In one transaction, many debts had been paid off.
It was a windy afternoon, but that did not deter him. He took a long, meandering, valedictory walk through the town to reacquaint himself with a youth that now seemed a century away. He went down streets where he had once played and across a field where he and his brother had first learnt to ride a horse. He left flowers on his mother’s grave at the nearby churchyard then walked slowly back towards his old family house in Boutport Street. It looked much as it had done when his parents raised their children in the dwelling. Compared to the cottage where his father now lived, it was a small mansion. A deep sorrow made him turn away.
Nicholas Bracewell went through the gate and left the town, feeling an immediate sense of release. Barnstaple had once been his entire world but it now had the whiff of a prison about it. The pleasure of seeing familiar places was offset by the pain of old memories. He walked briskly on in the stiff breeze until he came to a walled garden. Nicholas halted in alarm. His feet had taken him insensibly to the one house in the area which he had vowed he would never visit again. When he tried to turn back, his legs betrayed him again and impelled him forward to the gate. One look up at the half-timbered dwelling brought it all back.
The home of the Hurrell family had once been filled with noise and laughter, but it now seemed curiously empty. The garden was overgrown and there were no signs of life in the house itself. He pushed the gate back on a grinding hinge and went in. Swept by the wind, the thatched roof was parting with a few of its reeds and somewhere in the property a window was banging. Nicholas followed the sound as it led him to the rear of the house. A rectangular lawn was fringed with flowerbeds that were badly neglected. The grass was ankle high. It was in this same garden that Nicholas had been obliged to court Katherine Hurrell. He shuddered as he recalled how he had allowed himself to become betrothed to her to please their respective families.
The noise took his eye upwards. It was a long, low house with eaves that jutted right down over the top of the walls. The open window was in a bedchamber that he identified at once, and the rhythmical banging was a hammer that nailed a spike into his skull. Nicholas was mesmerised. This house and that window had altered the whole course of his life. Many people had suffered as a result, and there were some things for which he could never forgive himself. Katherine Hurrell had recovered from the shock of his departure to marry another man and to leave the area. Mary Parr had not been so fortunate, nor had her daughter.
Nicholas stared up at the window as it flapped away like the wing of a trapped butterfly. He had no wish to see inside that room again. It was a tomb for so many of his hopes and ambitions. The house was sad and uncared for, but it still held its old menace for him. As Nicholas stood there and looked up, the whole building seemed to tense up in readiness, as if it was about to hurl itself at him. He could bear it no more. The Hurrell house had already struck him down once. Before it could assault him again, he took to his heels and ran all the way back to Crock Street.
It was time to liberate himself from Barnstaple.
‘When will you leave?’ asked Mary Whetcombe.
‘Tomorrow at dawn.’
‘So soon?’
‘The company is waiting for me to join them.’
‘Can nothing detain you here?’
‘No, Mary. I fear not.’
They were in the hall of the house, which she had now rightfully inherited from her husband. Lucy was playing with her dolls at the table. Nicholas had done all that he had come to do. Susan Deakin’s death had been avenged and Mary Whetcombe had been rescued from her plight. Gideon Livermore was dead and Barnard Sweete – along with other accomplices – was under lock and key. The spy in the Whetcombe household had been revealed and dismissed. A question still hovered over Arthur Calmady, and his sermons were now tentative and apologetic. His visits to Crock Street had been abruptly terminated. Nicholas wore heavy bandaging on his wounded hand, but it would not prevent him from taking ship to Bristol.
Mary Whetcombe was hampering his departure. Reluctant to see him at first, she now wished to keep him in Barnstaple, and Lucy added a smile to hold him there. When the three of them were alone together, there was happiness in the house for the first time. Nicholas was only briefly tempted. Some memories had been obliterated but others were overpowering. Robert Bracewell still stalked the streets of Barnstaple.
‘At least I will know why this time,’ said Mary.
‘I could not reach you before I left.’
‘You did not wish to, Nick.’
‘I was too ashamed.’
‘But I loved you.’
‘It was not enough. I could not saddle you with that burden. It would have been unfair to you. I had to get away from him. You must understand that.’
‘What did your father do?’
It was a question she had a right to ask and he could not hold out on her any longer. Mary Whetcombe had suffered the consequences of a secret he dared not tell her, and she deserved to know the truth. At the same time, he wanted confirmation that Lucy was his daughter. Mary threw a glance at the girl and looked back at him. In the household of a merchant, his widow was offering a bargain before a mute witness. If Nicholas told her about the last night they had spent together, she would confide in him.
‘I wanted you, Mary,’ he said. ‘I wanted you more than anything in the world, but my father chose Katherine Hurrell for me. It was all arranged with her family. The dowry was large and my father needed a share of it to steady his own business. You were my choice but your dowry was smaller and your father was set on a marriage into the Whetcombe family. It was an impossible situation.’
‘There was only one way to break out of it.’
‘I tried hard to persuade my father.’
‘I know,’ she recalled. ‘You went home that night to make a final plea to him. If it failed, we were to run away sooner than be parted. But you never came back for me.’ Her eyes accused him. ‘What happened when you went home?’
