As preparations for the Wilsons' departure proceeded apace, Becky made ready to return to Edgewater. Hers would be a much shorter journey, but she would leave with as heavy a heart as Emma Wilson's, with the added sorrow of being unable to see or assist her friend in any way at this time.
Shortly before leaving, she sought out Emma, who confessed that she had been concerned about Emily Courtney for some time.
"Things have not gone well for Emily ever since Reverend Courtney's illness," she explained. "It was only last month that I received from my mother, who had herself been poorly but thankfully is now on the mend, a most worrying letter, in which she wrote that Mr and Mrs Darcy had been made aware that the Courtneys had very little savings left and their youngest daughter Jessica was concerned, lest her mother should not have sufficient to live on, now she is a widow with no fixed income."
Becky understood Jessica's anxiety; she knew that despite her straitened circumstances, Emily would neither increase the rents paid by her tenants on Oakleigh Manor, nor would she consider retrenching any of her servants. When she pointed this out, Emma agreed and added, "And of course, she supports many of the poor families in the village as she has done for years. I do not mean to suggest that she should not, God bless her, she has the most generous heart in the world, but she will not consider that she must make some allowance for herself too."
Becky expressed her regrets once again at being unable to accompany the Wilsons on their journey, offering her assistance in any way that was necessary.
"If it is a question of money, Emma, please do not hesitate to call on me, because I should be honoured to assist. Emily is the closest friend I have in the family, and it would be my great pleasure to do anything to help. I find it very bewildering that things should have come to this unhappy pass."
It was a circumstance Becky was bound to ponder as she bade farewell to her friends and returned home to Edgewater that afternoon.
Chapter Eight
Becky Tate, having spent a week of nervous anxiety preparing for her visit to Blessington Manor, was within an hour of reaching her destination.
They had left Edgewater early and had made good time, travelling at an easy pace through some of the prettiest countryside in southern England; Becky had to remind herself that this friendly, welcoming county was now, once more, her home.
Having spent most of her adult life in Derbyshire, where the rugged magnificence of the landscape was of such a scale as to awe a young person who had been born and raised in the south, hearing its praises sung constantly by those who lived there, Becky had almost forgotten how engaging and attractive was her own home county, Kent.
With its gentle cultivated slopes bounded by friendly hedgerows, its wide swathes of thick but tidy woodland and verdant pasture surrounding prosperous farms and orchards, Kent had a uniquely pleasing quality that appealed to her present mood.
Much as she had enjoyed her earlier days at Matlock, where with Emily, Caroline, and Cassandra she had been eager to challenge the petty bureaucracies of the councils in order to improve the lives of people in their community, Becky had grown weary of public life, and more recently, she had found her interests centred upon more personal concerns. It was a mood that was more comfortably accommodated within the boundaries of the subtler, gentler environs of the southern counties than the rough-hewn contours of the North.
However, even here, Becky noted, not every prospect was equally pleasing.
As they approached the district in which the village of Blessington was situated, Becky noticed that the countryside had not the sense of spaciousness and prosperity that characterised the surroundings of Standish Park or Rosings. The roads on which they travelled, leaving the main highway, were rutted and uneven, while the lowly farm dwellings that could be seen across the fields were rough and deficient by any standard. They were nothing like the neat cottages of the tenants of Standish Park or Pemberley, and the women and children on the street and in the hedgerows looked much poorer than those she was accustomed to seeing. Clearly, not all landlords were equally concerned with the welfare of the rural poor, thought Becky as they journeyed closer to their destination.
The landscape around Blessington Manor was flat and uninspiring; it had just missed being situated at the point where the river, on its way to Canterbury, broke through the Downs, creating a graceful vista. Instead, it seemed to have been set down at random, without plan or purpose, a dull house in a broad featureless meadow, with neither woodland nor park to attract the eye or soften the aspect.
An orchard of mainly gnarled apple trees was all that clothed the bare surrounding grounds around the manor house. Compared with the simple elegance of Standish Park, Becky judged the building to be rather overdone, with too many windows glinting like pairs of spectacles on the plain brick façade and several nondescript farm buildings clustered around the main edifice.
Becky was disappointed; she had expected better.
"I hope the interior is rather more tasteful than its exterior," she thought as they drew up at the porch.
A manservant appeared and assisted her to alight, while a maid waited at the door to escort her into the house, along a large but unprepossessing hall, lined with trophies of several hunts, into the sitting room, where she was greeted by Mrs Bancroft.
A tall, lean woman with a dignified but kindly countenance, Mrs Bancroft was surprisingly friendly and agreeable. At the very least, Becky thought, she is unlikely to throw me out when she discovers the chief purpose of my visit.
Indeed, Mrs Bancroft's hospitality was unexceptionable; she had the
fire stoked up to a comfortable blaze and ordered that tea be served at once, believing that her guest must be in need of refreshment after her journey across the county.
