Yorkshire

by Lynne Connolly

  “You didn’t think of it before?”

  “I found the idea of letting someone into my life unthinkable. Until you.”

  “Julia?”

  “Julia wouldn’t have intruded on my life.” He smiled down at me. “When I look at you I can hardly remember what she looks like.” He drew me closer.

  A sound outside made us separate quickly. He put one finger to his lips in a warning gesture and crossed the room to the door. For once, Mr. Pritheroe and his daughter hadn’t appeared that morning. We had been alone.

  Through the half open door, we saw Lady Hareton and Mrs. Peters opening the door to the small parlour. They didn’t speak, and except for the rustling of their skirts, they didn’t make a sound. They had their backs to us, otherwise they must have seen us, as the door of our room was only slightly closed, but they seemed intent on their errand. They might have decided to clean the room while Mr. Pritheroe was absent, but they carried no brushes, no cloths and they seemed intent on stealth.

  The women closed the door behind them. Richard crossed the room, took the knife out of the drawer in the small table, and beckoned me to follow him.

  We went across the hall and stopped outside the door of the small parlour, listening. Richard stood nearest the door and waited until we heard the sound we waited for—the click of the secret panel above the fireplace. Concealing the knife behind him, he opened the door and we went in.

  The panel gaped open, and Mrs Peters and Lady Hareton stood before its empty depths. They spun around as we came in, and tried some semblance of the courtesies, both curtseying, trying to hide their confusion, but we didn’t move.

  “Didn’t you find it?” said Richard.

  A noise indicated Lizzie had returned with sewing. When she saw us, she immediately dropped her work and followed us in.

  “Close the door, if you please,” said Richard.

  Lizzie obeyed. They must have seen from our faces that we knew what they had been looking for but Mrs. Peters still tried to excuse them. “We found this door, sir. We wondered what might be inside.”

  “Treasure?” asked Richard, coolly, still holding the knife behind the skirts of his coat, “An overlooked will, perhaps? Or maybe just an ordinary item.”

  Lady Hareton gasped, hand to her mouth. She looked at Mrs. Peters, who glared at us balefully. “Whatever it might be, there’s nothing to link it with anything.” She put up her chin, ready, one would have thought, for the blow.

  “You’re quite right.” Richard drew out the knife from behind his coat. It gleamed wickedly. “I thought you might be involved, Mrs. Peters. This knife is so clean there’s not a mark on it. It must have taken a great deal of scrubbing to bring it back to this.” He turned the knife, and it caught the pale November sun, glinting as he turned it.

  “It did,” the housekeeper said. “But I don’t think I can be hung for cleaning a knife.”

  “One would have thought not,” Richard agreed. “But if it was a particular knife, what then?”

  “It has to be shown it was that knife,” Mrs. Peters said, game to the last.

  “Dear me, I believe we’ve discovered a mother hen. What has Lady Hareton to do with all this? Did she take pity on you, and agree to help you? Are you, perhaps, a relative?”

  “Christ, no. If I were a member of that family, I might have turned the knife on myself.”

  “A sensible solution,” Richard agreed urbanely.

  Lizzie cried out, “Lady Hareton!”

  Richard was only just in time to prevent her falling to the hard wooden floor. He lifted her and put her on one of the comfortless benches that were the only seating the room had to offer. He handed me the knife, and knelt next to the lady, while Lizzie went to the other room, returning with some of the cushions Martha had installed there. Richard lifted Lady Hareton’s head, and placed one of them under it while Mrs. Peters poured a glass of water from the jug on the table.

  Richard felt in his pocket, and handed her a small flask, which Mrs. Peters took and opened, sniffing the contents. She seemed satisfied, for she poured a small amount of the tawny liquid into the water, then took Richard’s place by her mistress, and lifted Lady Hareton’s head.

  “Come, my lady, take some of this.” Lady Hareton roused a little and did as she was told. She spluttered so much she had to be lifted to a sitting position, but when the housekeeper held the glass to her lips, she took some more.

