A few minutes later, while Abbey was still considering what might become of her, a man approached the dugout. Abbey recognised him as Ebenezer Mason’s driver.
“What do you want?” she asked coldly.
“My name is Alfie Holbrook. I’m here to deliver a note, Miss Scottsdale,” he said tersely. “You do read, don’t you?” His tone held a hint of disdain.
Abbey nodded, so he handed her a folded note.
“I’ve been instructed to await a reply,” Alfie said. He turned his back and walked a few paces away, while Abbey read the note.
Dear Miss Scottsdale,
I have reconsidered my responsibilities towards the families of the men killed in the recent tragedy at the mine. While I feel it was a terrible accident, an act of God, I must meet my moral responsibilities. I would like to invite you to Martindale Hall this evening to discuss compensation for the loss of your father. My driver will wait for you.
Yours truly,
Ebenezer Mason
Abbey reacted angrily. “Act of God, indeed.” She tore the note into pieces.
The man looked at her with a steely glare as he remembered his boss’s strict instructions. “I’ll be in the Miner’s Arms Hotel when you change your mind,” he said. “But I’ll only be there until 6:30.” He began to walk away.
“I don’t care if you’re there for a week,” Abbey murmured at his back. “I’ll not change my mind.”
Vera Nichols had been speaking to Abbey’s neighbour and had overheard the exchange. She stepped back into Abbey’s dugout.
“Wasn’t that Mr. Mason’s driver?” Vera asked.
Abbey nodded angrily. “He thinks compensation will make up for my father’s death,” she said crossly. “He had the nerve to offer me three pounds at the cemetery on the day of my father’s funeral. He’s the most arrogant, irresponsible, money-hungry …”
“Abbey, if Mr. Mason is offering you compensation, you can’t turn it down,” Vera said.
Abbey had wanted money to bury her father, but she hadn’t wanted it for herself. “How can I take money for my father’s death? That wouldn’t be right.”
“I know it won’t bring him back, but you haven’t been able to find a job, have you?”
“No, and that’s Mr. Mason’s fault. I’m sure he’s told everyone in town not to hire me.”
Vera thought Abbey must be mistaken. She couldn’t think of any reason why Mr. Mason would take a personal interest in Abbey’s employment prospects. The girl’s grief was clouding her judgement. “If you don’t accept Mr. Mason’s money, you’re likely to starve, or worse, you’ll be forced to become a prostitute.”
Abbey gasped in horror. “I’d never do that. How can you suggest such a thing?”
“Many a good woman has been forced to sell her body when faced with starving or keeping a roof over her head, Abbey,” Vera said, a humiliating memory that she’d buried for years coming to mind. “Don’t be a fool. Take that man’s money with both hands. Pride and resentment won’t put food in your mouth or get you out of this God-awful place.”
As angry as she was, Abbey had to admit Vera had a point. Abbey was in a desperate situation. She had no money for food, and she was too proud to ask for a handout from one of her neighbours when they were barely any better off than she was. She should take Ebenezer Mason’s money and see to it that Amy and Emily, now orphans, got some money, too, for their futures.
Swallowing her pride, Abbey went to the Miner’s Arms Hotel and told Ebenezer Mason’s driver that she would go with him as long as he would drive her home again. He didn’t look a bit surprised to see her, and he did promise to drive her back to Burra. A few minutes later, they were underway.
***
Ebenezer Mason’s fine carriage rocked along winding dusty roads through the countryside while Abbey sat inside, staring bleakly out of the window. The heat of the late afternoon sun was conceding to the coolness of evening, but Abbey was barely aware of time passing. She was thinking about how excited her father had been at the prospect of them making this journey together, before a few tragic minutes had changed their lives forever.
Suddenly the carriage jolted to a stop in front of a black wrought iron gate. The driver jumped out and opened the massive gateway, which revealed the road to Martindale Hall. They’d driven a mile and a half outside the town of Mintaro, and Abbey was teary-eyed with regret. But as they made their way up the long road, passing the coach house and stables, an enormous set of buildings, she grew wide-eyed with awe. She’d never seen such a grand coach house. Built of sandstone, it was set back from the road and had tall date palm trees on either side and behind it.