The two women talked easily of one thing and another and made general conversation ranging through sundry topics from the mild Autumn weather to the desirability of making public education compulsory for all children. On many of these matters they were happily agreed.
There was, however, no sign of Mr Bancroft and no mention of him through tea, which was odd, Becky thought. She assumed this was because he was out attending to business on the manor or presiding over the sittings of the County Court.
It turned out that neither was the case.
Mrs Bancroft, having refrained from making any reference to her husband for an hour or more, suddenly asked that his absence be excused and, by way of explanation, declared that he was from home, attending the assizes at Canterbury, where he had been summoned as a witness in a criminal matter. Becky, though thoroughly taken aback by this piece of unsolicited information, recovered quickly enough to smile and nod as though it was perfectly normal for gentlemen to be so engaged every day of the week. She could not help wondering though, after all she had heard from both Mr Wilson and Mr Edward Fairfax the previous week, what manner of criminal case Mr Bancroft had been summoned to attend.
As for Mrs Bancroft, she seemed completely unperturbed and continued to make conversation and dispense tea and cake until Becky felt compelled to introduce the subject that had been the main reason for her visit.
Almost an hour had elapsed since she had arrived and the servants had cleared away the tea tray before Becky first mentioned Alice Grey.
Seeing the astonished expression on Mrs Bancroft's face, she explained quickly how the girl and her son had been found camping in one of the barns on her property, furtively leaving the place at daybreak to work in the hop fields and returning at nightfall.
"She seemed fearful and timid; it took a great deal of time and effort to persuade her that she was safe from persecution in my household and would not be handed over to the police, of whom she appeared quite terrified," Becky explained.
Mrs Bancroft shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, as
though she did not wish to be overheard. "That does not surprise me, Mrs Tate; she has reason enough to fear the police, poor girl. I am happy to hear she is sa
fe—once she left here, I have had no idea where she might be hiding."
"Hiding?" cried Becky, confused. "Has Alice any reason to hide from the police? I had not thought she would be in any trouble with the law."
"Oh no, she is quite without guilt, but she may fear that the police would reveal her whereabouts to…" Her voice trailed away and she looked thoroughly discomfited as Becky asked, "To whom? Is there someone she particularly fears? Mrs Bancroft, I must appeal to you to be open with me, please. I have taken Alice Grey and her child into my home and given her work and a place to stay, free of worry and harassment. If there is anything I need to know, anything that might lead to involvement in matters outside the law, then I beg you to tell me, not just for my own protection but for the sake of the girl and her son."
Mrs Bancroft's countenance seemed to reflect both gravity and sadness.
Indeed, Becky could not help feeling sorry for her, as she struggled to explain with some degree of coherence that, while Alice Grey had done nothing to attract the wrath of the law, she was in danger of being harassed by others, whose status in society and influence with the officers of the constabulary could well pose a threat to her safety.
Becky grew impatient as her hostess talked around the subject, giving her little information. It seemed to her that Mrs Bancroft was reluctant to provide her with any facts. But as the evening wore on and they went in to dinner, she appeared to accept Becky's bonafides more readily and the disclosures came more quickly.
At first, Becky asked a few questions and received rather innocuous answers, but when she revealed that Alice was clearly afraid of someone and mentioned the name of the man Danby, Mrs Bancroft's face grew taut, and she said almost in a whisper, "Danby's a blackguard! I would not tolerate his presence in my house, but he is one of my husband's friends, and I have no control over them."
Becky, deciding to seize the moment, asked, "Was Mr Danby involved in the laying of information against Alice Grey's husband, William Rickman?" and was stunned by the angry response.
"Indeed he was, and so was his uncle the brewer. They were in it together, and I believe they suborned the police and plotted to get rid of Rickman. I am convinced it was a most unjust prosecution. No one in this village believes that Rickman was guilty."
Becky was eager to hear more, and having extracted a promise of secrecy, Mrs Bancroft revealed that Danby had become obsessed with the girl when she lived in the village and had begun to pester her long before she came to work at the manor house.
"I had picked her out at the workhouse after her unfortunate husband had been sent to prison; she wasn't a common village lass. I saw something decent and genuine in her and wished to help the girl," she said, explaining that she had known nothing of Danby's villainy nor the misfortunes of William Rickman at the time.
"But Alice told me soon enough. Although well able to cope with other duties in the house, when I offered the position of chamber maid, she refused and asked to be allowed to work in the kitchen, where she would never be left alone, rather than above stairs, fearing she would be importuned and would have no escape. I said nothing at the time, being unsure of her, but when Danby approached me with some far-fetched scheme about getting her well-paid work at his uncle's house in town, if she could be persuaded to give up her child for adoption, my suspicions were confirmed. Clearly he had not given up on her and was determined to have her one way or another."
"What did you say?" asked Becky, outraged.