‘I did not go home, Mary.’
‘Then where did you go?’
‘To Katherine Hurrell’s house.’
‘But why?’ she said, indignantly. ‘You had no cause.’
‘We were betrothed. She had a right to be told. I loved you but I could not walk away from Katherine without at least a word of explanation.’
‘You gave me no word of explanation.’
‘There was no time.’
‘You found time enough for Katherine Hurrell!’
‘Mary, please – listen!’ Nicholas tried to remain calm. ‘This is difficult enough for me. Be patient.’
‘All right. So you went to her …’
‘Yes.’
‘And stayed the night there, is that what I am to hear?’
‘No.’
‘Tell me the truth,’ said Mary, trembling with a jealousy that had had many years to build. ‘Tell me, Nick!’
‘Katherine was not at the house,’ he said. ‘Nor was her father. The place was almost empty.’ Nicholas shivered as he relived the memory. ‘I picked my way around to the garden at the rear. The window of Katherine’s bedchamber was at the end. I hoped to attract her attention and draw her out so that we could speak in private. There was no answer to my whistle. I did not wish to throw stones up at her window in case the noise woke anyone else who might be in the house.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I climbed up the ivy to look into her room.’
‘And?’
‘She was not there.’
‘Well?’ pressed Mary. ‘What, then?’
‘I saw them in bed together.’
‘Who?’
‘Katherine’s mother and …’
‘Go on.’
‘My father,’ said Nicholas. ‘Robert Bracewell. He was making love to Margaret Hurrell.’ Nicholas looked up at her with his bitterness refreshed. ‘That was why I was to marry Katherine – to enable my father the more easily to carry on his ad
ultery with her mother. I was not a son being sent off happily to the altar. I was just a factor in a corrupt bargain. It destroyed me.’ He winced visibly. ‘My mother knew, Mary. That’s what killed her. She knew all the time but had no power to stop him. My mother knew but said nothing. She simply curled up in horror and died.’
‘What did you do when you saw them together?’
‘I ran away,’ he said, simply. ‘All I could think about was getting away from that place and those two people. I looked up to my father. He was a difficult man to love but I had always admired the way he overcame his setbacks. But that night I lost all respect for him and for his values. I wanted nothing to do with Barnstaple and its merchants. My one urge was to take to my heels.’
‘Did you not spare a thought for me?’
‘Of course, Mary. I did not want to drag you into it. After what I had seen, I felt tainted and did not wish to pass on that taint to you. I believed that if I ran away, I might be able to save you.’
‘Save me!’ she said with irony. ‘From what?’
‘From taking on the name of Bracewell. From suffering the same sense of shame. From enduring our disgrace.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I was young, Mary. I felt such things deeply. I could not ask you to come into such a family.’
‘So what did you think would happen to me?’
‘That you would find someone else and forget me.’
‘Oh, I found somebody else,’ she said. ‘And I was lucky to do so in the circumstances. But I did not forget you. How could I? We were lovers.’
Nicholas glanced down at Lucy then back at Mary.
‘Is she my daughter?’ he asked.
‘No, Nick.’
‘My father said that she was.’
‘He could not have done so.’
‘But he did, Mary. In so many words.’
‘What exactly did he say?’
‘I asked him why he visited your house so often.’
‘And he told you it was to visit his granddaughter.’
‘Yes – Lucy.’
‘No,’ said Mary. ‘Susan Deakin.’
‘The servant girl?’
‘She was our daughter, Nick.’
He was completely dumbfounded. The plain girl with the features that enabled her to pass for a boy had been his daughter. He could not believe it at first and yet he now saw, in his heart, that he must have had a faint glimmer of recognition. Susan Deakin had prompted such a compelling sense of revenge in him, a personal commitment such as a man could never feel for a stranger from a distant household. That was what had driven him on. It was not just the desire to get to Barnstaple to help the woman he thought had sent for him. Nicholas had also been seeking atonement for the murder of his own daughter.
He looked across to Mary for enlightenment.
‘The last night we met,’ she explained, ‘I had been carrying your child for some months.’
‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘I tried, Nick, but I could not find the words. I hoped that your father would relent and that we could marry with his blessing. All would be well then. But you left and I was stranded.’ She bristled like a hunted animal. ‘I had nowhere to go and no chance of hiding my condition for long. What life would I have as an unmarried mother with a bastard child? You had one kind of shame, I would have carried another.’ She shook her head in despair. ‘I did the only thing that was left to me. I turned to Matthew Whetcombe.’
‘You told him the truth?’
‘Yes, Nick. Matthew was a hard man but he knew what he wanted. I was to be his wife on any terms. We struck a bargain and I accepted it gratefully. I was confined and everyone was told that I was visiting friends in Crediton.’ She shuddered. ‘Susan came into the world too soon and almost died. She needed constant attention. Joan Deakin had been my own nurse. She took Susan for her own. That is the name you will find in the church register. Susan Deakin.’
‘Then you got married?’
‘As soon as I was strong enough.’
‘And Lucy?’
