A Divided Inheritance

by Deborah Swift

  At first she was so taken aback that she could say nothing. He continued to nod and smile until it hit her like a slap. He was serious. She got to her feet. ‘Are you telling me that I am not to assist you any more? That you are to entrust Leviston’s Lace to Zachary? Why, we know nothing about him. He is a stranger –’

  ‘He’s not a stranger, he is our flesh and blood. Though if you need distraction, I’m sure he will find work for you to do, to occupy your idle hours.’

  ‘Is that how you view it, Father? Idle hours? That I was merely filling idle hours?’ She could barely get the words out. ‘Have you educated me and provided me with book learning about the world so that I can converse only with kitchen hands and maids?’

  ‘You go too far, Elspet. Remember yourself, pray. Do not make me have to chastise you.’

  She pressed her lips together, tried to calm herself. This could not be happening. She walked to the window and took in some deep breaths. At length she turned and addressed her father, with the thought that had been festering all day. ‘Do you intend that Zachary will stay here for good, Father? Is that what you have in mind? Is he to live here with us?’

  She saw the answer on his face before he opened his mouth. She looked away, her fists clenched under her folded arms.

  ‘Do not take it thus,’ Father said. ‘I know it will take a little getting used to. But he is a good boy at heart, a good Catholic boy, and it is best that I groom him and make him fit for business. He has had a somewhat unconventional life. My . . .’ He hesitated, chewed his lip as if searching for the right words. ‘My sister was an unusual woman. She has not brought him up the way she should. But he is yet young. He will need some tuition, take some time to adapt to our ways, but then his success will bring further prosperity to us all.’

  She bit back the words; she did not think Zachary would be as easy to mould as her father clearly did. He was no wet-eared youth, but a grown man. There was silence in the room, except that she could hear Diver outside, whining and scrabbling to get in.

  ‘Stop it, Diver!’ Father yelled at the door.

  Elspet turned back to face him. She felt as if she was begging for scraps herself. She asked him the burning question too sharply, as if she was merely asking what provisions she should order for dinner.

  ‘You have someone in mind, Father?’

  He looked sheepish. He knew exactly what she meant.

  ‘There is someone I think might be a good match,’ he said. ‘A fur trader. A merchant whose first wife died of the fever a few years back. He is a fine man – most devout, of our own persuasion. He fought for the Catholic cause with the Wright brothers in the Essex Rebellion.’ He rushed on, caught in his own enthusiasm, despite her stiffness and lack of response. ‘Father Everard could not speak of him too highly, and he is looking for another wife. It would be a good alliance – lace and fur – and would mean our family would have the chance to expand into that trade too, should we choose.’

  Zachary. He meant Zachary. She was to be married off to supply a cousin she barely knew with opportunities for trade.

  ‘And what is his name, pray?’

  ‘Hugh Bradstone. A good solid family.’

  She had never heard of him.

  ‘And he is very well connected,’ Father said, oblivious to her, stooping to refill his wine cup and waving it expansively in the air. ‘The family has a four-hundred-acre estate in the country near Tockton. Hugh’s just begun to take control over it with his father’s blessing. And perhaps he may wish to keep a house in London when he’s in town. He knows this house is to come to you. It will be a fine match.’

  ‘And tell me, where is Tockton?’

  ‘Yorkshire? Lancashire? Somewhere in the North, I think.’

  ‘And you are happy with this arrangement? That I should be shipped off miles away from you, to a place I’ve never heard of?’

  Father looked baffled. ‘I would have thought you’d be glad. I believe he’s quite personable.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That he looks decent enough. Tall, broad. A fine figure of a man. You’ll like him. Besides, I’ve invited him to dine with us next week.’ He sat down again as if the matter was closed.

  ‘But what about the dogs?’

  ‘I expect Broadbank will take them out, if you don’t wish to. What does it matter?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant, if I am to be married, who will care for them?’

  ‘Why, Broadbank of course, or Coleman, or the other staff.’

