Shadows in the Valley

by Elizabeth Haran

  “Oh,” he said. “Well, come in now and we’ll have some tea.” Heath beckoned them up the steps to the house.

  Abbey was hesitant, but she reminded herself that Ebenezer Mason could no longer hurt her. Even so, she was reluctant until Father Quinlan came to her and took her arm, giving her a reassuring smile.

  Heath led them into the drawing room off the hall and rang a bell. A moment later, Louise appeared. She looked shocked to see Abbey and glared at her, unlike Winston. He greeted them all with professional courtesy, his true feelings well-hidden.

  “Have Mrs. Hendy bring tea and sandwiches, Miss Horton,” Heath ordered. After glowering at Abbey again, the maid hurried off.

  Heath noticed that Father Quinlan was looking at the tray of drinks on the sideboard lustily and immediately recognised his love of the bottle. “Would you prefer something stronger than tea, Father?” he asked.

  “Aye, I would,” Father Quinlan said, not caring that it was the middle of the morning.

  “Then, please, help yourself to the brandy.”

  “I’ll certainly do that,” the priest said and poured himself a generous glassful.

  Abbey was staring at the portrait of Heath’s father that had been taken off the wall and placed on the floor to the left of the fireplace. She’d noticed the damage, the rip and stains, and wondered what had happened, all the while fighting the urge to attack the portrait herself with a pair of scissors.

  “Would you like to go up to the roof?” Heath asked her when he noticed how tense she was.

  “The roof?” Abbey thought the suggestion was strange. “What for?”

  “The view is spectacular, and there’s usually a nice breeze up there.”

  “Oh. Very well,” Abbey said glancing at the portrait again and shuddering with revulsion.

  Heath looked at the priest. He was drinking his brandy and taking great interest in the artefacts in the room. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, Father Quinlan,” he said.

  “Take your time,” the priest said, distracted by a set of unusual relics from the Pacific islands.

  ***

  Abbey followed Heath out of the drawing room. After climbing three sets of stairs, Heath opened a door that led onto the roof, where there was indeed a lovely breeze. Abbey went straight to the railing, where the view was as wonderful as Heath had said. She’d never been so high in her life and immediately had a sense of flying with the hawks. Turning in a circle, she could see for miles and miles.

  “Most of what you see is part of the Martindale estate,” Heath said proudly, taking pains to hide his resentment of her and the loathing he felt for his father. He’d often stood on this roof and dreamed of the day when all he could see would be his. He prayed it was still within his grasp.

  Abbey was barely listening. She was awestruck and stood at the railing absorbing the view, hardly noticing that Heath was unusually quiet. After a full minute went by, she turned to him and noticed that he appeared to be in a strange mood. She decided that the funeral must be weighing heavily on his mind.

  Heath looked over the railing at the ground below. He thought of the last time he’d seen his father’s previous wife, Meredith Barton. No one knew that she had not been alone on the roof when she fell. She’d been standing exactly where Abbey was standing, and they’d had a terrible argument.

  “Heath,” Abbey said softly. “Are you all right?” What Clementine had said about him flashed through her mind. Although he was handsome, it was hard to imagine him as a libertine with no conscience.

  He turned to look at her, and she felt suddenly vulnerable, although she didn’t understand why. “I’m very touched that you came out here today,” he said softly. He had a strange expression on his face, as if something behind his eyes prevented him from truly being in the moment.

  Abbey hoped her visit hadn’t given him the wrong impression.

  “I ruined the picnic we were having,” Heath said. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Abbey said, thinking she should leave.

  “Let’s have dinner tonight in Clare,” Heath suggested.

  Abbey’s heart sank. “I appreciate the kindness you’ve shown me, Heath, but I can’t see you socially.”

  Heath paled. He hadn’t been expecting that reaction. “May I ask why not? Is it because of my father?” He fought to control the panic he was feeling.

  Abbey watched as one of his hands reached for the railing and gripped it with white knuckles. “No,” she said, her heart hammering. “Actually, it’s because of you.”

