by Janet Woods
They were stopped by a couple of revenue men as they came back along the quay.
‘Rein in. Oh, it’s you, Mr Skinner,’ one of them said.
‘Mr Weaver. How are you this fine night?’
‘Fine, it isn’t, for a man has recently been murdered. His neck was broken.’
Josh’s next breath was a cautious quiver. ‘No business of the customs, surely, Mr Weaver. Do we know the victim?’
‘A seaman called Silas Barton.’ Henry Weaver’s smile was all friendliness. ‘And as you know, the revenue men stick their noses into all sorts of business, Mr Skinner.’
Marcus had been told about Josh’s run-in with Weaver in the past, how the man had given Josh a strong warning about his smuggling. It had set him back on the straight and narrow. Josh chuckled now. ‘And a mighty fine job they do of it, too. Have you met my companion, Mr Marcus Ibsen, the owner of Cheverton Estate? He’s just about to head for the manor before this fog gets any thicker.’
‘It will probably thin out beyond Upton.’
‘I’m counting on it, otherwise I’ll have to escort him all the way to the manor. Don’t shoot me when I come back through, will you, Mr Weaver?’
‘I’ll try not to.’ Weaver extended his hand. ‘I’m pleased to have met you, Mr Ibsen.’
Marcus took it in a firm shake. ‘And you, Mr Weaver.
Do you have a description of the felon in case we run into him?’
‘He’ll probably be large and strong, for Barton’s neck was broken without a sign of a struggle, and he was no sparrow. His female companion said it happened so quickly she didn’t see the attacker’s face.’
‘That was unfortunate. Well, we’ll be getting on, then. Goodnight to you.’
‘Take care. Do you have a weapon to hand?’
‘I have a pistol in my saddle bag.’
‘Don’t hesitate to use it if you have to. Robbery wasn’t a motive for the killing, for the man’s purse was left intact. It was probably a grudge killing.’
‘That’s a relief,’ Josh said with a laugh. ‘Marcus has just won a packet from me at cards, and I’d like him to live long enough so I can win it back from him.’
‘Thanks for the favour,’ Marcus said, clapping Josh on the shoulder when they parted. ‘I won’t forget this.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
Friends like Josh were hard to come by, Marcus thought as he rode away.
Maryse was wide awake. Her husband had hesitated outside her room, then quietly entered. She’d closed her eyes when he’d crept across the floor to lovingly kiss her cheek, wishing she could respond to him.
She wondered where he’d been. Did Marcus have a mistress? Not that she minded. It would be unfair if she did, for she had no desire to keep him satisfied in that way.
Marcus was a good man. Without a doubt, she loved him. But someone so fine deserved someone better than herself. She couldn’t bear to see the worry on his face over her. Siana would have made him a better wife, Siana who she’d once loved, but now hated for her deception. Eventually her father would forgive Siana for her part in this, for she’d always been able to get round him. Then Maryse would have to spend the rest of her life knowing Bryn was her own child – hers and one of the devils who had hurt her. A sob came to her throat. Hating hurt . . . how it hurt! But she didn’t know how to stop.
Maryse could think of only one way to take her revenge – one her father would never forgive Siana for. Her action would split asunder the family Siana had drawn around her.
Later, she heard her children crying to be fed, their thin, complaining voices coming from a distance. Poor little wretches. They had a mother who didn’t love them and who wouldn’t sustain them, so Marcus had hired a wet nurse for them. But he had enough love inside him for both of them. She was glad they looked like him, for then they wouldn’t remind him of her.
When all was quiet she rose and dressed herself. Boots in hand, she made her way downstairs, the spaniels following at her heels. Quietly letting herself out, she stood for a moment, shivering in the cold, moist air, her courage almost deserting her.
The dogs sniffed around, then pushed at her hand and whined. Maryse thrust them back inside the door. She listened to them scratching on the other side for a moment, then heard their feet pattering away.
The water in the garden Marcus had designed for her glinted as it rushed over the little weir. Silly that he’d thought to erase the act from her memory in such a way. It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered except to carry out the act that would stop her hating herself and everyone else.