  She ran over to him then and crouched at his knee. ‘But Father, they’re nothing to them, they care for them because we pay them to, but it’s not the same as a master’s love. Does Mr Bradstone like dogs?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. What an absurd question. I know you love them, of course you do. But they are dogs. That’s all, just dogs.’ He sighed. ‘Try to find some perspective, Elspet, you cannot remain unmarried for ever. No, I have a good feeling about Hugh Bradstone – it will be a useful partnership, I am sure of it.’ He took up her hand where it rested on his knee, and held it as if unsure what to do with it. ‘This alliance – I know Rome will smile upon it, two old families like ours, both steeped in the Faith. Though of course it has to be said, if Bradstone takes you north, I shall miss you about the place.’

  ‘Not as much as I shall miss you,’ she said, clinging to his hand, choked at this unusual admission of affection.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, withdrawing his hand and waving her away, ‘nothing is set in stone. You have to meet the gentleman first. Brace up, and go and make sure Turner knows to wait supper for Zachary. And tell Coleman to fetch me directly he arrives. We will eat at eight of the clock.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’ She walked unsteadily out of the door and went straight to her chamber. She needed time to think. Her head was reeling with all the sudden changes that beset her. She was to be married to someone she had never met. That hateful cousin Zachary was to live with them and be trained to take on Father’s business – her business, that she had helped him with all these years since Mother died, telling him which laces were fashionable, what women were wanting for their household linen. And had she scrimped on stuffs for her own clothes so that her upstart cousin could squander the savings? She had always thought Father’s stinginess was to preserve her inheritance. She reached up to the window to pull the curtains tight shut and threw herself down on the bed.

  She pressed her hands to her head, to cool her forehead, and closed her eyes, but after a few moments opened them again to stare into the room. The embroidered coverlet made by her mother was faded, the colourful blue birds and yellow flowers bleached by the sun over the years to a drab brown. She hauled it up and wrapped herself in it like a protective cloak. She imagined Mother coming into the room, bowing her lace-capped head to listen in the way she always did when something had troubled her children. Elspet inhaled, trying to catch the faint rose scent her mother always wore in the pomander at her waist. But there was no trace of it.

  She had stupidly assumed she would stay in London. That she would be married, yes, but to a London man, a husband from the city who would love West View House as she did, who would want to restore it and keep it in their family for their children or future generations. Never for one moment had she thought she might be wed to someone who would take her out of town to some place – Tockton? It might as well be the New World, for all she knew about it. And Zachary was to join Father in the business. Why, he knew nothing whatever of the lace trade. But in her heart she knew he could learn. Father was determined to train him, and he taught well. It was the thing Father did the best. But perhaps she could put him off the idea, if she tried hard enough.

  Martha the maid’s arrival with hot water aroused her from her thoughts. She did not feel like dining with them, but knew she would go hungry if she did not. She washed and changed her day dress for more suitable apparel, a pale lemon skirt and bodice with tied sleeves, and let Martha tame her dark springy curls
into a knot at the nape of her neck. The gong for supper resounded in the hall, and smoothing her cheeks with her palms again to cool them, she descended the stairs. She did not want her cousin to realize how flustered she really was.

  But when she entered the great hall there was no sign of Zachary, and her father was pacing the floor.

  ‘Tell the kitchen to hold the meal,’ he snapped as the kitchen maid tottered in with a tray bearing three bowls of steaming leek soup. The maid hesitated a moment, unsure what to do. ‘For heaven’s sake. Put the tray down first, then go and tell them. I’ll send word to fetch the other courses up when my nephew is home.’

  She did as he bade her and retreated downstairs.

  ‘I thought he’d have been here by now,’ he mumbled to himself.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be along any moment,’ Elspet said, to soothe him, repressing the shameful hope that he was lost somewhere and would never return.

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Time passed by and, despite Father’s walking up and down, they both heard the thin bell of the time-piece ping the quarter, and then the half.

  ‘Come, Father, let us eat anyway,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he will smell his food and arrive directly.’

  ‘Till the next bell,’ he said.

