‘No, and we don’t want to get his lordship involved – unless it becomes necessary.’
The stranger shook his fist in Ben’s face. ‘You ain’t heard the last of this. We’ll be back. You can’t stand guard outside her house morning, noon and night.’
‘That’s true,’ Annabel admitted quietly. ‘But if you do come back, I shall find out exactly who you are and where you come from and I shall pay a visit to town. Where do your wives think you are? In the local pub having an innocent drink with your mates?’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Oh, but I would.’ The threat was no idle one and the two men realized it.
‘Come away, Sid. Leave it. There’s plenty more trollops who’d be only too pleased to oblige us.’
‘Mebbe. But they’re not like Nancy. She’s—’
‘That’s enough.’ Jim now stepped forward, afraid of what filth was going to come out of the man’s mouth. ‘Be on your way.’
‘And don’t come back,’ Ben added.
By the time they had closed the door on the two men, Nancy was shaking and in tears. ‘They’ll come back, I know they will.’
‘Don’t open the door to them,’ Annabel told her. ‘And keep Bertie inside in the evenings – just in case.’
‘I don’t think they’d hurt him. They’re not bad men. Just . . .’ She bit her lip and avoided Annabel’s eyes.
‘We’ve spoilt their fun and they’re angry,’ Jim said. ‘Begging your pardon, m’lady.’
‘Quite,’ Annabel said tartly, but had to struggle to hide her smile.
‘You go home, m’lady,’ Jim offered. ‘Me and Adam’ll stay with Nancy a while until we’re sure they’re not going to come back. Mr Jackson and Luke can see you safely home.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’ she murmured, not sure what their two wives would think about the arrangement. She turned to Nancy. ‘I’ll go back to the workhouse tomorrow and explain to your mother what has happened. Maybe that will help her change her mind.’
As they walked out into the darkness, back the way they had come, Ben said softly, ‘It might change her mam’s mind, but I doubt it’ll change the villagers’ feelings towards her. They don’t forgive or forget easy, m’lady.’
‘Mm. I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe they will when I’ve had my say in church after the service on Sunday.’
Though she couldn’t see him through the gloom, Ben’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at her. Whatever would this amazing woman do next?
The following morning, Annabel took the trap, driving herself, and went back to the workhouse. Again she faced the master over his desk. ‘I have come to take Mrs Banks home.’
‘I understand she doesn’t want to go.’
‘Things have changed now. I would like to talk to her again, if you please.’ Annabel gave him the full benefit of her dazzling smile, her violet eyes sparkling as she added, ‘You’d be doing me a great favour if you’d allow me to see her again.’
The man stood up and gave a little bow. ‘How can I possibly refuse you, Lady Fairfield? Please be seated and I’ll send for some tea and – for you – I’ll go and find the dear lady myself.’
As he left the room, Annabel was chuckling to herself. She doubted the master had ever before had cause to refer to one of the inmates as a ‘dear lady’.
A maid brought in a tray set with two cups and saucers, a pot of tea and milk and sugar and, a few moments later, the master ushered an obviously reluctant Agnes Banks into the room and then closed the door quietly, leaving the two women alone.
‘I’m not coming home, m’lady,’ she said, before she’d hardly got into the room.
‘Sit down, Mrs Banks, and we’ll have some tea. I’ll pour, shall I? How do you like it? Milk? Sugar?’
The woman nodded in answer to each question and sat down on the edge of the chair opposite. ‘It’s a long time since I had a decent cup of tea. I expect it’s too expensive for us to be given it in here.’
‘Now,’ Annabel said, handing her the tea. ‘A lot has happened since I last saw you. With the help of some of the menfolk from the village, I went to Nancy’s cottage last night and we were waiting for her friends when they arrived. They left in no doubt that they are no longer welcome, either at Nancy’s home or in the village. Nancy and your grandson, Mrs Banks, want you to go home. I want you to go home. Things are going to be very different.’
‘How can they be?’ the woman whispered. ‘We’ll still be outcasts in the village. How can I ever hold my head up again?’