She picked up speed, following the line of trees. An hour later she could smell the sea. The sky had lost its blackness and was a surly grey between the lighter clouds. The horizon was a thin streak of silver where the moon still shed some light.
Another half an hour and the salt smell was strong in her nostrils, the tide an ebb and flow of noise against her eardrums.
The hill sloped downwards towards the cliff. She stood on the very edge, her mind teetering dangerously between exhilaration and dread, her cloak billowing around her. She stared down into the darkness, where the water surged and churned over the rocks.
She thought she heard Marcus call her name from a distance and there was a faint sound of her dogs yapping.
The sea called to her, its voice louder, more insistent. Come to my embrace, I will end all the pain inside you.’
Holding out her arms she fell forward into the void. For a moment her cloak filled with wind and she flew like a bird. Then it folded up over her head and she plummeted.
The pain lasted for only an instant.
9
Siana woke with a sense of real dread, which didn’t leave her even when she felt a familiar wave of sickness engulf her.
Could she be with child? Her monthly course was overdue for the second time. She ran her fingers over the flatness of her stomach, allowing herself to savour a small quiver of excitement. Sometimes, her husband had surprised her with his unconventional behaviour and his passion, so it was a wonder that an infant had not been conceived sooner.
Dressing quickly, she pulled her hair into a loose braid and hurried downstairs. Now was not the time to tell Francis, when he was so worried about Maryse.
The day was overcast and gloomy. There was a sense of doom, of waiting. When was the last time she’d felt the strangeness so strongly in her? It had been the day her first husband had lost his life. She’d felt like this then, as if there was an overwhelming darkness living inside her. There was nothing she could do about what it would bring about, she knew that now. The earth had its own ways, and although she may have the instincts to be aware of them, the mere knowledge was a privilege bestowed on her. She’d learned not to try and work against it, for there was always a reckoning.
She went upstairs to the nursery. Bryn and Susannah were playing happily together under the eye of the nursery maid. She gave them both a hug, saying to the maid, ‘Have you seen my husband?’
‘He went out early, Mrs Matheson. Noah Baines came for him. Dr Matheson looked to be proper mazed too, all pale and shaking, like he was suffering from the ague.’
Siana’s sense of doom deepened, but all she could do was wait.
She was glad when Reverend White was announced. He looked sad and lonely as he placed a string-tied bundle on the desk. ‘Your aunt has returned to Wales. She left these things for you, and a letter. I’ll miss her, for although she was a servant, she was beginning to be a good companion.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.
‘Also, I thought I’d tell you that I’ve employed your former maid. At least you will know where Rosie is, should you be in the position to retain her again. She was very distressed when she came to me.’
‘Thank you, Richard, that’s kind of you. Francis dismissed her without reference, even though she’d been acting on my orders. I was worried about her. She’s such a good-hearted woman, and a hard worker. Give her my love and te
ll her I’m managing.’
Siana ordered refreshment and, while they waited for it to arrive, she read the letter from Wynn Lewis.
Dear Mrs Matheson,
When I left Wales to seek you out, my intention was to right the wrongs of the past. Instead, my interference has worsened matters. Please accept the legacy from your great-grandmother. I should like you to have the quilt too, for it is the only possession I have. Perhaps you will see some beauty in the design, and bear in mind that the stitcher was the bitter old woman who came into your life with the means, but not the will, to destroy.
My only hope for redemption is if the Gwin Dwr cleanses the stain from my soul. I beg your forgiveness too.
Your great-aunt,
Wynn Lewis
Fear lodged heavily in Siana’s throat. The Gwin Dwr? The sacred pool would not redeem this woman, she knew it without a doubt. But she had no sympathy to spare for Wynn Lewis, for the woman had caused too much damage to those Siana loved.
‘The book she left you is the poetry of Hywell Llewellyn, Richard White said. ‘I feel very privileged to have seen it. It’s very old and is hand illuminated. It’s probably worth a great deal of money.’
‘Then I’ll look after it carefully.’ Siana lifted the brooch from the lace work and gazed at the lock of dark hair, which had been woven into an intricate design. Feeling sick at heart, she slowly shook her head as she turned the brooch in her fingers, unconsciously copying the movement her great-grandmother’s fingers had made before her.