  “Do you think she can be—in the family way?” Lizzie said, and was surprised by the fierce response of the lady kneeling by her mistress.

  Mrs. Peters lifted her head once, and said, “No,” but the ravaged expression on her face told us what we needed to know. Then she went back to her charge.

  Richard raised his eyebrows, and I took a step back.

  Eventually, Lady Hareton regained some of her composure. Lizzie and I sat together on the other hard bench, and Richard stood by the fire. The secret compartment still gaped open behind his head for anyone to see.

  “I did it.” That quiet voice, so seldom heard now filled the room. “I cut the strap.”

  “No, my lady,” Mrs. Peters said quickly, trying to drown out the quiet voice with her own louder one. “I told you, if you hold fast, they can prove nothing.”

  “She’s quite right, you know,” Richard said. “There’s nothing to connect the two.”

  “Could you say it was shock, sir?” Mrs. Peters looked up at him. “Could you say she didn’t know what she said?”

  She and Richard stared at each other. “It might be possible for us to be conveniently deaf. Can you tell us the whole?”

  Mrs. Peters thought for a long time then, and watched Richard. Then she sighed heavily. She seemed to sag from her usual upright posture. “I think we must. I have no choice but to trust you. It started when the old earl died. His son behaved properly until after the funeral but he came across the minister and he changed completely. He was pre-contracted to a society lady, but he managed to break it. Then he set about destroying everything his father had done. In one way, you can understand it, because the old man saw him as nothing but a way to preserve the family, not as a person. He whipped his children regularly and never allowed them to sit in his presence or express an opinion of their own.”

  I didn’t understand how anyone couldn’t love, or at least, care for their children.

  Mrs. Peters continued with her narrative. “There were only the two boys, so he concentrated on them. They never knew when the summons came. Neither of them was strong enough to stand up to him. If they had, perhaps this needn’t have happened. Two years after the old earl’s death, his son saw Mr. Pritheroe preaching in the village, and brought him back here. The minute he passed through these doors, I thought the preacher was the old earl come back. Not in his appearance, but he had the same arrogance and singleness of purpose. Next day, Lord Hareton ordered the rooms shut up and most of the maids out. When they tried to pack up the treasures and cover the furniture, he told them to let it be and go, so they went.

  “My lady here arrived and Lord Hareton said he would marry her. He did so the following month. Mr. Pritheroe left her here while he went about the country on his mission. Lord Hareton sent him what money he could, but he also devised a scheme to break the entail, to sell everything for the religion. He treated my lady as badly as he’d been treated by his own father.”

  She pushed up Lady Hareton’s sleeve, exposing the scar of what must have been a severe and painful burn. Lizzie and I both cried out, and Richard grimaced, as we all saw the wound and imagined the pain that must have gone with it.

  “He did that for something I can’t even remember. With a fresh flat iron that sat by the fire in the kitchen, waiting for its proper use. I’m sorry, but I wanted to give you some idea of what went on here.” Lady Hareton didn’t resist, but looked up at us with her big brown eyes, unflinchingly. “If you want to know the whole,” the housekeeper continued relentlessly, “there is no way on earth my lady can be with ch
ild, as she is still a maid.”

  Before we took in the terrible implications of that last sentence, the door crashed open, and Mr. Pritheroe came in. He complained loudly. He held a crutch under one arm, to support his broken limb, and he held his other hand to his head.

  “What are you all doing in here?” He made so much noise he didn’t hear the quiet click when Richard closed the secret door over the mantelpiece.

  “Where is my daughter?” He looked over to where she lay on the bench, a pillow behind her head. “What are you doing there, girl, lounging around at this time of day? What’s that you have?” He clumped over to her, took the glass out of her unresisting hand, and sniffed the contents. “Brandy!” he cried, and hurled the glass to the back of the fireplace. It shattered noisily.

