The Bennet girls still maintained Beatty was bewitching them. They claimed she visited them in their dreams and sometimes in their room as a ghostly apparition.
Mr Bennet insisted none of these wild accusations would ever leave the house, but some of the employees had been going behind his back and spreading gossip to the locals.
To add fuel to the fire, the girls’ fits were getting worse. And there was activity in the house that could not be explained.
In earnest, Cordelia feared for her daughter’s life. If Beatty provoked them further, they would blame her for everything. Cordelia thought if Beatty made more of an effort to maintain the friendship, she could at least keep Mr and Mrs Bennet on her side. After all, they were the real nay or say, which was a good thing, or else Beatty would have been carted off long ago.
Beatty was too pent up to realise her mother’s diplomacy. Unable to hold her feelings in, she confronted her mother. ‘Don’t you care what the girls did to me, ma? Aren’t you worried about that thing preyin’ on me? Shouldn’t you, as me ma, want me to stay away from that place?’
Beatty guilt-tripped her with a look that said she was neglectful and uncaring.
Cordelia fell into the trap. She felt rotten, but she was not going to lose her daughter to the rope, which meant not provoking the girls in any way. They needed to act with caution.
It grieved Cordelia how everything had gone wrong. In the early days, Beatty would have beaten down their front door to visit the Bennet girls. Cordelia couldn’t understand what had soured them. The doctors were not making any headway either.
She wondered if perhaps there was foul play behind it all, but she dared not think it. If there was, it was not coming from her Beatrice. She knew her daughter. Beatrice wasn’t capable of causing harm. There was no evil in her.
‘Don’t go there,’ Cordelia thought, wiping the idea from her mind before her daughter picked up on it. She reached for her bonnet. ‘Please come with me, Beatty,’ she begged. ‘I know you be guilty of nothin’, but try not to cause ‘em any suspicions. Front up and show your face like you got nothin’ to hide.’ She tucked loose strands of hair into her bonnet. ‘Oh, and aye, I agree with you. There is somethin’ in that abbey. You make sure you protect yourself with the light.’
Cordelia was referring to the protective white light that they would call upon whenever they were doing their fortune telling, to keep out any negative or harmful attacks from either the physical world or the mystical. One simply asked the white light to surround and protect them.
The Clarke women would ask either mentally or vocally; it didn’t matter. All they had to do was visualise a white light washing over them from head to toe. The practice should be done on a daily basis, but Beatty and her mother were relaxed when it came to protecting themselves. They only thought to do it when they were aware of danger.
‘I do,’ Beatty snapped. ‘It makes no difference, ma. I still come home sick and I still get attacked. It’s that evil presence leading ‘em on, I’m sure of it.’
Her mother stopped tucking her hair away and looked at her daughter with suspicion. ‘You’re not feeling possessed or such?’
Beatty took her time in answering, mentally examining herself. ‘No, ma. I don’t believe I am.’
Her mother let go of her breath. ‘Good then,’ she replied. She checked all her hair was put away under her bonnet. ‘I must tell you Beatty, Freya has gotten worse since you’ve been away.’
‘Really?’ Beatty enquired. She stirred half-heartedly, toying with not giving a damn and desiring to relieve her curiosity.
‘I think, as a close friend, you should look in on her. Don’t you?’ It was rather a demand than a question.
‘She’s not my friend. I hate her and her sister.’
Cordelia disregarded her daughter’s sulky outburst. ‘Whatever it is Freya is goin’ through, I advise you to show her some genuine concern, Beatty,’ she urged. ‘And for my own sanity, I’d rather they favour you than send you to the rope.’ Her mother lost a bit of composure. She put her hands to her face and shed a few tears.
Surprised by her mother’s unexpected display, Beatty dropped her gaze. The heartfelt moment caused Beatty to buckle under her mother’s duress. Her empathic sensibilities caught wind of how concerned her mother was for her safety. ‘Yes, of course, ma.’ Beatty murmured, her voice less harsh.
Her ma was right. She should make the effort to stay in the Bennets’ good books. She put her sewing aside and walked over to her mother. Grabbing both streams of ribbon that dangled from the sides of her mother’s bonnet, she began to tie them into a big bow under her chin.