As the road wound left, then right and headed towards an incline, Abbey held her breath, waiting for the house to come into view. When the carriage stopped, she looked up at Martindale Hall and gasped. She’d been expecting something quite grand, but it was beyond anything she ever imagined.
Set on a rise in the grounds, Martindale Hall was an enormous, square, Georgian-style building. At the front there were eight shuttered windows on two levels and a curtained bay window over double entry doors. Sixteen steps swept up to the house. Two urns on pillars stood on either side of the first step, with glowing lanterns set on top of them.
Ebenezer Mason’s driver opened the door for Abbey. As she stepped out, she looked upwards, noting the house had a flat rooftop with an ornate railing around it. It, too, was decorated with fancy urns. She turned to look around her. A vast, green lawn surrounded the house. In the growing darkness she could just make out cricket and polo fields, and beyond that, hundreds of acres of grazing land and trees.
“Come this way, Miss Scottsdale,” the driver said in an unfriendly tone. Abbey went up the steps towards the house with her head down. At the front door, she took a deep breath, but before she could knock, one of the double doors opened, and she was greeted by a butler, a stooped, elderly man with graying hair and a dark moustache.
“Miss Scottsdale,” he said, his baritone voice revealing an English accent.
“Yes,” Abbey replied meekly. She suddenly felt terribly nervous at the prospect of confronting Mr. Mason in his own imposing home.
“My name is Winston Grey. Please, come in. The master is expecting you.”
Clearly Ebenezer Mason was used to getting his way, but Abbey was determined to come away with something. The greedy old man owed her that much, and she owed it to her father’s memory to make things right.
Abbey turned to speak to the carriage driver. “You will wait …” He’d gone. Then she saw the carriage pulling away. “Wait!” she called.
“Mr. Holbrook is only taking the carriage to the coach house, Miss Scottsdale,” Winston said.
“But he said he’d wait and take me home,” Abbey said.
Winston looked bemused. “Did he?” he said in a skeptical tone. “That will be up to the master.”
A chill ran up Abbey’s spine. That had not been part of the agreement. Her uneasiness grew as she was ushered into a black and white marble vestibule that opened into a stately main hall with a domed glass roof and parquet flooring. The hall was dominated by a carved staircase that split into two from the first landing. It led to an overhanging gallery on the first floor, where there were numerous doors. Abbey gazed about her, anxious yet struck by the beauty of the hall.
“The master is waiting in the dining room,” Winston said. “Please, come this way.”
Abbey wondered why Mr. Mason would be in the dining room, but she followed Winston into a side hallway and then into a formal dining room. Ebenezer was sitting at the far end of a large table that was surrounded by twelve high-backed tapestry chairs. Two places had been laid, Abbey noted with annoyance, one at either end of the table.
Ebenezer Mason stood to greet her. “Ah, Miss Scottsdale, thank you for coming.” He thought Abbey looked ravishing desp
ite the dirt and poverty of the dugouts. He felt a tingle of excitement when he thought how he could make her look even more beautiful. A bath and some new clothes would work wonders.
His tone implied that he had never doubted she would come. Abbey wanted to say she had no choice, but she felt too proud to admit it. “I’m not happy to be here,” she acknowledged out loud.
Ebenezer barely flinched and chose to ignore her comment. “Would you like something to drink before dinner? I’ve taken the liberty of pouring you a glass of my finest wine.”
Abbey could smell something delicious, and her stomach grumbled noisily. She couldn’t remember the last meal she’d had, but she’d sooner eat broken glass than dine with Ebenezer Mason. “I’m not here to dine with you, Mr. Mason. I’m here to discuss compensation,” she said tersely.
Ebenezer gave her a wry smile. She had no idea that he was thinking he’d soon tame her acid tongue once he had her under his control. “I know, my dear,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. “But it is dinner-time, and we have to eat.”