"I refused, of course; I said I needed her to work for me and was certainly not prepared to suggest that Alice, having lost her husband, should now give up her son! Besides I was responsible for her, having removed her from the workhouse on my own warrant. I could see it was a preposterous ploy to get the girl out of my care and into their clutches. I decided I would not even tell her about it, even though Mr Bancroft thought it was a good idea. He thought the girl would benefit; I did not. In truth, I planned thereafter to help her get away from Blessington altogether. I gave her sufficient money and arranged to have her conveyed from the house, without anyone knowing but my housekeeper. The servants still think she ran away, and I have let them believe it for her own good."
Becky had been silent as she spoke but then decided to reveal that Alice Grey had told her of Mrs Bancroft's kindness to her. "I am sure you will be happy to hear that she speaks of you with great affection and gratitude," she said. "It was the reason I decided to approach you. I wanted to help Alice and her son, but I needed more information. I had to know the truth about William Rickman; Alice claims he was falsely accused…"
"He was," said Mrs Bancroft with conviction. "Sometime after Alice had left the village, I met with some of those who had worked with Rickman at the brewery; there was not one who had a bad word for him. They all knew William Rickman was not a thief; he'd been the victim of a malicious lie, a cruel, corrupt plot to get rid of him."
"And is Alice right when she claims Mr Danby used his influence with the police to have Rickman indicted?" asked Becky, wishing to discover how much Mrs Bancroft knew.
"I have no proof, but I believe it to be the case," Mrs Bancroft replied. "There can be no other explanation for Danby's behaviour. I understand also that he had attempted, on a previous occasion, to get her out of the workhouse, claiming his sister needed a housemaid and was willing to have her, if she would leave her child behind to be brought up as an orphan. Mrs Garbutt, whose husband was in charge of the workhouse, would not agree. She knew from seeing the marriage papers that Alice was really Annabel Grey, the daughter of a gentleman. She refused to allow it and told me later she did not trust Danby or his uncle; she was convinced they would take the girl and use her, and when they tired of her, they would get rid of her, as so many of them do."
Becky's face betrayed her horror; she had not imagined it could be as bad as this. Now, she could understand Alice's fears and her reluctance to reveal anything that might betray her whereabouts to Danby.
"Mr Danby must have been furious when she was released into your care," she remarked, and Mrs Bancroft smiled, for the first time, a rather contented smile.
"No doubt he was, and Mrs Garbutt has certainly heard some of his fury. He is not a pleasant man when he is crossed. But there was nothing he could do. I had signed the papers, and Alice came willingly to work for me," she said with some degree of satisfaction.
"She was with me for almost a year, and she could have done well here; she is an honest, decent girl and quite well educated—she reads and writes very well—but Danby kept visiting my husband and would not leave her alone.
Finally, I had to get her away for her own protection."
Becky felt great sympathy for Mrs Bancroft; there was clearly a genuine, benevolent heart beneath her somewhat sedate exterior.
"Mrs Bancroft, knowing all you know, will you help me find William Rickman?" she asked.
"Find him? Is he not in prison? I had heard he was to be transported to Van Dieman's Land. I have heard no more of him," she said, and Becky, still cautious about giving too much away, said only that she had learned he was not transported but had been imprisoned somewhere in England instead.
"Alice Grey is desperate to find him, for her child's sake, even if he is still in jail, and I should like to help her, but to do so, we need to know all the facts of the case."
Mrs Bancroft was thoughtful at first, but seemed gradually to arrive at a point of understanding at which she agreed to help if she could, but said again that it would have to be done with great caution and secrecy.
"I shall have to approach the young lawyer Mr Nicholls, who was in court when Rickman was convicted. I understand he was so outraged, he wrote to his Member of Parliament about the case, describing it as a travesty of justice. He lives in town, and I am well acquainted with his wife, who attends the village church. I can appeal to her and through her to her husband. If I do discover some useful information, I shall contact you at once, but I have to be careful; Mr Bancroft will not be pleased
should he find out that I am involved."
Becky was delighted. It was more than she had expected.
She thanked her hostess for her hospitality before preparing to leave, saying she wished to be back at Edgewater before dark.
Wishing her a safe journey, Mrs Bancroft expressed the hope that the parish school at Hunsford, of which they had spoken, should be the forerunner of many more in the county.
"I should have liked to establish just such a school here at Blessington; sadly, Mr Bancroft is unlikely to agree. He is of the opinion that the education of children, particularly girls, should be the province only of the church. I do not believe he will countenance our involvement in such a project."
There was no doubting the genuine regret in her voice.
The two women parted amicably; it seemed they had both acquired a
degree of respect for one another. Each had begun their meeting with some reservations about the other, but their humanity and concern for young Alice Grey had helped them overcome their doubts and make common cause. For Becky it had been a day well spent.
Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles) Page 13