  Richard sighed at the needlessly dramatic gesture. “Sir, your daughter feels faint. The brandy was purely medicinal.” Lady Hareton looked up at Richard, her face white. Violence glittered in her father’s eyes. I’d heard him say women needed whipping frequently. I’d thought it as rhetorical as his other pronouncements, but now I knew it wasn’t.

  “Brandy is never medicinal.” The minister looked only at his daughter.

  “Father,” she begged him, faintly. “Please.”

  “Please what? Get up this instant, girl. My head hurts, my leg is sore and I need something to eat.”

  Lady Hareton began to rise. Richard moved swiftly across to her and pressed the countess back to the bench. “Your daughter has been taken ill. It would be most unwise of her to undertake any exertion.”

  “Sir, you have no right to come between a man and his womenfolk,” the so-called reverend protested. “I know what is right for my daughter.”

  “Legally, sir, you have a point,” Richard replied. “Morally, however, your authority is questionable.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Sir, it may be strange to you to meet people you cannot command,” Richard said calmly. “It may be that you deliberately restrict yourself to the company of people you can dominate. Bullies often do, in my experience.”

  The explosion should have raised dust, if there had been any to raise. “Sir, I keep my company to people who deserve it.”

  “That, I doubt,” Richard’s eyes were ice cold, his demeanour took on the supercilious, aristocratic expression I hadn’t seen since he stepped down from his carriage on the first day. It was a mask, purposely concealing the anger beneath, but I could feel his fury. The air bristled with it. “Very few people deserve your company, but if what I have just seen is any indication of her married life, the last but one Lord Hareton was one of the few.”

  “He treated her as a woman should be treated.”

  “He beat her, subdued her and kept her a maid,” Richard said. “Women were meant for better things.”

  Pritheroe sneered, his mouth a hard, thin line. “Carnal relations, perhaps? Oh I’ve heard of your reputation, my lord, I know what you and your kind get up to.”

  “I doubt that.” Richard remained calm, but I worried that tensions would erupt into violence. “We treat women as human beings.”

  “A woman needs taming,” grunted Pritheroe. At least he had reduced the volume of his pronouncements. “Women are born sinners, they bear Eve’s shame, and they must pay for it all their lives.”

  “I can’t see us ever agreeing on that point,” Richard said, “and I don’t intend to get into any discussions with you on the subject. However, I will not see this happen to anyone who asks me for help.”

  “Has my daughter dared to ask you for help?”

  “In every way but words.” Richard glanced down to where Lady Hareton still lay, staring mutely at him. He gave her a small smile of reassurance. “I will do my best to see that you are kept away from her in future, that she is left in peace. She has suffered in silence too long. As Dowager Countess, she has rights.”

  The sneering tone remained in Mr. Pritheroe’s voice. “You’ll take her under your protection, perhaps?”

  Richard chose not to take the insult. “In every way but the personal one.”

  “Marry her, maybe?”

  “I’m unable to do so as I’m promised elsewhere. My protection will be limited to ensuring you come nowhere near her in future. I’m sure Lord Hareton will join me in this.”

  “Are you?” asked the odious man. “Well, I think if I took you to court, they might think differently.”

  Richard shook his head. “She is a widow; she has rights. Even if she did cause the death of her husband and his brother.”

  Chapter Twenty

  We felt the pause before Lady Hareton wailed, a long, keening wail that released her troubles and pain. I thought she’d never stop.

  The door burst open to admit Martha, on the warpath. She glared and stood arms akimbo, mutely demanding an explanation. James was out about the estate, or he would have followed his wife shortly after. Servants gathered outside. Without looking, Martha back heeled the door, slamming it shut.

  No one could be heard over that terrible keening, the long, drawn-out wails coming over and over, increasing in volume. I closed my eyes, feeling Richard’s hand touch my shoulder. I opened my eyes and nodded to him before he turned to Pritheroe and his daughter. Mrs. Peters leaned over her mistress and slapped her face, hard.

  The noise shut off, like the lid of a box slamming closed, but the sound still reverberated in my ears. Lady Hareton put her hand to her face and burst into tears. Without hesitation, Mrs. Peters took her into her arms and rocked her like a baby.