‘I’m very much hoping that when I’ve spoken to the villagers after the service in the church tomorrow, they’ll be prepared to help you both have a fresh start.’
Agnes shook her head sadly. ‘They won’t.’
‘If that’s the case, then I’ll help you both to move somewhere else. I’ll buy the cottage from Nancy and that will give you some money to start somewhere else.’
Agnes gaped at her. ‘Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to help us?’
‘Because I want to revive the fortunes of the Fairfield Estate and everyone on it. And that includes you and Nancy.’
‘Even if we stayed, what could we do? How could we earn money?’
Annabel smiled and said gently, ‘The rooms you and Nancy once occupied above the grocer’s shop as dressmakers are still empty. Perhaps . . .’
There was a sudden spark of interest, of hope even, in the woman’s eyes. But it was gone almost as quickly as it had come. ‘The locals’d never patronize us in a million years. And besides, not one of them has the money to be spending at a dressmaker’s.’
‘Not immediately, no. I understand that, but given time . . .’
Mrs Banks considered Annabel’s suggestions for several minutes before placing her empty cup and saucer back on the tray.
‘First, m’lady, let me say how very grateful I am for everything you’re trying to do.’
Annabel’s heart sank, believing that the woman was still adamant she wasn’t going home, but Agnes’s next words surprised her. ‘So I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you can come back to me on Monday morning and tell me that the villagers are prepared to give Nancy – and me – another chance, then, yes, I’ll go home. And I’ll try what you suggest. We’ll set up as dressmakers once again, though where we’ll find the work, I don’t know, but we’ll try.’
Annabel beamed and held out her hands to the woman, clasping them in hers. ‘That’s wonderful. Nancy will be thrilled.’
‘No, m’lady, please don’t tell her. Not yet. See how things go tomorrow, eh?’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Annabel said, realizing suddenly just what an enormous task she had set herself.
Thirty-Two
On the Saturday afternoon, Richard sat in his study pondering how to write his sermon for the following day. He knew exactly what he wanted to say – what he needed to say. He reached for the appropriate lectionary sitting on the shelf above his desk and turned to the page that would tell him what the readings set for that date were. Slowly, he smiled. One of the choices was just perfect.
During the morning service, at the end of the hymn preceding the Gospel reading, the congregation remained standing as Richard Webster took the Bible down the chancel steps and stood amongst his parishioners as they all turned to face him.
‘The holy Gospel is written in the seventh chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Matthew beginning at the first verse.’
The congregation responded with the words ‘Glory be to thee, O Lord.’
Richard cleared his throat and began to read, ‘“Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged . . .”’ and ended with the words, ‘“Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.” This is the Gospel of the Lord.’
And everyone responded, ‘Praise be to thee, O Christ.’
Richard moved to the pulpit, said a
short prayer and the congregation sat down, turning their gaze up to him as he began his sermon inspired by the words he had just read.
When, at the end of the service, the vicar announced that Lady Fairfield wished to address them all, there was shuffling and murmuring amongst the villagers.
Today, neither the dowager countess nor Lady Dorothea were present and for that at least Annabel was thankful. But everyone else seemed to be there except for Dan Broughton. Even Nancy and her son had crept into the back pew just as the service was starting. One or two saw them arrive and raised their eyebrows at each other. No doubt word had already gone around the village about what had happened at her cottage on Friday night and now they were curious. Richard Webster, knowing what Annabel intended to do, had already played his part by the content of his sermon.
As Annabel stood in front of them all and waited for silence, she suddenly realized how nervous she was. Her insides were quaking, her hands actually trembling. But she lifted her head and smiled around at them putting on a display of bravery that she wasn’t feeling inside. ‘I have a favour to ask of you all.’
‘Aye, I thought there’d be a catch to all this philanthropy,’ Jabez said loudly, but Annabel noticed that he was smiling as he said it and he was ‘shushed’ by those near him.