‘She came along very quickly.’ A defensive note came in. ‘I had to give Matthew that. He was prepared to let my brat live under his roof but only if he could have children of his own. That was the contract and he enforced it. But Lucy was the first and last.’
‘Why?’
‘There were complications. I could bear no more. My husband could never forgive me for that. He had accepted Susan and all I could give him in return was this wounded little creature here. Matthew felt cheated. Your child was fit and healthy while his was a deaf-mute.’
Nicholas began to comprehend. Lucy had been brought up as the daughter of the house. Susan Deakin – Mary’s child by him – had been reared as a servant girl. The strong bond between the two of them was now explained. They were stepsisters. Mary provided further clarification.
‘When Joan was dying,’ she said, ‘she told Susan the truth. The girl knew that you were her father. That’s why she came to you in London, Nick. We were in trouble and the one person who could help us was you. Susan idolised you. She stole clothing, took the fastest horse and set out to find you. Can you imagine the risks she must have run? She would only have done such a thing to reach her father.’
Nicholas was sobered. He had fled from Barnstaple but others had stayed to bear the burdens that he had left behind. There was no way that his action could be fully justified, but at least he had been given the opportunity to redeem himself. He did not save Mary from marriage to Matthew Whetcombe, but he had fought off another predatory merchant and rescued her inheritance. To reach Barnstaple, he had put his life at risk: to help Mary, he had even forced himself to confront the father whom he loathed.
He looked down at Lucy as she played with her dolls and he leant over to place a gentle kiss on her head. But his real sympathy was reserved for Susan Deakin. His daughter had been relegated to an inferior position all her life. When she was told the name of her real father, she was given dignity and status for the first time. Susan showed the bravery of a true Bracewell in trying to contact him, but she had died before they could even speak. He felt her loss like a stone in his heart. The girl had been the hapless child of a doomed love. His only consolation lay in the fact that he had been able to avenge her death.
Nicholas did not wish to spend another night in the house where she had lived. His daughter’s spirit hovered there to haunt his conscience. He rose from his seat and began to take his leave, but the others reacted with alarm. Lucy clutched at his arm and Mary made a heartfelt plea.
‘Stay here with us, Nick!’
‘I may not do that.’
‘What is to stop you?’
‘There is no place for me in this house.’
‘We are making a place for you,’ she said, putting an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. ‘But for you, we would have been driven out of here. But for you, everything that was rightly ours would have been stripped away from us. You gave it all back to us and have a right to share in our good fortune.’ Lucy nodded eagerly, as if she had heard every word. ‘Make a new life here with us. It is what Susan would have wanted.’
‘Is it what you want, Mary?’
‘I think so.’
‘After all that has happened between us?’
‘That is dead and buried,’ she said. ‘Now that you have explained it to me, I can understand why you behaved as you did. And I forgive you. In a way, I am as much to blame. If I had told you that night that I was carrying a child, you would have acted very differently.’
‘That is true.’
‘Stay here, Nick,’ she said, softly. ‘We were neither of us able to be real parents to poor Susan. You did not even know that she existed and I had to pretend that I did not care for the child. Let us make amends with Lucy. She can be our daughter now. You will be a real father to her.’
The girl nodded again and held up two dolls. Nicholas recognised himself and Mary, side by side in miniature. It was a powerful image and he was deeply touched. Hi
s resolve wavered for a second then he shook his head.
‘It is out of the question, Mary,’ he said, with a glance around. ‘I am not able to support you in this fashion.’
‘You would not need to, Nick. We have money enough to keep us in style for the rest of our days.’
‘I could never live off Matthew Whetcombe’s wealth.’
‘Then use it to produce an income of your own. You are from merchant stock. Buy and sell as Matthew did. There is a ship and a crew at your disposal. Would you not like to have control of the Mary?’
It was a great temptation and Nicholas wavered again. To own such a ship would be to fulfil a lifelong ambition, and he could use it to restore some respect in trading circles to the name of Bracewell. Mary Whetcombe was showing true forgiveness in making such a generous offer. Yet he could never accept it. To secure the Mary, he had to take charge of the woman after whom it was named, and she brought a troublesome cargo in her hold. As long as he remained in the house, he would be locked in with too many ghosts.
‘Thank you, Mary,’ he said. ‘You show a kindness and a forbearance that I do not deserve. I love you for that. But I cannot stay here with you and Lucy. It is impossible for me to make a new life in a place with so many old memories. For my own peace of mind, I must get away from Barnstaple.’
‘And from me.’
‘From my father, mainly. Everything that occurred in the past stemmed from him. I find it hard to forgive.’
‘Do not be too harsh on him.’
‘His lust for another woman killed my mother,’ he said. ‘He drove her into her grave. He was so obsessed with his own needs that he tried to marry his son into the Hurrell family to give him a legitimate excuse to call more often at the house. He would never have consented to our betrothal. My father put his own lascivious urges first.’
‘He paid for them in time, Nick.’
‘So did we all.’
‘Do you know what happened to him?’
‘That is evident. He fell from grace.’
‘But do you know how – and when?’
‘I would rather not dwell on it.’
The Silent Woman Page 31