She felt her mother’s eyes peering at her with a surge of devotion. As she returned her mother’s gaze, Beatty drew strength from the precious gleam that portrayed a mother’s love.
At the finishing touch of the bow, her mother smiled, and Beatty couldn’t help but smile back. It a moment to be treasured, one that needed no words spoken.
Beatty’s arms fell to her side. ‘Are you takin’ a cake, ma?’ she asked.
‘No, dear. Maude has the tea party all arranged.’
‘Who will be there?’
Cordelia began to fidget, which gave Beatty a hint something was astir. ‘Maude has some relatives visitin’,’ Cordelia disclosed. ‘Her sister-in-law, Lady Cornwall, and her two daughters, Tessa and Hattie. They’re about your age. You might make some new friends.’ Her mother was feigning a false liking to the people she was referring to.
‘I doubt it,’ Beatty quickly responded. ‘Goin’ by your edginess, they’re not nice people.’ Her mother looked caught out.
‘Besides, if they’re related to those nasty girls, they’d likely be of the same disposition,’ Beatty added in a catty tone.
Cordelia didn’t respond to Beatty’s last comment. She preferred to excuse herself from mean discourse.
‘Will the girls be there?’ Beatty asked.
‘Aye, but ignore them, Beatty. Come sit with us mature ladies. Those girls are far too young for your company anyway.’
‘Aye, I know. I just needed some fun in me life, ma. I’m still young myself.’
Cordelia kissed Beatty gently on the cheek, something she hadn’t done since Beatty was a little girl. Beatty needed the intimacy. She embraced her ma and didn’t want to let go.
She did let go though and, like a little lost sheep, followed her mother to the coat stand to grab their coats.
Before heading for the door, they called upon the white light and asked for protection. Like a mother hen, Cordelia led the way, with her precious little chickling following suit.
Beatty jumped when the door slammed loudly behind them. Any other time, she was unmoved by such loud bangs. It was a sure sign, even with the protective light, that her nerves were still rattled.
Standing out in the open, she looked over the old abbey with trepidation. She breathed in a chest full of air and let it slowly release. She wished her hands would stop shaking. It revealed to the world that she was nervous, she wasn’t in control. She didn’t want that.
‘Let’s go,’ said her mother. Cordelia linked arms with her daughter and, in sync, they marched across the street.
Cordelia had not said anything earlier, but something about her daughter caused her great concern. For some reason, when they were protecting themselves with the white light, Beatty started gagging. The simple ritual was making her ill. Her body was repelling the light. There should be no reason for her to reject it. Unless, of course, she was harbouring something from the dark side. Where there was darkness, there could not be light.
She preferred not to say anything yet. Beatty didn’t seem to be aware it was happening. The presence had blocked Beatty’s consciousness, making itself unknown to her. Cordelia decided it must possess strong powers because Beatty was a force to be reckoned with. With all the accusations flying around, it was best to keep the darkness’s presence under wraps.
All she could do for now was
pray and keep on praying, to ask for the powers that be to intervene.
She gave her daughter a side hug and Beatty looked at her inquiringly. ‘Anything wrong, ma?’
‘No, dear. Just nice to be spendin’ some leisure time with me daughter.’
‘You’re silly, ma.’
The one good thing about befriending the neighbours, Beatty thought, was her and her ma had started getting along. She guessed they owed it to the Bennet family.
They walked up to the entrance and stopped dead in their tracks. Cordelia reached for the brass fixture and rapped loudly. They stood still and stared at the closed door, waiting to be received. The butterflies in Beatty’s stomach were rising again, but she chose to put on a brave front.
Cordelia squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘I’m proud of you, Beatty,’ she whispered. She didn’t believe it possible, but Beatty grew a foot taller.
At last, they heard somebody at the door. The young maid who answered did not look pleased to see them. She looked them both up and down with disgust and repulsion. She looked akin to the previous young maid who had been dismissed. They had to be related.
‘Here we go again,’ Beatty thought.
