Hope

by Lesley Pearse

  She knew then it was Rufus he planned to kill, but now he’d found her here he was going to force her to watch Rufus die before killing her too.

  He fumbled beneath his ragged coat, pulling out first a length of twine, then a knife. ‘Get back and turn round,’ he ordered her.

  The sight of the long, shiny blade had her transfixed with horror for in the past she’d often seen him slitting a rabbit open with such a knife.

  ‘It’s good and sharp,’ he said, running the blade along the back of his hand and shaving the hairs to demonstrate it. ‘Now, get back there.’

  She did back up further, pleading with him all the time, and with each step she came slightly nearer to the pitchfork. He was heavier and slower than he had been eight years earlier, and she hoped that in his disturbed mental state he wouldn’t consider that she would attempt to fight him.

  ‘Where have you been all these years?’ she asked, playing for time rather than wishing to know. ‘Have you been working on another garden?’

  ‘How could I work anywhere when I was being hunted!’ he snarled. ‘I’m the best gardener in England but I was forced to live like a vagabond. Ruffians stole my money when I was sleeping. And it’s all your fault, and now you’re going to pay.’

  ‘Please, Albert,’ she whimpered, knowing it was vital to impress on him she was helpless to keep him off his guard. ‘Just let me go and I’ll never tell anyone I sawyou.’

  ‘Turn round to the wall,’ he shouted at her. ‘And shut yer bloody mouth!’

  She turned, but as she did so she grabbed the pitchfork and wheeled right round to face him, pointing the prongs at him.

  All she had in her favour was that she was quick and light on her feet. She knew that if he managed to grab the fork she was done for.

  ‘You back off!’ she yelled, lunging forward at him, and as he moved back she jumped nimbly to one side. ‘Come on, grab it if you can,’ she said. ‘I’m dying to run you through with it.’

  She cursed her heavy cloak weighing her down, and knew she hadn’t the strength to hold him off for long, but if she could just manoeuvre him around so his back was to the wall, she might be able to take a run at him and stab him with it, or at least hold him off until Rufus came back.

  She danced around him like a butterfly, jabbing then jumping back as he tried to grab the pitchfork from her or slash her with the knife. Her hat fell off, her hair began to tumble down, and several times the blade of his knife came within a whisper of her arm.

  He was tiring, his breathing laboured and his movements becoming more sluggish. She thought it likely he was very hungry too. ‘Come on,’ she taunted him. ‘What’s happened to you? Too much drink, is it?’

  She had one ear out for Rufus, for surely he must by now be wondering why she hadn’t come down to the gatehouse. Yet her overriding fear was that Betsy would start crying, for even if Albert had lost his mind he’d surely realize a baby was the perfect hostage to get everyone where he wanted them.

  Her dancing and jabbing were growing increasingly feverish, and finally she had him with his back to the wall, and hers to the door. Then Betsy began to cry.

  Albert stopped moving and he listened, a sneer twisting his lip grotesquely. ‘So you’ve got a babby!’ he said, bringing the knife up threateningly.

  He could easily throwthe knife at her, but she thought it was more likely he would charge her with it.

  ‘Don’t,’ she warned him, getting a firmer grip on the pitchfork. A cold sweat broke out all over her, for she knew if she didn’t prevent him leaving the stable he would go for Betsy first. All the hatred for this man she’d kept inside her for so many years bubbled up. He wasn’t going to lay one finger on her daughter. She would have to kill him to prevent that.

  ‘You can’t stop me with that,’ he sneered, and took a step forward.

  She knew that his weight and strength put all the odds in his favour. He only had to charge her and she’d be brushed aside as easily as a cobweb. But she had to stop him; her daughter’s life, her own and possibly Rufus’s and Lady Harvey’s too were at stake.

  The image of the soldiers in the Rifle Brigade up on the Heights before Sebastopol practising attacks with fixed bayonets suddenly came to her. She remembered the Sergeant screaming at them, Kill or be killed.

  A surge of white-hot fury rushed through her veins. So what if she was smaller and lighter than him? She had right on her side, and her cause was a far greater one than his.