‘This is my mother’s hair. She was taken advantage of by my father, the man we both knew as the preacher, Gruffydd Evans. He was a man who couldn’t control his urges. The village women cut my mother’s hair from her head before sending her from their midst to fend for herself.’ Her palm closed around the precious memento and she gazed at him, her eyes full of tears. ‘Why must your God make women suffer so, when the sin is not theirs?’
Richard White spread his hands in defeat. ‘I have no answer for you, Siana. You’ve had a sad time of it over the years, my dear.’
It was going to get sadder. She knew it. ‘Pray for my relative’s soul, for I haven’t the charity inside me to do so myself,’ she said, as he stood to leave. ‘She will need it, I think.’
When Francis returned, Siana had never seen him look so haggard. Pansy was with him, her eyes puffy and red from crying.’
Siana gazed an appeal to him as he came into the house. ‘Francis?’
He pushed past her without a word, making his way up the stairs looking like an old man. Her heart filled with dread, Siana turned to Pansy. ‘Is it Maryse?’
‘She’s taken her own life.’
Maryse, dead! Her beautiful, sensitive stepdaughter, so full of life and grace, gone from them.’
‘How?’ she whispered. But she didn’t need to ask, for the how and place had been revealed to her in the past, and she’d risked all to snatch the girl back back from the brink.
But it wouldn’t do to remember too much. There was a purpose to everything, and Maryse had left behind two beautiful children. Nobody could help the dead, they could only comfort the living. In front of her was a wonderful girl who’d always walked in her sister’s shadow. Pansy’s grief and bewilderment surrounded Siana. She drew a pair of cold, shaking hands into her own and felt them tremble as the girl said in a tragic voice, ‘She threw herself off the cliff on to the rocks below. Oh, Siana, Maryse was so badly damaged and the waves were pink-frothed with her blood. Marcus was beside himself. He climbed down the cliff into the water and held her in his arms so she wouldn’t float away with the tide, while I ran to get help.
‘Luckily, Josh came to Cheverton on his way to Dorchester. He’s so strong and calm; he’s helping Marcus. Why did she do such an awful thing? I hate her for making me suffer like this. I hate her!’ Pansy burst into another flood of weeping.
Folding the girl in her arms, Siana wept with her. ‘You don’t hate her, my dearest. Maryse suffered so much. She felt betrayed by me and didn’t know where to turn in her distress. Sometimes, it takes more courage than someone possesses to live with the consequence of what one has gone through. But although it might have seemed like the easiest way for her to solve her problem, it took a greater degree of courage to do what she did.’
Siana held Pansy at arm’s length. ‘Being women, there’s one more thing you and I can do for her. We can prepare her for the undertaker, so when they come to lay her in her coffin, her body will have remained private except to the women closest to her. Do you have the strength to help me perform such a task? It will be the last act of love we can offer her.’
Pansy nodded. ‘I can do no less.’
‘Good, then I’ll fetch my cape. We’ll go before the horse and rig is stabled.’
‘What about papa?’
‘I’ll tell him before we go. Wait outside for me.’
But the study door was locked. ‘Francis,’ she said softly against the panel. ‘Pansy and I are going to the manor, for there are tasks we must do.’
She received no answer.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, biting back on a sob because she could sense and understand the torture he was going through. She listened for a few moments and, getting no reply, joined Pansy outside, taking the reins herself as they made their way through the damp, miserable morning to Cheverton Manor.
Maryse’s spaniels came running out to greet them, their ears flapping as they yelped with the excitement of seeing her. Marcus followed, giving Siana a hug. His clothes were still damp and, although he was composed, he looked haggard and the skin surrounding his eyes were puffy, as if he’d been weeping. She held him close for a long time, absorbing some of his distress and wishing there was some way she could comfort him.
‘I’m glad you came,’ he said.
‘Are you coping, Marcus?’
‘I feel numb, but perhaps that’s for the best. No doubt we’ll find time for guilt and recriminations after the conventions have been observed, when someone is looking to place the blame for this tragedy.’