Cordelia set the rude little missy straight. ‘The lady of the house is expectin’ us,’ she announced, her voice raised and authoritative. The maid, not expecting the rebuke, jumped with fright. Cordelia wasn’t quite through with her yet. ‘If I were you, young lady, I would wipe that sour look off your face or else I’ll wipe it off for you.’ Beatty smirked wryly at the audacity of her mother.
The maid changed instantly and stood aside. ‘Please come in,’ she suggested politely, her demeanour now more agreeable. She curtsied nervously as the women passed her by.
‘Your mistress will be hearin’ about this,’ Cordelia mumbled as she passed, still vexed by the girl’s rudeness.
‘Let it go,’ Beatty murmured in her mother’s ear. She was satisfied with the girl’s improvement.
They stepped into the foyer and from there the maid couldn’t be helpful enough. She assisted Beatty as she took off her coat and waited patiently as Cordelia slowly pulled at the ribbon under her chin. Cordelia took her time removing her hat and straightening her hair with her spare hand, sheerly to punish the poor girl.
She proceeded to unbutton her coat, a sleeveless style that draped from her shoulders. The coat was a fashionable wear her daughter had brought back from London. Cordelia handed the coat to the maid without any further show of antagonism. She had calmed right down and was now willing to cooperate.
After hanging their apparels, the maid returned to the guests. ‘This way, please,’ she said.
She led them up the stairs and along the hallway to the parlour room. Lady Bennet was seated with her three other guests. The Bennet girls were sitting by the window, sharing an illustrated book. Little George lay on the floor at their feet. He was concentrating on a wooden toy soldier. He rotated the arms and legs. It looked a new novelty, for it had him intrigued. Beatty guessed it was a gift from the visitors.
In under a minute of Beatty being in the room, Freya started twitching. Luckily, the out-of-town guests were too busy glaring at Beatty and her mother to notice.
Beatty took an instant dislike to the scowling visitors, particularly the mother. Lady Cornwall scared her. Her frown looked fixed and her stern body language cautioned Beatty not to challenge the old woman in any way.
Beatty could tell she was in for a treat. Lady Cornwall looked Beatty up and down like she was livestock going off to market, while her daughters preferred to stick their noses in the air and look away. One of them grunted like a pig.
Standing in front of these vulgar women, Beatty’s protective instincts kicked in. Her mother had been ordered by the old relic and her two ugly daughters to bring her for inspection. The Bennet girls’ accusations were starting to take effect.
‘Welcome, Cordelia,’ said Lady Bennet, ignoring the rudeness of her guests. ‘And it’s good to see you, Beatrice. Have you been sick? I haven’t seen you in a while.’
Did she not remember her daughters attacking her, Beatty wondered. It appeared to her Lady Bennet would rather bury her head in the sand and forget that day ever happened.
‘No, ma’am,’ Beatty said. ‘I’ve been busy, that’s all. Ma is gettin’ on, so I can’t expect her to carry the burden.’
‘No, of course not. How thoughtful of you, Beatty. Please, Cordelia, Beatrice, come sit with us.’ Lady Bennet moved over for both Cordelia and her daughter to join her on the sofa. Beatty was thankful they didn’t have to sit with the old crow.
‘I have to ask, where is Elsa?’ Cordelia probed as she slipped in beside Lady Bennet. Beatty squeezed in next to her.
‘I’m afraid she is tending to her sick mother,’ Lady Bennet replied. ‘She received an urgent letter a little after you left yesterday. I will miss her dearly.’
‘I do hope she returns,’ Cordelia noted. She was glad to be dealing with someone who was not a Blackwell or a Seymour. ‘She’s a keeper, that one.’
‘My oath,’ Lady Bennet agreed.
Beatty had nothing to offer in terms of conversation. She felt strange around the visitors. Their aloofness made her shy and Beatty wasn’t talkative at the best of times.
It was a good thing her ma and Lady Bennet had plenty to talk about. They enjoyed each other’s company, much to the distaste of her in-laws. Their indignation shone through. They observed with pained expressions Lady Bennet chatting merrily to the lesser class.
The matron of the Cornwall family didn’t try to bury her contempt. At first she sat with cold silence. Now and again, she couldn’t help but make a cutting remark. Unfortunately, her input in the conversation proved to be worse than her cold silence.