Abbey was angry at his attempt to manipulate her. “Surely you don’t expect me to dine with you when I believe you are responsible for the death of my father?”
Ebenezer’s green eyes hardened like flint for just a moment. “As you wish,” he said with patience he wasn’t really feeling. “But you will sit down to discuss our business, won’t you?”
It was a question, but Abbey caught the hint of a threat. “I suppose,” she said in a small voice. Once their business was concluded, she was determined to flee as fast as she possibly could.
Ebenezer came towards her and placed a wine glass in front of her. The ruby liquid shimmered in the candlelight. Feeling nervous, Abbey took a gulp of the wine, hoping it would bolster her courage. It was slightly bitter, but she soon felt a warm glow spread through her, and her legs became heavy. Ebenezer chatted casuallly about the house as she continued to sip the wine. She heard him say that the walls were made of Manoora freestone, three feet thick in places, and that the tradesmen who built his home had been brought from England. But soon his voice began fading into the distance. She felt strangely light-headed; her arms and legs heavy as lead.
“Is something wrong, my dear?” Abbey heard Ebenezer ask. She turned to look at him at the other end of the enormous dining table. He suddenly seemed far, far away. She saw another man standing beside him, dressed like a minister.
“Who are you?” Abbey slurred, unable to get any more words out. She received no answer, but Ebenezer was smiling. The room began to spin, and Abbey realised that she was in far more danger than she could have ever imagined.
CHAPTER 4
Hours later, a piercing scream jolted Abbey from sleep. She winced, opening her eyes to blurry surroundings. She could barely discern the shape of a person running away from her. An unfamiliar bitter taste coated her tongue.
Disorientated, she struggled to clear her foggy mind. Where am I? she thought. She knew she wasn’t on the dugout floor, where she usually slept on a stuffed burlap bag, but was instead, somewhere much softer. Gradually, a large canopied bed came into focus. She lifted the blanket and saw she was wearing an unfamiliar nightdress. Her head was resting on an overly stuffed feather pillow, but a throbbing headache pounded her brain. Panic spread as she realised that she did not recognise her surroundings. She could hear hysterical shouting some distance away.
Abbey winced, glancing toward the window. The heavy drapes were tied back, but the window was shuttered, so the room was dim. Even so, she could just see enough light to know that it was daylight outside. How much time had passed since that horrid meeting? The last thing she remembered was sitting in Martindale Hall’s dining room with Ebenezer Mason.
Turning her head in the other direction, Abbey could make out the form of a person lying next to her. She blinked in confusion, trying to clear her vision.
“Father?” she said and felt a fleeting moment of joy.
Their dugout had two rooms, but with nothing to divide them, she was accustomed to seeing her father sleeping on a nearby mattress. Had the last few days just been a nightmare? Was her father still alive?
Moving closer, Abbey reached out to touch him, then recoiled in horror when she recognised Ebenezer Mason’s head on the pillow beside her. This time the scream she heard was her own.
Abbey scrambled from the bed, her wobbly legs barely holding her upright. The shock seemed to clear her vision, and she stood facing the bed, expecting Ebenezer’s eyes to open, but he remained asleep. Embarrassment met with dismay when she realised she wasn’t wearing anything underneath the nightgown. She looked around and saw her clothes on a chair. Grabbing her dress, she held it in front of her in an attempt to cover herself.
“What have you done?” she demanded of Ebenezer Mason on the verge of tears. “Wake up, and tell me. How did I get in your bed?” Abbey struggled to remember how she got there, but couldn’t remember anything after being in the dining room. Anger spread through her, as she realised this despicable man had taken advantage of her. When Abbey thought of him removing her clothes, shame and disgust washed over her. She began to gag, but she couldn’t vomit because her stomach was so empty. She felt a bit strange down there. But no. It couldn’t be. She pushed the distressing thoughts from her mind.