  “Please take her ladyship upstairs,” Richard said, “and put her to bed. If you need something for her comfort, my man Carier should be able to help.”

  Mrs. Peters glanced up at him and nodded. Together, they helped Lady Hareton to her feet. Slowly, the housekeeper led her out of the room. Martha moved aside to let them pass, laying her hand on Lady Hareton’s shoulder as she passed.

  When the door had closed, she turned to us. “Tell me the whole.”

  Richard nodded. “The announcement at table the other night was a subterfuge. We had found the knife which may very well have cut the traces on the coach, and we wanted to bring whoever had done it out into the open. It took a day or two, but we discovered who it was, eventually. Lady Hareton has been treated appallingly by her father and her husband. I won’t detail it here, but I will tell you later, should you wish it.”

  Martha nodded. She didn’t take her gaze away from him. Pritheroe also watched him, his concentrated, fascinated gaze trance-like in its intensity. “She cut the strap on the coach. I don’t think she realised what she was doing. If she’d been in her right mind, she’d have taken a surer step to murder. Perhaps she wanted to frighten them, or put a period to her own existence, since I took her place in the coach that day. It’s impossible to say. I don’t think she knows herself why she did it.” He cleared his throat, the first indication of emotion he had shown, except when he’d looked at me to assure himself I was coping with all this. “I for one cannot condemn her, but the decision isn’t mine. I have undertaken to ensure that her father doesn’t approach her again, but it is up to Lord Hareton whether he prosecutes or not.”

  Martha opened her mouth to speak. Before she could, Pritheroe roared his anger. “My daughter? Is this true? Can you prove it?”

  Richard turned to face him. “No. The knife is clean. There’s nothing to connect it to the accident. Lady Hareton has admitted the act, and she has more than enough reason to do it. The evidence may not be enough for a court.” He addressed Martha next. “If you choose to prosecute, you may have to make further enquiries. For myself, I am satisfied. I don’t wish to take this any further, so if your husband should wish to, I’m afraid he must do it without me.”

  Martha managed to speak this time. “James won’t prosecute. The lady has suffered enough. She’s half out of her mind in any case. Not fit to stand trial.”

  Richard smiled. “Thank you.”

  He got no further as Pri
theroe bellowed forth once more. “My daughter? I have no daughter. How dare she defy the laws of God and Man in this way?”

  Richard waited until he stopped to draw breath. “Will you prosecute?”

  “Me? No. Although she has cost me a fortune. If she did it, she should have waited until the signatures were on the entail.”

  Richard’s smile was malicious. “Because she didn’t want you to have it. Why should you be rewarded for what you did to her?”

  “I brought her up as a good, God-fearing girl. The devil must have been in her from the first. I cannot acknowledge such a wicked child, such an evil spirit.” He glared at Martha. “I and my servant will leave in the morning. I cannot stay in this house of iniquity any longer.”

  He stumped to the door and let himself out. No one moved to help him.

  The spell was broken. I dived in my pocket for my handkerchief and applied it to my eyes. Martha said, “Thank God for that. I’ve wanted to throw him out since he left his sickbed. Normally I wouldn’t let someone with that kind of injury leave, but I don’t care. He can break the other one tomorrow and I’d still make sure he was gone in the morning.”

  Richard touched my shoulder again. “Miss Golightly, are you well?” The frightening, glittering temper was gone. Only concern adorned his face.

  I mopped my eyes. “Quite well. But I have a strange dislike of voices raised in anger. I’m a coward, I suppose.”

  “Never that.”

  I favoured him with a watery smile. “I’m fine, really I am.” I wiped away my tears, feeling my sister’s arm around my shoulders.

  “She’s always been like that,” Lizzie explained. “You have to be used to a lot of noise in our house, but Rose has never liked loud, angry voices.”

  “Or being the centre of attention,” I added. “But the result was worthwhile. Will he really leave his daughter alone now?”

  “She’s cost him too much,” Richard said.