  ‘Pray heaven he is not caught up in any trouble.’ She voiced a concern for him that she did not really feel. The worry was for her father, not for Zachary. It had bothered her all day, her father going to Mass. ‘It’s hardly safe for us Catholics to be abroad these days,’ she said.

  Father sat down on the dining chair, but then immediately stood up again, a crease of worry lodged between his eyebrows. ‘Bainbridge knows what he is doing.’

  She saw him chew his lip, and knew it was she who had sowed the seed of worry in him. She instantly regretted it.

  ‘I wonder if I should go to look for him?’ Father said.

  ‘I’m sorry. Take no heed of me. It was thoughtless of me.’ She hastened to comfort him. ‘I’m sure it is not anything to do with our faith. He’s safe, I’m sure. Perhaps he has simply forgotten the time, as folk do when they are engaged in an activity that attracts them. Many a time I have forgotten the hour whilst making a new design for a chair cover.’

  He looked at her as if her talk of chair covers was somehow an insult. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘What? What don’t I understand?’

  He sighed. ‘Nothing. It is not your fault, it is mine.’ Then, after a little rumination, he said, ‘You’re right, my dear. Let’s eat. I’ll send down to the kitchen.’

  He shook the bell and the food was duly summoned. They left the soup, which had gone cold. When the hot platters arrived the beef was dry and the cabbage had disintegrated into greenish water in the dish, but by that time Elspet was so hungry that she did not care. After a perfunctory grace she set to eating with relish.

  Father tutted. ‘Try to be a little more dainty, won’t you, Elspet? Hugh Bradstone will be expecting a lady of manners.’

  ‘And he will have one,’ she said pointedly, ‘provided that Cousin Zachary sees fit to keep good time, and does not keep the whole household waiting.’

  Father did not answer but pursed his lips and, with a gloomy expression, helped himself to more of the dripping cabbage. Their meal was finished in silence.

  Whenever there was a noise outside, Father kept jumping from his seat, and when there was still no sign of his errant nephew, he sat back down again. She said nothing, for to do so would be to reproach him again, and the loud tick of the hall clock did that task well enough.

  She picked up her napkin and wiped her mouth and hands. ‘I will be in the oak chamber as usual,’ she said.

  He nodded impatiently, as though her voice interrupted his listening.

  So for another night she sat alone with her woolwork. A small part of her felt slightly pleased that Zachary was proving to be what she thought he was, a lazy good-for-nothing. The front door banged shut, and she paused with her needle. Almost curfew time. Through a chink in the curtain she spied Father standing on the doorstep, still waiting. Her heart went out to him. The foolish old thing; he must be worried that something had befallen Zachary. It pained her to see him thus, standing out in the cold.

  Curse Zachary. Why couldn’t he keep to his agreements? She found herself uncomfortably torn between hoping Zachary hurried on home, and hoping he would never come back. She heard the servants go to the dining room next door to collect the rest of the dishes, and in the quiet she could not help but hear their whispered conversation.

  ‘Not back yet, then?’ came Martha’s reedy voice.

  ‘No. Mr Leviston’s in a rare old lather over it.’

  ‘Shh. He might hear.’

  ‘No. He’s gone out to look for him. I heard the door go.’

  Elspet paused in her sewing and strained to catch their conversation. Of course her mother’s warnings that those who eavesdrop hear nothing good about themselves came instantly to mind, yet still she could not help herself.

  ‘You know what they’re saying, don’t you?’ The kitchen maid.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That he’s not his nephew. Master Zachary. That he’s his . . .’ Here the sound fell into a whisper.

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Ssh! I heard it from the apothecary. I was at his counter as they passed by this morning, and I said to that nice Mr Hollis, “Look, there goes Mr Leviston’s nephew.” He says, “No, miss, it can’t be.” He says he’s seen him afore and he’s a ruffian. Says he’s a cloak-snatcher from St Giles. Can you believe that?’

