of a lot of work for one young woman to do by herself. Could you not find someone to help you?”

  Tuppence, who was uncomfortably aware of how little money was in the box in her father’s old study, shook her head. Until she could sell some of the cattle, the money she had at her disposal had to be kept to buy hay and feed for the cattle and pay for food and essentials for herself. There wasn’t money spare to pay for someone else to do the work she was physically capable of doing herself.

  “It is very nice to see you and all that, but why did Harriett send you?” Tuppence asked, suddenly eager to change the subject before they had an argument about it. The tension hovering between them was stark, and so unfriendly that Tuppence began to wonder if there was any friendship left between them at all.

  Mark mentally sighed because he could sense hostility from Tuppence now and that was the very last thing he wanted to build because he knew that she wasn’t going to be amenable to what he was there to suggest. Taking a deep breath, he broached the subject anyway and said: “Harriett has sent me to remind you that the late harvest ball is to be held on Saturday. You need to attend.”

  “I am not going,” Tuppence announced bluntly, without providing him with any reason why.

  Mark mentally cursed. “I understand that Lord Aldridge is expecting you.”

  Tuppence’s heart began to pound. She shrugged and tried to pretend that the mere mention of Isaac Chester’s name didn’t turn her entire being inside out. “Why should he expect me?” Despite the casual tone of her voice, her gaze was sharp as she waited for Mark’s answer.

  Mark forced himself to remember that he was a Detective Inspector at Great Tipton Police Station. He had arrested murderers, muggers, and fought drunkards. There was no reason why he should be so worried about upsetting one slightly stubborn female, even if she was his wife’s best friend.

  Harriett is never going to speak to me again if Tuppence goes back on her word and refuses to attend the ball.

  “He spoke to Harriett this afternoon.” Mark mentally crossed his fingers and hoped that God would forgive him for lying. “Apparently, Lord Aldridge is concerned that you are here by yourself and told her that it would ease his mind if he saw you at the ball. I think he intends to call upon you himself, just to offer you his help if you ever need it.”

  “Why should I not be all right?” Tuppence demanded. Deep inside she knew she was being snippy with Mark, and the current uncomfortable state of her life truly wasn’t his fault, but tension slid up her spine which began to feel so rigid she wondered if it was going to shatter as she stared intently at the man before her. She dreaded asking: “What have the gossips been saying? That because I am a woman, I am incapable of running a farm like this?”

  Mark frowned. “Well, you are living in a highly unusual situation.”

  “It isn’t my fault that everyone in my family has died,” Tuppence retorted. “It isn’t my fault that this farm is my only source of income, or that I have no other skills so have to farm to be able to live.”

  “I don’t want to upset you, Tuppence,” Mark offered gently. He felt awful because even in the darkness he could see tears gathering on her lashes. In that moment, she looked lost and wounded, like a stranded dear caught in a hunter’s trap with no way out. He wanted to soothe her, offer her promises or hope, offer her help even, but like any wounded animal she wriggled and squirmed, fought and kicked, and did everything to force the world away. He was at a loss to know how to help her.

  “So, the locals are gossiping about me, is that it? They are waiting for me to fail, for my cattle to die, for me to starve to death so they can say that they knew all along that I wasn’t going to manage to live here? That life as a farmer is too much for a you
ng woman like me?” Tuppence was outraged while also deeply hurt that the locals, who had known her all her life, had such little faith in her capabilities.

  But I have little faith that I can get through this, and like Mark said, I am in an unusual situation.

  “It might help if you attend the late harvest ball just to prove to people that everything is all right,” Mark edged. He secretly felt quite pleased at his inventiveness but mentally made a note to warn Harriett that he had been a little less than honest while achieving his mission.

  “I am not going, for you, Harriett, or any scurrilous gossips. I don’t care what the locals are saying about me. If they have so little faith in me, well, they can go to Hades,” Tuppence snorted, throwing him a dark glare before returning to her chores.

  “But if you go and show everyone that all is well the gossips will be proven wrong and will stop talking about you. If you don’t do this, Tuppence, I think Lord Aldridge is likely to be deeply offended. You will be the only person in Tipton Hollow who doesn’t attend. He will see that as a slight, Tuppence. The whole village will.” Mark mentally prayed that Isaac Chester, would forgive him for his lie. As his friend, Mark knew that Isaac was just as worried about Tuppence as he and Harriett were.

  “Why would he do that? I doubt Lord Aldridge cares about me and whether I attend his ball or not.” Deep inside, Tuppence wished that Isaac were concerned about her, but she knew that her presence at the ball wouldn’t matter one bit to a man like him.

  Isaac.

  While staring at the ground beneath her boots, Tuppence rolled his name around in her mind. It seemed that every time she spoke it, mentally of course, it lingered, clung to the walls of her deepest memories, the darkest parts of her heart and soul, and refused to move. He hovered on the fringes of her consciousness like a spectre in the night waiting to haunt her.

  And he will. I don’t doubt I shall dream of him tonight as I have every other night for as long as I can remember.