  ‘Die, you bastard!’ she screamed, and charged at him just the way she’d seen soldiers do.

  She caught him in the stomach and threwall her weight behind the pitchfork to force him back against the wall, yelling like a banshee. His knife clattered to the floor, his eyes opened wide with shock, and only when the stink of him overwhelmed her did she see that she had imbedded the fork so far into him that its prongs had disappeared.

  His arms flapped, his hands instinctively moving towards the fork. His mouth gaped open and he made a rattling, rasping sound. Blood spurted out, spraying on to Hope’s clothes, and she backed away in horror.

  A wounded soldier had once told her that he could shoot any number of the enemy with his rifle and cheer at every one, but he had night mares about the ones he’d killed with his bayonet, for he sawtheir faces, felt their pain.

  She knew exactly what that soldier meant now. Albert was sliding slowly down the wall, his hands bloodied as he clutched at the fork, and his expression one of agony. She had sat in the church watching this man marry her sister. She’d cooked him meals, washed his shirts.

  She might never have liked him – he was a loathsome creature who had bullied and terrorized both herself and Nell. He had killed Sir William and he should have been hanged for it. But she was aghast that she was capable of killing.

  A wave of nausea overtook her and she staggered to the door. Rufus was running up the drive carrying his shotgun, closely followed by Lady Harvey.

  ‘He’s in there,’ Hope managed to get out before she vomited.

  Shaking from head to toe, she somehowmanaged to get to the buggy and pick Betsy up. She stopped crying immediately, but the sensation of the small warm body pressed against her own made tears spring to Hope’s eyes.

  She turned with the baby in her arms to see Rufus and Lady Harvey standing at the stable door looking in. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked.

  ‘Not quite,’ Rufus said in a white-cold voice. ‘And I hope it takes a long time before he is.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Hope had gone back to the gatehouse without Lady Harvey and Rufus, expecting that they would follow immediately. Although trembling from head to foot, she made a pot of tea and then sat down to feed Betsy, struggling to come to terms with what had just happened.

  It was a good half an hour, maybe longer, before the other two returned, by which time she’d just finished feeding the baby and was changing her napkin. Lady Harvey came in without saying a word, sat down by the fire and bowed her head almost to her knees.

  Rufus said very little. He asked Hope how she was and insisted she have a glass of brandy before he took her home. He said that he would then go on to inform the police about what had happened. He went over to the window and just stood there silently, looking out.

  Hope could understand their silence, she didn’t feel able to discuss what had happened either. They were all deeply shocked, but as she sipped her brandy she became aware that it wasn’t just silence, it was tension.

  She had felt the selfsame thing when she’d lived here with Albert and Nell. In those days she’d always thought she was to blame for the chilling atmosphere, and she did again now. Were they blaming her for bringing more trouble to their door?

  Her head was whirling with unwanted images. She could see Albert’s surprised expression as the pitchfork went into him, his blood spurting out and the knife dropping from his hand. One side of her brain was telling her it was good that she had killed him, but the other kept reminding her, ‘Thou shalt
not kill’.

  But why wasn’t Rufus telling her that it was the only thing she could have done?

  She finished changing Betsy, gulped down the last of the brandy and stood up.

  ‘I’m ready to go now, Rufus,’ she said.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, not even turning to look at her. ‘I’ll go and get the buggy.’

  But he didn’t move; he was still staring out of the window.

  ‘We must get someone to come and sit with your mother while you’re gone,’ she suggested.

  He turned to face her then, but there was an expression on his face she couldn’t read, for it was more than anger or anxiety. ‘I don’t know that I can trust Mother not to talk,’ he said.

  Hope frowned. ‘Everyone will talk about this anyway,’ she said. ‘Surely you aren’t thinking of telling the police you killed him, instead of me?’ That seemed the logical explanation of his odd statement. Rufus was after all a gentleman and perhaps he believed he must keep her out of this.

  He put his hands to his head as if it was hurting.