  “Me?! What have I done?”

  Abbey didn’t know whether to go on, but she’d come this far. “You have quite a reputation with women.”

  “That’s just idle gossip,” Heath stated defensively.

  “Is it unfounded?”

  “I’m single and wealthy,” Heath said. “That’s a recipe for gossip.”

  “Why would someone who normally socialises in upper class circles want to court me, Heath? I don’t understand.” Abbey could almost hear her father’s sigh of exasperation. How many times had he scolded her for thinking she was not good enough for one gentleman or another?

  “Firstly, I don’t restrict my socialising to upper class circles,” Heath said, thinking a few compliments would have her eating out of his palm. “Not only are you beautiful, intelligent, sweet, thoughtful, and caring … Am I forgetting anything?” He smiled in what he thought was a disarming fashion.

  “I’m a companion, a paid member of a household,” Abbey said, not at all moved by his flattery. What Clementine had said made sense. She couldn’t deny it and didn’t believe that Heath would normally court beneath his social standing.

  “Is that supposed to put me off?” Heath asked, thinking he’d have to try another tack.

  “From what I hear, yes,” Abbey said, lifting her chin.

  Heath sighed. “Did Clementine Feeble tell you I only date society women? Because that’s probably what she told herself after I rejected her inebriated advances.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. Didn’t she tell you that?”

  “No,” Abbey admitted, trying to imagine Clementine drunk and flirting with Heath. Surely this didn’t happen while she was dating Jack.

  “She was no doubt humiliated that I wasn’t receptive to her overtures. In fact, I was rather irritated by her behaviour. Ever since the incident, some months ago now, she’s been avoiding me. Normally I would be too much of a gentleman to bring this up, but I’m being put in a position of defending my own reputation, something I value. I should also point out that gossip in small towns is often exaggerated. Nevertheless, it happens, and that has made it difficult for me to find a nice girla prospective bride.”

  Abbey didn’t know what to think. What he was saying made sense.

  “People tend to think two things about you when you are wealthy and unmarried. You are either peculiar, or a cad. It’s a burden I’m forced to bear.”

  Abbey actually felt sorry for him, and Heath could see it. He stepped closer and took her hand. His gaze was momentarily drawn to the railing again. Abbey was watching him and began to tremble.

  He focused. “I thought you’d be different, Abbey. You are not from Clare, so I had rather hoped you wouldn’t have any preconceived notions. Can’t you see I’m not like my father?”

  Abbey faltered, searching for the right words. “I didn’t say you were like your father”

  “I hope I have at least conveyed that I’m genuinely very fond of you,” Heath added.

  Abbey frowned, more confused than ever. She wished Father Quinlan would rescue her.

  “I can see you find this difficult to believe, and I don’t blame you for being cautious after all you’ve been through,” Heath said. He dropped her hand for dramatic effect. “It will no doubt
be my fate to marry a woman who just wants my money, instead of a good woman who will love me for who I am.”

  “We shouldn’t be speaking of love, Heath. We barely know each other,” Abbey stammered, breathless and even more panicked. The situation was far too intense.

  “I feel like I’ve known you all my life, Abbey. Or perhaps my heart has known yours. I know that’s a strange and bizarre thing to say, but I feel a deep connection to you.”

  Abbey gaped at Heath, speechless. Suddenly, Father Quinlan appeared on the roof, looking for her. She’d been gone longer than he had felt comfortable.

  “Abbey, you’re pale as ashes. Don’t you feel well?” the priest asked when he saw her expression.

  “I must go, Heath,” Abbey said, rushing away from him.

  “Abbey, wait,” Heath called. But she didn’t stop.

  ***

  Abbey left the house and hurried to their carriage. Puzzled, Father Quinlan followed.