  ‘No. That can’t be right. He must have got the wrong lad—’

  Elspet was on her feet without thinking. She threw open the door so that it banged against the wall. Both maids jumped, their eyes wide with shock.

  ‘Have you finished clearing the table?’ she asked.

  They nodded dumbly in unison.

  ‘Then stop your gossiping out here and return those plates to the kitchen.’

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ they bleated in chorus, and dived below stairs.

  Elspet’s heart was thudding behind her wooden stomacher. Heaven forbid Father had heard any of their scurrilous nonsense. To conjecture, well, that was natural. But to spread malicious gossip, that was quite another matter. She would not brook servant chatter about the family, not even about Zachary, whatever her own personal thoughts on him were.

  She pulled the front door open and called impatiently from the threshold, ‘Pardon me, Father, but I think you will do him no good standing out there. Why don’t you come inside? If something has happened, someone will surely come to tell us of it.’

  ‘They may not know where he lodges,’ he protested.

  ‘But I fear for you; your chest is still weak after your fever. Far better to wait indoors than stand out there in the cold.’

  ‘I thought he would be back.’ His face was crestfallen, like a small boy.

  ‘Where did you last see him?’

  ‘At the Dog and Bucket. He was going to the fencing master.’

  ‘Then let us send the stable lad to Hanging Sword Alley to see if he can discover where he is.’

  ‘Do not fuss. But perhaps you’re right. I’ll send a lad out.’

  But the stable lad could find no news, and it was the early hours of the morning before Zachary returned. A rapping at the door made Elspet sit up sharp in bed, confused with sleep. She listened and caught the sound of something clattering. Then curses and the noise of metal scraping on the wall.

  She reached for her shawl, grabbed the night lantern and stumbled out on to the gallery. She peered down the stairwell into the shadowy hall. A servant had obviously opened up, despite her father’s express command that after night curfew the house be barred to entry.

  Zachary was slumped against the wall, still wearing his sword and, by the look of it, blind drunk. A flickering candle sconce cast a yellow glow over his crumpled form. He sported a black eye, a bloody ear and a deep gas
h to his forehead. His hair was wet and matted to his scalp.

  Father must have lain awake all night, for he had been far quicker than her to the hall, and he was still in his nightgown, his face gaunt as Death himself. The manservant and her father struggled to haul Zachary to his feet, but he resisted them.

  She ran down the stairs, but Father waved her away.

  ‘Go back to bed, Elspet. We can manage.’

  ‘Shall I—’

  He hunched his body over Zachary and shouted urgently over his shoulder, ‘Back to bed, I say!’ He was trying to shield her from the sight of her cousin. It struck her that he was ashamed. He did not want her to see Zachary like this. ‘Back to bed!’

  It was an order, and she obeyed. She watched from behind her chamber door on the upper gallery as they hauled Zachary by the armpits, half stumbling, his boots dragging on the floor, round the steps to the lower nursery. She was horrified. Father was a penny fool if he intended to put his business in the hands of such a gin-soak. And what if the servants were right? She hardly dared contemplate what that would mean.

  The soles of Zachary’s boots disappeared round the corner and there was a whump as they threw him on to the bed. A shout of protestation, and Father’s voice urging, ‘Lie down.’

  ‘The bastards jumped me,’ came Zachary’s voice, slurred and hoarse. ‘It wasn’t a fair fight.’

  A few minutes later Father stepped back into the hall, grey-faced and grim, and ascended the stairs to his chamber. He would not catch her eye. Instead he grasped her door handle, and banged the door closed so hard it was enough to make the lock rattle. She was shut out again. Father clearly thought this was no business of hers.

  Chapter 6

  Elspet could not fathom it. Even after the drama of the night before, Zachary and Father continued with their usual routine of early repast, Mass at Mr Bainbridge’s house, and then a day at Father’s warehouses and office. Of course she was obliged to wait at home. Apparently Bainbridge thought women in their midst would draw attention to their illegal comings and goings. But privately she thought it was probably because they did business together afterwards. She pushed away the resentment as she watched them return together at night from her upstairs window.