Suddenly the door burst open. A young maid and an older woman swept into the room, hurrying past Abbey as if she weren’t there. They looked distressed as they rushed to the side of the bed and examined Ebenezer Mason. The young maid was crying hysterically. Abbey realised it must have been her that she’d heard screaming.
“What has that filthy scoundrel done to me?” Abbey demanded to know as tears ran down her cheeks.
The older maid swung around to face her. “What have you done to the master?” she asked accusingly.
“What have I done?” Abbey gasped, unable to believe they offered her no sympathy. “He invited me here to talk,” she stammered. “I knew I shouldn’t have come. I knew it. He gave me some wine. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“You’ve killed your husband,” the younger maid cried before she fled the room sobbing uncontrollably again.
“Husband? He is not my husband,” Abbey protested, aghast. “And what do you mean I’ve killed him?”
“Of course, he’s your husband,” the older maid snapped. “You married him last night!” She clutched Abbey’s left hand and showed her the glistening wedding band on her third finger. “The master was perfectly healthy last night and now he’s dead. You must have killed him.”
Abbey stared at her in disbelief. This can’t be happening, she thought. She ran to the side of the bed and peered at Ebenezer Mason closely. He appeared to be asleep. “He’s not dead, and I’ll prove it,” she shouted, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up,” she demanded.
“Haven’t you done enough?” the maid accused angrily, pushing her backwards. “Get away from the master.”
“He’s not dead,” Abbey insisted, too afraid to believe it. “He can’t be!”
“He is, and you killed him.” The maid stabbed a finger at Abbey’s chest, angrily.
Abbey stared at her again. “I did not,” she said. “I didn’t even know he was lying beside me until I opened my eyes.”
“Get dressed, and leave this room immediately,” the maid said vehemently, before she headed for the door.
“I didn’t do anything,” Abbey protested. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m not capable of hurting anyone. Not even him.”
The maid, who was short and stout, came towards Abbey, wagging a finger under her nose. “You get out of here, now, or so help me, you’ll be sorry.”
“Very well,” Abbey said in a shaky voice. “But”
“Go, now,” the maid screamed, and Abbey jumped back, nearly falling over.
The maid left the room, and Abbey heard her calling the butler, so sh
e quickly dressed, keeping a close eye on Ebenezer, in case he woke up. By the time Winston walked into the room with the maid, Abbey was putting her shoes on. She was sitting on a chair just behind the door, so they didn’t see her as they went to the bedside.
Winston examined Ebenezer, and finding no pulse, declared that he was definitely dead, and that it appeared he had been for some hours. When Abbey heard this, she shuddered. The thought of spending hours lying beside a dead man chilled her to the bone.
“That woman the master married must have killed him,” the older maid cried.
Abbey wanted to protest again, but Winston’s rigid countenance was frightening. When the younger maid came into the room, still hysterical, Abbey took advantage of the diversion and darted out through the door. As she crept towards the stairs, she overheard Winston say that the constabulary should be called. Abbey fled downstairs as fast as she could. She couldn’t understand why they were blaming her for Ebenezer Mason’s death and still couldn’t recall what happened after being in the dining room with him.
Once outside, Abbey began running down the steps and along the long road that wound through Martindale Hall’s grounds. She still felt weak and wobbly, but she was determined to get as far away as possible while she could. As she ran, she kept glancing over her shoulder at the upstairs windows of the house, grateful they were shuttered to keep the heat out, therefore preventing anyone from seeing her. She had no idea of the time. It wasn’t yet very hot, so she was sure it was still morning. Even so, she was perspiring by the time she got to the coach house.
She wondered how she could get far away. She was sure Winston would come after her.
At the stables, Abbey stopped to catch her breath. Just then the double doors at the front of the building swung open, and she froze. Alfie Holbrook was busy preparing a horse to take out and didn’t see her at first. Behind him were two carriages, one large and ornate, and a smaller one, which Ebenezer Mason used regularly. To either side were several horse stalls. Suddenly Alfie glanced in her direction and looked astonished.
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