  “You’ve been quiet for a few miles, Abbey. Is there anything you want to talk about?” he finally asked. They’d just travelled through the town of Mintaro, and she hadn’t said a word since they had left the gates of the Martindale estate. Heath had watched them go from the rooftop. She’d turned briefly to see him standing at the railing. It was an image that haunted her.

  “I’m sorry, Father Quinlan. I’ve so much to think about.” Abbey felt totally bewildered by Heath’s sudden admission and his rather odd behaviour. She just didn’t know what to think. Could he be genuinely falling for her? Was it possible he was not a cad?

  “Can I help?”

  “Is it right to listen to gossip and judge someone by it?” Abbey asked. “Or should we give a person a chance, even when we’ve been warned to do otherwise?”

  “I think you know the answer to that, Abbey. You should determine a person’s character by their words and deeds, and make up your own mind. You should never listen to gossip.”

  “What if I can’t make up my mind?”

  “Are you confused about Heath?”

  “Yes. Other people have told me things about him that have clouded my mind. He tells me people gossip about him because he’s unmarried and wealthy. Now I don’t know what to think or what to do.”

  “Then the simple solution is to do nothing. Time will sort it out.”

  Abbey looked at Father Quinlan’s profile with a frown on her face. What kind of advice was that?

  The priest turned to her and slowly smiled. Suddenly she understood. He had given her very good advice, indeed. She would simply do nothing.

  CHAPTER 16

  As soon as the carriage pulled up outside the house, Abbey and Father Quinlan heard angry shouts from within. They recognised Sybil’s and Sabu’s voices.

  Abbey was immediately alarmed. “Something must have happened,” she said, wide-eyed.

  “It won’t necessarily be anything serious,” Father Quinlan assured her. “Sabu and Mrs. Hawker fight all the time, usually over a minor difference of opinion. It’s an integral part of their relationship, so don’t let it worry you.”

  “Couldn’t you counsel them about how to get along without having such loud disagreements?” Abbey asked in all seriousness. She’d never heard anything like it.

  To her amazement, Father Quinlan laughed as if the idea were totally preposterous. “I’ve offered more than once, but they both ardently blame the other for the problem between them. Mrs. Hawker says Sabu believes his way is the only way, and Sabu says she picks on every little thing he does. To a certain extent, they’re both right, so what do you do?”

  “They sound like they’re about to kill each other,” Abbey said, listening to the shouting as it grew louder.

  “I’ve come to accept that it’s all noise, Abbey. Honestly, don’t let it upset you.”

  Abbey thought that was easy for him to say. He didn’t live in the house with them. “Thank you for coming with me today, Father,” she said, getting out of the buggy. “Having you with me was a great comfort, and I intend to take your advice.”

  “Good. Any time you want to talk, you know where I am.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Father.”

  “I’ll take the buggy back to the stables, and then I’d better go and see how Jack and the others are doing digging the bores,” the priest said. “I’m sure they’ll welcome an extra pair of hands.”

  Abbey went inside, where the shouting was louder than ever. As she went down the hallway, towards the kitchen, she heard the ham mentioned, and her eyes widened. Obviously, Sybil had discovered it was gone. She wondered if Sabu had told her what he’d done with it and whether that had caused the row.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that there is no ham left?” Sabu shouted angrily. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “I know there was plenty of ham left, Sabu. So, I want to know what happened to it. Now tell me the truth.”

  Abbey groaned. Sabu hadn’t told the truth, and it didn’t sound like he was going to.

  “I’ll make egg sandwiches,” Sabu suggested evasively. “There is nothing wrong with egg sandwiches.”

  “I don’t want you to make egg sandwiches. I want ham sandwiches.”

  Sabu threw a wooden spoon across the kitchen, enrageing Sybil further. She was about to retaliate, picking up the sugar bowl to throw, when Abbey appeared at the doorway, surprising them both.

  “Abbey! How much ham was left after you made dinner the other night?” Sybil demanded to know, while Sabu threw his arms in the air in frustration.

  Abbey looked at her blankly. “I don’t really remember,” she said, untruthfully. A mental picture of the ham being thrown across the back garden by Sabu flashed through her mind.