  Concerned, she put Betsy down on the armchair, went over to him and put her hand on his arm. ‘None of us will be in any trouble; Albert was a murderer. He came here today to hurt you and possibly your mother too. I’m not afraid of telling anyone I did it. It was horrible, but it’s done now and I’m glad he’s dead.’

  His hands dropped from his head, and he looked at her bleakly. ‘He talked before he died.’

  Hope’s stomach lurched. The one thing she had comforted herself with was that Albert’s death would put an end to her nasty memories and save Rufus from ever knowing the whole truth about both his parents. But she might have known Albert wouldn’t die quietly.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘About Mother and Nell’s precious Angus,’ Rufus spat out. ‘I don’t know which is the more hurtful, that my mother was unfaithful, or that you and Nell knew about it and covered it up.’

  A strangled sob came from Lady Harvey. Hope felt a slight sense of relief that Albert didn’t appear to have revealed his relationship with Sir William, but she felt indignant that Rufus would blame her and Nell for his mother’s wrongdoing.

  ‘Have you forgotten we were servants?’ she retorted. ‘We would’ve been cast out if we’d uttered a word about it.’

  He looked suddenly deflated and despairing. ‘Yes, of course, that was unfair of me. I suppose I want to rage at my mother, as this was clearly what Albert held over her for years. But how can I rage at her? Just look at her!’

  Hope turned. Lady Harvey looked so old, frail and vulnerable, with no trace left of the vivacious young woman who had captured the Captain’s heart.

  ‘Let it go,’ Hope pleaded. ‘Hasn’t that dreadful man done enough damage to both our families? Don’t let him do any more. Now, please take me home because I can’t bear anything more. But we must get someone to come in with your mother because she shouldn’t be alone after such a shock.’

  ‘I’m not just his mother; I’m your mother too.’

  Both Hope and Rufus wheeled round at Lady Harvey’s strange statement.

  She was sitting upright now, and although she was still crying she had a steadfast look about her.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Mother,’ Rufus said, his tone softer as though he was speaking to a child. ‘How can you be Hope’s mother?’

  ‘I am,’ she insisted, looking up at them both. ‘Hope is the result of my love for Angus. Nell and Bridie told me she was stillborn because of the scandal, and Nell took my baby home to Meg Renton.’

  Hope and Rufus stood like statues, staring in silent astonishment at Lady Harvey. The wind was getting up outside, making a roaring sound in the chimney, and Betsy was making little gurgling sounds, but no one spoke or moved for some minutes.

  Lady Harvey broke the silence. ‘I know my mind wanders sometimes now, that I forget things and get mixed up. But this is the truth and you must believe me,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘Hope is your half-sister, Rufus. If I’d known she had lived and where she was, maybe I could have found a way to bring you up together. But I didn’t know who she was until the day Nell left Briargate; that’s when she told me.’

  Hope and Rufus stared at each other.

  ‘But Nell believed Albert had killed Hope!’ Rufus exclaimed. ‘If you knew Hope was your daughter, why didn’t you do something? Can you really have so little feeling?’

  Hope put one hand on Rufus’s arm to calm him. ‘She was frightened of the scandal, I expect.’

  ‘You know what your father was like back then,’ Lady Harvey said defensively. ‘I was scared, but I did tell him the truth eventually because Albert was blackmailing me. That’s why he burned the place down, because we stood together and told him to leave.’

  Rufus put his hands to his head again. ‘So why didn’t you tell me too?’ he asked. ‘I kept asking you both why you kept him on. I knew there was something. Surely you knew that I would help you, whatever you’d done?’

  ‘I wish I had now, but we didn’t want you upset or embarrassed. I almost told you when we heard that Hope was out in the Crimea,’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t find the words.’

  ‘Does Angus know any of this?’ Hope ventured. It was all too much for her. She knew it had to be true, for even a deranged old lady could hardly make up such a story. And clearly this was what lay behind Nell’s reluctance for her to see Lady Harvey.

  ‘No. He never knew.’ The older woman began to cry again. ‘Maybe Nell has told him since she went to work for him, but I doubt it as he would have come to see me and demanded to know why I kept it from him.’

