‘Eeh, I still can’t take it in,’ Cook shook her head, setting her chins wobbling. ‘Only a matter o’ days ago we were all lookin’ forward to havin’ a couple o’ children runnin’ around the place. Now there’ll only be the one.’
‘Huh! There will be if Grace will slow up a bit,’ Martha remarked, then addressing her sister directly she pleaded, ‘Why don’t yer go an’ get some rest, Grace? There are more than enough of us to look after Miss Melody. Yer look dead on yer feet, an’ if yer don’t rest soon there’ll be two of youse we’re all lookin’ after.’
‘I’m fine,’ Grace assured her, although her back was aching alarmingly.
‘Right, well, I’d best go an’ get the slop bucket from Miss Melody’s room,’ Polly said, after draining her mug, and she walked wearily from the room. Polly usually skipped everywhere, but none of them had any energy left.
Whilst Polly was collecting the bucket Miss Prim slipped from the room to visit the latrine and it was as she was returning that she met Polly on the stairs. Polly suddenly slipped and the bucket clattered down the steps, spilling its contents. Before the girl knew what was happening, Miss Prim had boxed her soundly round the ears. For a moment it would have been hard to say who was the more shocked of the two of them, but Polly then burst into tears, closely followed by Miss Prim.
‘Oh, my dear girl, I am so sorry,’ the older woman sobbed. ‘I’m so tired I scarcely know what I am doing. Do forgive me!’
‘S’all right,’ Polly gulped, but somehow she couldn’t seem to stop the tears from flowing.
It was then that Grace, who was returning to Miss Melody’s room, reached them on the stairs, and nearby slipped.
‘Is everythin’ all right?’ she asked.
‘No, dear, everything is very far from all right,’ Miss Prim cried. ‘And I have the most fearful feeling that things will never be all right again. If only the doctor would come . . .’ She then lifted her skirts and ran back up the stairs.
Eeh, Grace thought, the world has gone mad. This has been such a happy house since the young Master and Mistress arrived. How quickly things could change, and now she wondered if it would ever be a happy house again as she comforted young Polly as best she could.
Jess closed the book with a large lump in her throat as she stared at the sketch of Martha hanging on the wall. To look at that, no one would have believed the heartache she had in store for her when Bertie had sketched it. The field she was in was covered in wild flowers, and although her face was not visible as she bent to pick them, because of the curtain of hair that covered it, Jess could somehow sense that she was smiling. Heaving herself off the bed, she left the journal on the duvet and slowly climbed the stair to the attics. At the end of the long landing leading to the largest storage room was a pile of trunks and old furniture that Simon had placed there. Lifting the lid of the first trunk, she began to sift through it, to check that these were the ones she wanted to dispose of. It was as she was sifting through the last one that her eyes grew round with interest as she saw a number of sheets of paper in the bottom. They were yet more of Bertie’s sketches – and Jess felt as if she had happened on buried treasure!
There was one of the house and another of an old lady chopping vegetables who Jess assumed must have been Granny Reid. And yet another of a younger woman with a sweet face – possibly Grace? And then Jess’s heart raced as she studied the final sketch. It appeared to be of the same girl as the one in the sketch she had hanging in the bedroom, but this time her face was visible. Somehow actually seeing her face made her seem all the more real. Trembling, she stumbled down the stairs clutching the sketch in her hand. She would show it to Laura. In no time at all she was heading down the drive and minutes later she barged into Laura’s cottage without knocking.
Laura was tackling a large pile of ironing and glanced up, startled. ‘Crikey, where’s the fire?’ she teased, then seeing Jess’s chalk-white face she pressed her down onto the nearest chair. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.’
‘I think I have,’ Jess said shakily, as she pushed the sketch towards Laura.
The woman studied it for a second and then let out a long breath. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I just found it up in one of the trunks in the attic,’ Jess explained. ‘It’s made her feel more real, seeing her face like this.’
She fidgeted with the button on her cardigan. ‘Do you think it might be this girl Martha who is still in the house?’
Laura nodded. ‘I should imagine it’s her, yes. And if it is, that might explain why you felt drawn to the house when you first came to view it, and why she stayed behind, knowing that you would come to live there one day.’
But what was she trying to tell her? Jess thought. It was all very worrying and frustrating.
Laura stared at her solemnly. She must have wanted you to find her journal for a reason.’
Jess was obviously severely shaken. ‘So what shall I do now?’
‘Nothing,’ Laura advised her simply. ‘You just wait until Martha decides to reveal her purpose or her intentions. There’s nothing else you can do.’
‘It’s a bit nerve-wracking,’ Jess muttered as the button finally pinged off her cardigan and rolled across the floor. Beth instantly bent from her seat at the side of the fire and snatched it up, clutching it possessively in her hand as the two women looked towards her.
‘She’s not too good today,’ Laura murmured.
Jess could see that; the girl’s eyes were blank and staring as she rocked to and fro in her chair.
Poor soul, she thought. This pregnancy was an awful lot for her to endure. Beth had piled weight on and was still devouring everything in sight, to the point that the midwife was seriously concerned about her. As ever, Jess felt guilty about burdening Laura with her problems when she had enough on her plate, but she was still impressed with Laura’s knowledge of things that she herself didn’t understand.