‘I heard Theodora Blackwell had a turn last Friday,’ remarked Cordelia.
‘Yes, I heard. How is the old dear?’ asked Lady Bennet.
‘Idle gossip is an abomination,’ Lady Cornwall intruded. ‘Is this how the lower class waste their precious time?’
‘We ain’t said anythin’ accusin’, Lady Cornwall,’ replied Cordelia, ‘And if it weren’t for us lower class, you wouldn’t be wearin’ your clean underwear.’ The old lady grunted at Cordelia’s vulgarity. ‘We’re busy keepin’ you snotty women in comfort so you don’t have to lift a finger. That’s how our precious time is spent.’
‘Any more insolence from you, Madam, and I’ll have you whipped,’ flared Lady Cornwall. She was disappointed that her sister-in-law had not come to her defence. ‘Maude, did you not hear how that woman spoke to me? And why are you mixing with the needy, anyway? You know my husband will not approve.’
‘My brother—your husband—is a kind soul and does not look down his nose at anyone. You forget, Margot, that you married above your station. You were nothing before you married my brother.’
This silenced Margot. However, her daughters gasped at the news. They had not known such fact until now. As they looked on, horrified at their mother, she gave them a warning look not to question her. They remained quiet. Their mother had always expected them to remain seen but not heard.
Lady Bennet felt awful outing her sister-in-law in this way. She wished she had thought before opening her mouth. ‘Forgive me, Margo. We shall have a discussion later. For now, Mrs Clarke, you were going to tell me how Theodora Blackwell is fairing.’
‘Oh, aye. She’s doin’ fine now, Lady Bennet. Don’t know any more than that. The town folk don’t talk to me much, unless they want me help. They pretend they don’t want to know me and then, when they are desperate to have their future read, they come to me.’
‘People are fickle,’ commented Lady Bennet. She ignored the accusing looks that came from her guests. Any mention that implied witchcraft had their ears pricked. ‘I heard it was her granddaughter who found her lying unconscious on the floor.’
‘Which granddaughter,’ asked Cordelia. ‘She must have a hundred of ’em.’ A slight exaggeration, but Cordelia
was known for her embellishments.
‘Maisie Blackwell, the girl I had working as my maid. The girl who caused a lot of trouble amongst my household.’
‘You are only angry with the girl because she called the witch out,’ fired Lady Cornwall. ‘You want to bury your head in the sand, Maude.’ For once, Beatty was in agreement with the old lady. It appeared Lady Bennet’s evasiveness did not go unnoticed, even to her family. However, Lady Cornwall was using it against her sister-in-law. Not to mention, she was making a serious accusation against Beatty.
Lady Bennet looked at her disdainfully. She didn’t have a chance to defend herself, for Cordelia was fired up.
‘If I ever come across her, I’ll give her a lashin’,’ retorted Cordelia. ‘The trouble she caused my Beatty.’ She looked over at Beatty who was sitting quietly, brooding in her own mind.
Beatty had promised her ma she would not make any trouble. But evidently, her ma made no such promise.
‘It’s that rotten Blackwell girl who is more likely to have put a bad spell on someone,’ Cordelia said.
‘I would say you are pointing the finger somewhere else to distract from your own girl’s guilt, Mrs Clarke,’ snapped Lady Cornwall. She sat up straighter and stuck her nose up even higher. She was taken with her own intelligence. Her daughters, too, looked at their mother as though she were the cleverest being. In their estimation, their mother was right about everything.
Beatty did not see the daughters as wallflowers. The mother may have been in charge, but her daughters were perfectly capable of communicating their own disdain. Though they were quiet, letting their mother run the show, Beatty had to endure their contemptuous stares. She could feel unpleasant vibes coming from them. She came close to telling them off, but out of respect for Lady Bennet, she chose not to reproach the guests who were her hostess’s family.
Lady Bennet stopped Cordelia from retaliating by resting her hand on Cordelia’s arm as a warning. ‘Lady Cornwall, that was way out of line. You owe Mrs Clarke and her daughter an apology.’
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