The party was over. Gabriel watched Troy from a distance as his gambling and drinking increased. In town, he watched him talking to a lass that he had seen Troy with before called Fanny Robin, her youth and beauty ravished by hunger and poverty. If Troy had married Bathsheba for her money then he was not trying to hide it now, for he was obviously intimate with Fanny. Whenever he saw Bathsheba she looked distracted and unhappy, but Gabriel knew it was not his place to talk to her. If she wanted his help, she would have to come to him.
He remembered seeing Bathsheba for the first time all those long months ago, riding her horse beneath the trees, lying down to pass beneath the branches. She had seemed so carefree and vibrant. He had been bewitched with her from that moment on. She still possessed a strong resolve, but she had changed since marrying Troy, she was sadder, troubled. It pained him to see her suffering. Would she refuse his offer of marriage now if she was free? Sometimes he caught her looking at him as he worked around the farm, his trusty dog at his heels. Did she see something in him now that she hadn't seen before? Was she imagining what her life might have been like if she had married him instead of Troy?
One day, he met her in the lane behind the house. She seemed startled to see him, nervous even, as the wind rippled through the trees, softly stirring her hair as it spilled out from beneath the hood of her cloak. He had not spoken to her properly since the night of the storm.
"Gabriel."
She bowed her head slightly in a formal way which amused him, because it was like she was deferring to him even though she was the master and he the servant.
"I suppose you are glad that I am suffering," she said sadly. "Frank is angry with me as I will not give him money to pay for his gambling debts."
"I am sorry to hear that."
"Oh Gabriel," she said wretchedly, "I am sure Frank has a secret, he has been acting so strangely lately. We do not speak to each other anymore and he hides everything from me. I do not know where he goes or who he meets."
Gabriel thought of Fanny Robin, but said nothing.
"One day you will desert me too."
Bathsheba stared up at him, a fearful look on her face. He knew that he should reassure her, but what she said was true.
"I must confess, I am not content to be a shepherd for the rest of my life, but for now, I will stay by your side."
"Will you? Will you really Gabriel?"
"You know I worry about you too much to leave you to suffer at his hands."
He watched the slow blush spread up from her neck to her cheeks.
"You have always been the one who was loyal to me Gabriel and I do not deserve it. I have done what I said I would never do, I fell for a man in a red uniform, like a simple lass without thought of the consequences."
"You are not at fault, he tricked you."
"But wasn't I your first love? Were you not mine?"
She gazed at him so earnestly he felt tongue tied and uncertain. The lane seemed suddenly very quiet with just the two of the them standing there. Her words, although exciting, made him feel nervous.
She stepped closer until he felt her hot breath fanning his skin where his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. She touched him, brushing her hand down his shirt front, touching the buttons one by one. He could not move. He was full of conflicting emotions; guilt, confusion and desire. Why did she tease him so? Did she not realise that he was a man with the same wants and needs as any common man?
"I believe you are too shy to answer me Gabriel."
"You presume too much."
She frowned at his tone, tugging lightly on a button. Their eyes locked and something primitive passed between them making him feel on fire. As if in a dream, he heard a horse and carriage in the lane behind them, as it made slow progress towards them. She stepped away from him almost regretfully.
"Are you expecting someone?" he asked her, looking at the approaching man, seated in front of the wagon, dressed in black.
"No."
As the wagon neared them, Gabriel saw the coffin on the back. The man saluted them.
"This be the last known place of abode for this poor maid," he said gesturing to the coffin behind him.
"But who can it be?" Bathsheba asked in a bewildered tone. "I know of no one who has died around these parts."
"Her name is Fanny Robin, but tis no concern of mine," said the man, "I was told to bring her here."
He wielded his whip, making the horse trudge on as slowly as before, not waiting for a reply.
Bathsheba stared after it, shivering suddenly in the cool evening air.
"I know who that is," she murmured, "she was a servant of my uncle, we must allow the coffin to be brought into the house."
"I will see to it."
Gabriel strode away, hoping to get there before Bathsheba did. He caught up with the wagon as if turned into the courtyard, the horse's feet clattering on the stones. He called for men to help lift the coffin into the parlour. It was only when the coffin was placed in the still, airless room that he saw the name Fanny Robin and next to it the words and child. Quickly, as he heard Bathsheba's voice in the hall, he rubbed out the incriminating words with his sleeve.