  Rufus looked as if he’d seen a ghost. His face was white and his eyes were wide and startled.

  Much as Hope wished to give him comfort, his mother needed it more for she was shaking and distraught, so she went to her, drew her head to her chest and patted her back comfortingly. ‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ she said softly. ‘I need to think about it all and hear it from Nell too.’

  ‘Do you believe me?’ The older woman drew back from Hope’s arms and looked up at her.

  ‘Yes,’ Hope nodded. ‘But right now I can’t deal with it. I need to get Betsy home.’

  ‘I don’t want you getting anyone to come in here,’ Lady Harvey whimpered. ‘I couldn’t talk to anyone, I’d rather be alone.’

  Hope didn’t speak as the buggy bowled along the road. The clip-clop of Flash’s hooves and the whizzing of the wheels seemed entirely at one with her thoughts as she pinpointed little incidents that gave credence to her real parentage.

  Nell’s nervousness about Angus when he came to Briar-gate, the feelings she’d so often had of not entirely belonging in her family, even that old tale about her being ‘a fairy child’ had new meaning now. There was the bond between her and Rufus, and one with Angus too. She certainly couldn’t be ashamed or sorry she was related to either of them.

  But it was the knowledge that Nell wasn’t her true sister that hurt. She’d been everything to her, often more of a mother than an older sister. It was devastating to know there was no blood tie between them and that Nell had kept this secret for all these years.

  Where Lady Harvey was concerned she felt nothing, for there was little to admire the woman for. Meg Renton was a far more admirable person, for she’d brought Hope up and loved her as if she were her own.

  She glanced at Rufus. It was dark now but she could see his profile well enough to see his mouth was tight, and that he was struggling to come to terms with the shattering events of the day.

  ‘What a day, eh!’ she said and slipped one hand over his on the horse’s reins.

  ‘At least I gained a sister,’ he sighed. ‘I always had a special regard for you, but I could never have suspected this. We are so completely different! There isn’t one similarity. Me blond, you dark, one with blue eyes, one with brown, how can it be?’

  ‘You had two blond-haired, blue-eyed parents,’ Hope said. ‘Clearly I inherited e
verything from Angus. Imagine if I had been like you. Questions would’ve been asked! In the village they talk about people being “as dark as a Renton”.’

  ‘I have to say that if one has to hear one’s mother had a secret love child, I’m glad it was you,’ he said, but his voice cracked with emotion as if he was struggling not to cry.

  ‘Try not to be angry with your mother,’ she said soothingly. ‘It must have been terrible for her. None of us know what we’d do in such circumstances.’

  ‘I always knew there was something lurking in the past,’ Rufus said thoughtfully. ‘But I thought it was to do with my father.’

  ‘She did love him,’ Hope ventured.

  ‘But he couldn’t love her, could he?’ Rufus said.

  Hope’s heart skipped a beat, for that sounded very much as if Rufus knew about his father’s nature too. As she didn’t know howto reply she stayed silent.

  ‘He loved other men,’ Rufus blurted out. ‘That was the problem between them.’

  The sound of the wheels and the horse’s hooves seemed to growlouder and louder as Hope racked her brain for the right response.

  ‘Your silence tells me you already knew this,’ he said. ‘And I can guess at what point you found out too. I remained in ignorance until after Briargate was burned down. I went down to Wells because I thought someone at the Bishop’s Palace might know something about Albert. Someone did, and he told me what Albert was.’

  Rufus held the reins with his right hand and with his left caught hold of Hope’s chin and tilted it so he could look at her. ‘I’d had little suspicions about Father long before that. You learn about such things at boarding school, you see, and at Oxford I met men who were that way. But when I knew about Albert it all fell into place. My parents’ fear of him, the missing money, the way he strutted around Briargate and, of course, your disappearance.’

  He let go of her chin and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘Maybe I should have kept all that to myself the way you have. On our first meeting after you returned here, I noted how you said nothing about my father, other than the usual polite condolence. That was all the confirmation I needed that my guesswork was correct. But I’ll wager you wouldn’t ever have told me?’