  “I’m sure it was quite a bit,” Sybil said. “But it seems to have just disappeared.” Her voice rose in a crescendo.

  Abbey made no comment, but she could see that Sabu was doing his best to hide his guilt.

  “I promised Jack this morning that I’d bring him and his brothers ham sandwiches for lunch, so they’ll be waiting for them. I’ve asked Marie and Elsa if they know where the ham has gone, and they claim to have no idea what happened to it, and I believe them.” She knew the servant girls were too frightened of Sabu to touch the food in the kitchen. “But I can’t believe you don’t know where it is.” She glared at the cook. “It can’t have vanished out of the larder.”

  Abbey looked at Sabu, silently urging him to tell the truth. She didn’t want to be put in the position of lying to Sybil.

  “Very well,” Sabu said. “If you must know, I believe one of the dogs must have taken it,” he suddenly suggested.

  Abbey’s eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “What? Which dog are you talking about?” Sybil asked suspiciously.

  “Max,” Sabu said. “He’s always stealing from the kitchen. I’ve caught him many times.”

  Just then Marie passed the kitchen door on tiptoe, but Sybil spotted her.

  “Marie, could Max have taken the ham?” she asked.

  Marie looked horrified to be brought into the argument. She glanced from Sabu to Sybil, almost stiff with fear that she’d say the wrong thing. “It is possible, Mrs. Hawker,” she replied nervously. “He does come into the house sometimes, and he has stolen food from the kitchen counter before. He’s always hungry.”

  “Shall I boil eggs or not?” Sabu asked impatiently, assuming Sybil would now drop the subject.

  Sybil became even more furious, something Abbey wasn’t expecting. “I’m going to tell Jack to get rid of that animal. We can’t have him coming in here stealing food.”

  Abbey gasped. “Don’t do that, Mrs. Hawker. It was probably my fault. I don’t remember putting the ham away.”

  Sabu looked at Abbey in obvious disbelief that she’d defend a dog and take
the blame herself.

  “Even if it were left out, the dog shouldn’t steal it,” Sybil retorted. “He should be shot. The next time he comes into the house, I’ll shoot him myself.” She turned to Sabu. “Make egg sandwiches, but don’t mix curry with the egg,” she snapped and headed for the living room.

  Abbey looked at Sabu resentfully. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she hissed. “Blaming the dog for something you did is cowardly.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sabu countered, anger causing his cheeks to flush.

  “I saw you throw the ham from the backdoor. I was across the garden.”

  Sabu’s eyes narrowed. “You did not,” he said. He was sure it wasn’t possible.

  “Yes, I did. I was on the balcony when the ham went flying through the air. Max did get it, but he didn’t steal it.”

  Sabu’s cheeks flushed even darker, but he crossed his arms defiantly. “Why didn’t you tell the missus this unbelievable story?” he asked, angry that she’d now have something to hold over him. It was one thing to argue with Sybil, as they argued all the time, but to have someone like Abbey tell Sybil he’d been lying over the ham would be humiliating.

  Abbey thought about it. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell her. Maybe I was hoping you’d be honourable enough to admit the truth,” she said. “Instead, you blamed an innocent animal. If Max is shot because of you, I will tell Mrs. Hawker what happened.”

  “You started this trouble by serving meat on a Hindustani holy day.”

  Abbey pursed her lips in frustration. “You were just being spiteful. Admit it,” she said. “And now you blame a dog for the trouble it got you into.” She shook her head in disgust and headed for the living room.

  ***

  When Abbey walked into the living room, Sybil was taking several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself.

  “So, Abbey,” she said, exhaling slowly. “What happened at Martindale Hall? Did you see Mr. Mason?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Hawker.” Abbey sat down on the sofa. “Actually, we arrived at a very bad time, right in the middle of his father’s funeral service. Had I known that there was even a chance he’d be buried on the estate, I wouldn’t have gone.”