‘No, Mr Fletcher, this isn’t emotional blackmail. Nothing will change in what I plan to do for the estate, even if you all say “no”. I’m not bargaining with you.’ Her glance fell on Nancy, who had gone red in the face and had dropped her head. Only her little boy sitting beside her stared at Annabel, his face solemn, his eyes so sad.
Annabel drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m sure most of you have heard by now what happened at Nancy’s cottage on Friday night.’
Whispering broke out once more and heads leaned towards each other. Annabel raised her voice. ‘Things are going to be very different now. Mrs Banks will be coming home and she and Nancy will be resuming their dressmaking business. I’m asking you to forgive and forget and give Nancy a fresh start. I know her story and – let’s be quite honest here – it wasn’t her fault at the outset. She’s not the first maid in a big house to be seduced by the master or the master’s son, now is she? And sadly, she probably won’t be the last.’ She paused, glancing around her.
A woman sitting halfway down the aisle got to her feet slowly and hesitantly. Annabel saw that it was Betsy Cartwright. In her gentle voice, Betsy said, ‘M’lady, you say it won’t make any difference to what you’re still going to do for us all, whatever we say?’
‘That’s right, it won’t.’
‘But you know how grateful we all are for what you’ve done already. How can we refuse you?’
Annabel shook her head. ‘I don’t want that sort of gratitude, Betsy. All I want is for you all to be well and happy and thriving and the estate to be as it once was. You have a perfect right to refuse if you all feel you can’t forgive what has happened. I know I’m asking a great deal of you to accept Nancy and her family back into the community and to treat her as you treat all your other neighbours. But if you can find it in your hearts . . .’ She paused, hoping that Richard’s earlier sermon had found its mark.
‘And if we don’t agree?’ Another woman from the back, sitting not far from Nancy and Bertie, spoke up. ‘What then?’
‘I shall help Nancy and her family – including her mother, whom I want more than anything to get out of the workhouse – to move away and make a fresh start somewhere else.’
Mrs Broughton now got up. ‘Begging your pardon, m’lady.’ She glanced around at her fellow villagers. ‘Mebbe I haven’t the right to say owt, since we’ve been away for a while, but life in that place is a living hell. You all knew my Dan – what a good, jovial feller he was and a hard worker. And now look at him after a few weeks in there. He’s a broken man. I don’t’ – her voice trembled and she pressed a handkerchief to her mouth – ‘know if he’ll ever be the same again.’
There was more murmuring. There were no secrets on this estate and the village grapevine had been hard at work over the past couple of days.
Slowly, Jabez Fletcher, whom Annabel believed many looked upon as the village elder and their spokesman, rose to his feet. He was frowning now and Annabel held her breath. She was sure that whatever Jabez had to say would determine the reaction of the rest. As both Betsy and Lily Broughton sat down, Jabez stared at Annabel. She met his gaze steadily but her heartbeat quickened. The next few minutes would determine the future of Nancy, her son and her mother.
Jabez cleared his throat and began to speak slowly and deliberately. ‘M’lady, what has befallen this village, this estate, was none of our making. We were all hardworking, honest folk like Dan Broughton, but when that – that bugger up the hill – begging your pardon, m’lady – inherited it all, then we was done for. And he was the same bugger who shamed a nice little lass and brought her low. We all understood that and – at first – we stood by her, overlooked it, you might say. But it was what she did when things got tough that we find hard to excuse.’ He paused and Annabel’s heart sank. There was a movement at the back of the church and she glanced up to see that Nancy had risen and was hurrying out, dragging her son with her. Jabez carried on speaking as if nothing had happened. ‘But if we’re honest – and I hope we are still all honest, despite what has happened to us – might not any one of us have turned to such desperate measures to feed our little ones?’ He glanced around the congregation, searching the faces of all the women there. ‘Wouldn’t you’ – he pointed his finger – ‘and you and you have done the same, if you’d had the chance, rather than see your children starve?’ One or two of the women began to cry and several of the men looked shamefaced. ‘Aye,’ Jabez nodded. ‘We’ve come close to starvation. We all – every one of us – knows what it’s like to feel a gnawing hunger in our bellies and to have to listen to the bairns crying to be fed and we’ve nowt to give ’em.’ He nodded, embracing them all in what he was saying. ‘Aye, I’ve seen you all with that desperation in your eyes. That same desperation that young Nancy must have felt. She’d no man to lean on and her mam took herself off to the workhouse because she couldn’t bear the shame of what her daughter became. But she became a whore to feed her boy; a boy who, let me remind you, if he hadn’t been born on the wrong side of the blanket, would be our future lord and master. He is, as we all know, Albert Lyndon’s son and by the law of nature he should have inherited on his father’s death. But because of man’s laws, he’s a bastard and he can never inherit the title and the estate.’