Hoping to lighten the mood she asked, ‘And how are the family trees coming along? Have you managed to find time to work on them?’
‘Oh yes.’ Laura brightened instantly. ‘As soon as Beth goes to bed each night I’m straight onto the computer. I think it’s only that which is keeping me sane at the minute, and I finished yours last night. I managed to trace your family back as far as 1732. As soon as I get a chance I’ll print it all off for you – I think you’ll find it really interesting. One of your ancestors was actually a vicar and your family moved here originally from Wales.’
‘Really? I never knew that,’ Jess said. A sudden thought occurred to her and she asked, ‘Did you find any link with my ancestors to Stonebridge Hall?’
Laura shook her head. ‘Not a thing.’
‘Well, that’s that theory out of the window then.’ Jess grinned ruefully. ‘I thought you were going to tell me that my family had once owned the Hall or were servants there in times gone by. That would have explained a few things, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose it would, but as far as I can see there’s nothing to link you to the place at all.’
Feeling much calmer now, Jess stood up.
‘Thanks for the chat, Laura, but I think I’ve taken up more than enough of your time now, so I’ll be off.’
Crossing to Beth she pecked her cheek affectionately then set off up the drive towards the house. Finding the sketch had been a great shock to her, but now she was thinking more sensibly again, she realised that things were no different now from what they had been before. If Martha was there for a reason she would reveal what it was in her own good time. Once she entered the welcome warmth of her own kitchen she stood there for a few seconds letting the peace of the place wash over her as Alfie bounded out of his basket and came to greet her. And then, just as she had known they would, the whispers started up again. They were becoming louder and more urgent by the day, but all she could do was be patient until she discovered what it was they were trying to tell her.
That evening after dinner Jess slapped the sketch down on the table in front of Simon and asked him bluntly, ‘What do you think of that?’
He lifted it and studied it intently.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked.
‘I think it’s the girl whose journal I found. It was in one of the old trunks up in the attic.’
‘Really? She was a nice-looking girl, wasn’t she?’ he commented.
‘I’m more convinced than ever now that that girl – or at least her ghost – is still here in this house,’ Jess told him. ‘I also believe she is trying to tell me something.’
‘I reckon you should be an author with an imagination like that,’ Simon smirked.
Simon didn’t believe in God, ghosts, angels or anything that he could not see or touch, and Jess knew of old that nothing she said was going to change his mind now.
‘Think what you like,’ she sighed, ‘but I know she’s here.’
He patted her hand indulgently. ‘Of course you do, love. It’s quite normal for pregnant women to behave a little oddly. It’s something to do with the hormones.’
Biting down on her lip, Jess stamped off into the lounge where Jo was watching the television.
‘Do you fancy coming for a ride to see Karen with me tonight?’ she asked, forcing herself to sound normal although she felt far from it.
Dragging her eyes away from Emmerdale Farm just long enough to flash a smile, Jo nodded. ‘Yes, please, but can you wait until this has finished?’
‘All right, but if you’re not ready to go the second it does, I’m off without you otherwise it won’t be worth going.’
Jess pottered off back to the kitchen to clear the pots from the table, relieved to see that Simon had taken himself off to the shower. She then lifted the sketch and popped it into her bag to take with her before busying herself until it was time to go.
Karen was just as sceptical as Simon had been when she showed her the sketch later that evening. ‘I tell you, Jess, I’m getting really worried about you,’ she said frankly. ‘This girl is nothing at all to do with you. She could have been anyone!’
Jess kept her smile firmly fixed in place. Just like Simon, Karen could be very stubborn, and she knew that it would be useless trying to convince her that Martha was still in her house. Without a word she hastily shoved the sketch back into her bag and changed the subject, and for the rest of the evening it wasn’t mentioned again.
Jess left a little earlier than usual that night. Her ankles were puffy and she got tired easily.
‘Is everything all right, Mum?’ Jo asked on the way home, picking up on how quiet Jess was.
‘Everything is fine, sweetheart,’ Jess assured her. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. It’s lumping all this lot around in front of me. I shall be glad when your brother is here.’
Jo was instantly all smiles. ‘Less than two months to go now,’ she said happily.
The downstairs was in darkness when they got home and Jess fumbled her hand along the wall to locate the light switch in the kitchen.
‘Night, Mum.’ Jo patted Alfie and kissed her mother before skipping away to bed as Jess began to check that all the doors were firmly locked and bolted. She always made doubly sure ever since the break-in.
It was as she approached the landing that she saw Mel coming out of the bathroom. She was clutching her dressing-gown around her and had obviously been crying, but she didn’t even acknowledge her mother.
‘What’s wrong, love?’ As the girl approached her, Jess put her hand out to her but Mel slapped it away furiously.
‘What do you care?’ she screamed, obviously very close to hysteria. ‘Why don’t you just leave me alone? I hate you . . . do you hear me? I hate you.’ With that she tore along the landing and disappeared into her bedroom, slamming the door resoundingly behind her, leaving Jess to stare after her in amazement.