It didn’t take much to realize who that someone might be, but she wasn’t about to enter into such a conversation in front of Pansy. ‘With your permission, we are here to prepare Maryse for burial.’
He nodded. ‘I thought you’d want to do that last act for her. Josh has gone to inform the undertaker and will be back as soon as possible. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘It will be better if you leave it to us now. Send a female servant up with water and soap. A sensible, older one would be best. We’ll call you when you’re finished.’
Tears came to his eyes. ‘Be gentle with my sweet Maryse. She’s suffered enough for one day.’
‘And so have you, Marcus. You’re still wet. You’ll catch a chill if you’re not careful. Here is your servant. Go with him and change into dry clothes.’
‘Does it matter?’
Just then, a small distant cry reached their ears. ‘There are others who love and need their father, are there not? It’s your responsibility to stay healthy,’ Siana admonished.
The smile he gave was a painful wrench of his lips. ‘My love left me a legacy, and you will keep me obligated despite my pain.’
‘As you did me.’ The future of Bryn, the child who had precipitated this tragedy, was suddenly obscure. So was her own happiness. But it was best not to think of that now. There were tasks to be performed and arrangements to be made. ‘You’ll need to see Reverend White to arrange the service, so must send a servant to inform him of what has taken place.’
Something distressing occurred to her. ‘I’m not sure what the procedure is in cases such as this.’
‘Don’t worry, Siana, Maryse will not be shamed again. Noah Baines has certified her death as accidental. She’ll be buried in hallowed ground next to her mother.’ He nodded to his servant. ‘Mrs Matheson will require the services of an older female and I will need some hot water and a dry suit of clothes.’
; Later in the morning, Siana and Pansy joined hands and looked down on the lifeless body of Maryse. They’d used wax to carry out the tasks necessary to keep her body sweet before burial. Afterwards, they’d gently washed and dried her bruised and broken corpse, then rubbed sweet-smelling lavender oil into her skin.
The injuries she’d sustained were shocking. Fortunately, her face had remained uninjured. So they bound her limbs and body tightly in strips of linen, then dressed her in a grey silk gown which covered her up to her chin. Her stockinged feet were placed in kid slippers, her hands in silk gloves.
Around her shoulders they placed the gift of love Marcus had given her, a grey silk shawl gaily decorated with embroidered butterflies. By necessity, a cap was used to cover her head and tied tightly under her chin to prevent her mouth from falling open. Her newly washed hair flowed in little gleaming rivers from under it to rest upon her shoulders and the pillow.
Her hands were crossed upon her chest, a gold crucifix on a chain arranged there. Finally, weighing down her eyelids with two coins, Siana folded a lace handkerchief and placed it across her eyes. Gently, she kissed Maryse’s cold cheek. ‘Goodbye, my beloved stepdaughter. May your soul find peace.’
‘She looks younger and relaxed and beautiful, like she’s an angel already,’ Pansy whispered, biting back a sob. ‘I’ll go and fetch Marcus.’
‘No, I’ll go. You might want to snatch a few precious moments to say goodbye to your sister in private.’
When Marcus came in to gaze down upon his wife, lying there as if fast asleep, he was controlled. Siana was thankful for the strength he possessed.
‘Thank you, Siana, and you, Pansy. I’d like to spend a little time alone with her now.’
‘We’ll wait downstairs until Josh and the undertaker arrive, and will then inform you. They’ll advise you on what should be done next.’ As Siana and Pansy proceeded down the staircase, Marcus gave an anguished cry, as if his heart was breaking in two.
Francis had taken Maryse’s death hard. It wasn’t until the day of the funeral that he spoke to Siana again. She saw or heard him come and go, sometimes with letters in his hand. Sometimes he was called out to attend a patient. When he was home he remained in his study. Siana worried about his lack of appetite when his meals were sent back to the kitchen barely touched, even though she had little appetite herself. Mostly, she worried because he didn’t talk to her, not even when they passed on the stairs. But he’d stand politely aside to allow her to pass, his head averted, as though he didn’t want to be contaminated by even seeing her.