‘So, what are you saying, Jabez,’ Jim Chadwick called out, ‘that we should give Nancy another chance?’
‘I am, Jim, yes.’
‘And is that because that’s what you genuinely feel we should do or because, despite what she says, it’s Lady Fairfield who’s asking?’
Jabez turned slowly to look at Annabel. ‘No,’ he said slowly at last, ‘it’s not because it’s her who’s asking. I believe what she says. She’ll still do her best for us no matter what we decide, but I reckon she would be very disappointed in us all if we say “no”. And I reckon she’d have a right to be.’
A stillness descended, each one of them was lost in their own thoughts, making up their own minds without influence from anyone else. Jabez sat down and leaned back in his seat, waiting as Annabel and the vicar were waiting too.
At last, when whispering began and grew like a breeze rippling through the church, Richard stepped forward and cleared his throat. ‘How do you want to do this? Would the easiest way be to take a vote?’
‘Aye, Vicar, I reckon that’s a good idea.’
‘Very well. So those in favour of giving Nancy a second chance, of treating her with kindness and understanding, of accepting her and her son back into the community in every way – and that will include allowing your children to play with Bertie, agreeing that he should attend school alongside them, patronizing her dressmaking business as and when you can afford it, sharing anything we have w
ith her until times improve – with no more censure, no more disapproval, no more making her and her family feel like outcasts—’
‘What if she falls back into those ways again?’ a voice from the back asked.
Before Richard could answer, Annabel spoke up. ‘Then she will leave the village.’
‘Could you make her do that, m’lady? She owns that cottage.’
‘Oh, I think I could find a way,’ Annabel said quietly, ‘but I don’t think for a moment that will happen. Nancy wants – more than anything – to change her life.’
‘So,’ Richard said again, ‘will those in favour please raise their hands?’
Jabez was the first to put up his right arm, swiftly followed by Betsy and Adam Cartwright, Lily Broughton and her son, William, and Josh Parrish. All the staff from Fairfield Hall followed suit and, as Annabel glanced round, slowly, one by one, the whole congregation raised their hands in the air.
Annabel felt the tears start in her eyes as she clasped her hands together. ‘Thank you, oh thank you.’
Thirty-Three
The next morning, Annabel brought Agnes Banks home from the workhouse. She had been overjoyed when Annabel gave her the news.
‘Nancy left the church yesterday before she heard the decision, but I went straight to her cottage afterwards and told her what had happened.’ Annabel omitted to tell Agnes that the young woman had wept tears of thankfulness against Annabel’s shoulder.
‘How can I ever thank you, m’lady?’ Nancy had said.
‘By keeping your promise to me, Nancy, that nothing like that will ever happen again. If you need help, you come to me.’
‘I swear it on Bertie’s life, m’lady.’
Annabel hadn’t expected such a dramatic reply, but now she knew Nancy would keep her word. She just hoped the villagers would keep their side of the agreement. But as she drove down the village street with Mrs Banks sitting beside her, she was heartened by the number of folk who came out of their cottages to wave and shout a greeting. When they reached Nancy’s cottage, they found Betsy and Lily there. Betsy had made a stew and Lily had baked an apple pie. Even Grace Parrish had come down from the big house to welcome her friend home.
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