I wonder what the hell brought that on? Jess thought, but she knew better than to go and try to find out. When Mel was in this mood it was best to leave her well alone to come out of it.
Feeling deeply hurt, she stared from the landing window out over the gardens. They looked beautiful bathed in moonlight and she wished that the inside of the house could be as serene as the outside appeared to be.
Eventually she made for the staircase that led to the attics. She was out of breath by the time she reached the top. Soon she was standing in Martha’s room. The smell of roses was overpowering and now the whispers began again.
‘What is it you’re trying to tell me?’ she pleaded to the empty room and as she stood there praying for an answer she thought she heard soft footsteps on the stairs.
Hurrying to the door she peered up and down the narrow passageway but there was no one in sight.
Maybe I am going barmy, she thought to herself as she headed back towards the stairs. I reckon the best thing I could do is get myself off to bed. She was desperately tired now and looking forward to sinking into her comfortable mattress.
After clicking off the bare bulb that illuminated the landing she had just put her foot on the first step when she heard a scuffle behind her. Partially turning, she peered into the murk, but it was too dark to see anything other than a figure advancing on her – then suddenly she felt something shove her hard in the back. Her arms flailed as she tried to stay upright, but it was no good. She could feel herself falling and the next thing she knew she was toppling headlong down the steep staircase. She vaguely remembered wrapping her arms around her stomach to protect her unborn child, then she hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs with a sickening thud and pain flooded though her.
‘Help!’ she cried out feebly as she felt something warm and sticky gush from between her legs. And then she knew nothing more.
‘It’s all right, Jess. Just lie still now.’
Jess blinked in the bright light and then she groaned with pain and tried to roll herself into a ball.
‘You must lie still,’ the voice told her and Jess gazed up at a solemn-faced paramedic.
‘Where am I? What’s happened?’ She seemed to be looking at everything through a haze, and in that moment she wished that she could die. This was pain like she had never known before. All-consuming and agonising.
‘You’re in an ambulance on your way to the George Eliot Hospital. You’ve had an accident, but you’ll be all right if you just do as you’re told,’ the paramedic soothed her. ‘Your husband is following on in his car.’
Jess gasped as a fresh contraction ripped through her. She was in labour – it was a pain she would never forget – but it was too early. Would the baby survive being born this soon? Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes as she gritted her teeth.
‘I . . . I was on the attic stairs,’ she told him as everything came rushing back. ‘And then somebody pushed me.’
‘Shush now,’ the man said urgently. ‘You’re haemorrhaging badly and I don’t want you to talk. Save your strength.’
She flopped back on the pillows, the sound of the ambulance’s siren loud in her ears, and prayed that they would be able to save her child.
When they arrived at the hospital the paramedic leaped up and swung the back doors open, and instantly two male nurses climbed in and began to manoeuvre her onto a wheeled stretcher. She could feel herself drifting in and out of consciousness; felt as if she was caught in the grip of a nightmare and prayed for it to end.
They had barely reached the doors to the hospital when Simon appeared at her side breathless and panting.
‘How is she?’ he asked the doctor who was waiting at the door for her.
‘We’ll know more when we’ve examined her,’ he replied shortly. ‘Now go into the waiting room, would you, sir, and leave us to do our job.’
Simon’s face faded away then Jess found herself staring up at the striplights set at intervals all along the hospital corridor as they rushed her along. Before she knew it she was wheeled into a room and th
e doctor was examining her.
‘C-can you stop the labour?’ she choked out, writhing in pain.
He prodded gently around her abdomen. ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Beddows. You’ve gone too far for that.’
A nurse was attaching a monitor to her that was recording the baby’s heartbeats, and as she looked towards the screen, Jess’s own heart contracted with terror. She had very little medical knowledge, but even she could see that the baby was in distress.
‘We’re going to perform an emergency caesarean,’ the doctor told her. ‘It will give the baby a better chance.’
‘No!’ Jess whimpered. But at that moment she felt a stinging pain in the back of her hand as the nurse administered an injection, and she felt as if she was floating.
The trolley she was lying on was moving again now as they rushed her off to theatre. People were waiting there for her, but all she could see of them were their eyes because they were wearing masks.
‘Now just try to relax,’ a voice encouraged.
She vaguely wondered where Simon was. And then suddenly memories came flooding back. She was standing at the top of the stairs and there was a dark shape behind her. Someone had pushed her. But who?
She opened her mouth, frantic for an answer but it was too hard to try and form words. Even as she struggled against it, her eyelids drooped and she fell into a drug-induced sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When Jess woke up, there was a watery sun shining through the window at the side of the bed. She was in a small side room and beyond the door she could faintly hear the sound of babies crying. She prayed that one of them was hers.
She rubbed at her eyes for a second and when she opened them again she saw a nurse and a doctor in a starched white coat standing at the end of the bed as if they had appeared by magic.
‘My baby?’ she managed to choke out. Her throat was dry.
The doctor was a tall man with a mop of unruly fair hair and eyes that were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. Jess supposed that he was somewhere in his early thirties although the weary stoop of his shoulders made him appear at first glance to be much older.
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