A Child of Secrets

by Mary Mackie

  * * *

  As Jess undressed that night, she heard the rustle of paper and remembered the letter in her apron pocket. Rudd’s letter. With unsteady hands she lit a candle and sat down on her bed to open the envelope.

  Sadly, the writing inside wasn’t half as clear as her name on the front – of course, he’d had to write it with his left hand – and the few words she could pick out didn’t convey any clear meaning. She always had special trouble with handwriting. She would have to get Nanny to keep her promise about those reading lessons, if ever there was time. Oh, why couldn’t she read! Here was an important message from the man she loved and she couldn’t understand more than a few words of it!

  * * *

  The day of Lily’s party opened with a thunderstorm which settled into a steady downpour. As she left for the rectory, Jess encountered Sal Gooden in the passageway. Sal spread her arms, barring the way, saying with a grin, ‘Well, and now who’s a sly-boots, then? Quiet little Jess Keep-myself-to-myself, gettin’ secret messages from Mr Rudd, heh?’

  ‘How’d you know—’

  ‘Ah, I do have my spies,’ Sal laughed. ‘Why, din’t you know Bob Gooden was my brother? I heard as he’d been here askin’ after you, so soon’s I got home last night I got hold of his ear and made him tell. Fancy! You slopin’ off cleanin’ up Mr Rudd’s cottage and never sayin’ nothin’. What’s he now say in that letter, then? Thankee kindly for all the hard work?’

  ‘Somethin’ of the kind,’ Jess said, glad of the shadows that hid her heated face. She had the letter with her, tucked inside her bodice where its corners scratched her tender flesh, making her feel closer to Rudd. She didn’t know what he’d written, but she was sure it was something more personal than a simple thank you. ‘Howsomever, that’s atween him and me, Sal Gooden. So don’t try startin’ a flood when your pump en’t primed.’

  ‘What, me?’ Sal beamed. ‘Why, I en’t never been known to gossip. Well, not for more’n ten minutes a time!’

  * * *

  Lily spent the morning in alternating hope and despair, staying mainly in her room staring out at the grey day. It was almost July, but it seemed more like November.

  In the afternoon, the Andersons – Mama, Tilly and Jane – arrived too early as a result of a misunderstanding. Miss Peartree assured them this was of no matter; she welcomed them in and sent to the kitchen for sweet biscuits and elderflower wine, which Jess served.

  ‘Send Mary Anne to tell Miss Lily that her guests are here,’ Miss Peartree instructed her.

  Since Mary Anne was on her knees cleaning up the crock of pork lard she’d dropped, Jess herself went up to deliver the message.

  Lily was seated at her dressing table, her black hair flowing round her shoulders in a curling cloud, soft from washing, but she was leaning on her elbows, staring glumly at her reflection.

  ‘En’t you ready yet?’ Jess asked.

  ‘I’m not sure I can face anyone.’

  ‘That you can. Let me help. There’s friends waitin’ for you.’

  Lily sat up hopefully. ‘What friends? Has Mr Dickon arrived?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  The light in the strange eyes died as quickly as it had come. ‘You mean the Andersons. Cousin Oriana fondly hopes their sober influence will rub off on me. Oh… Yes, Jess, stay and help me. Stay and make me calm down. I’m all aflutter.’ She pressed her hands to her breast, closing her eyes as she took several deep breaths while Jess began to dress her hair. ‘I can’t think what…’ Her gaze met Jess’s through the mirror, blue and brown both equally agonised as she said hoarsely, ‘Ash might be coming with Dickon. If he does… If he does, then everything will be all right. Won’t it, Jess?’

  Sixteen

  A calmer Lily was dressed and down in time to greet the arrival of the curate, Peter Dunnock. The company gathered in the drawing room, making awkward conversation. Lily was on edge, anticipating further arrivals.

  Dickon arrived at last, just as tea was being served. And he did bring a friend. But the friend was not Ashton Haverleigh. The two young men had been out with the mole catcher, laying traps and poison, and, to judge by the stink of their breath and their disgraceful behaviour, they had been freely imbibing from their hip flasks.

  ‘Papa ordered them to leave,’ a distressed Lily told Jess later. ‘The Andersons also departed, in great dudgeon. Papa begged Mr Dunnock to stay, but I couldn’t have borne his sympathy so I said I felt unwell. Oh, Jess… I was a fool to imagine that Ash would come, wasn’t I? But then I am a fool – I always let myself believe what I want to believe.’

  After Jess had finished clearing up and gone back to the big house, Lily was climbing the stairs when her father emerged from his study. ‘Lily Victoria,’ he said. ‘I regret if your day has been spoiled. Dickon had no right to come here in that state.’

  ‘Dickon’s a buffoon,’ Lily said dully. ‘I’ve tried to tell you that before, Papa.’

  ‘You may be right,’ he conceded. ‘Be that as it may, that is not what I wished to say. I wished to speak about… about your future. It’s time we began seriously to consider what you are going to do with yourself now that you have completed your education.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her stomach turned to lead. She felt herself sag and her fingers tightened on the shiny banister. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The thing is…’ His glance shifted away from hers as he hesitated, in a way that puzzled Lily; uncertainty was not usually a trait of his. ‘On reflection, I realise how much you enjoy being about in the summer, so I suggest we delay any decision. Enjoy the fine weather while it lasts. Later… later we shall speak again.’

  He turned away, going into his study, closing the door. Lily was bewildered. Uncertainty – and consideration of her feelings! Gracious goodness, what was wrong with Papa?

  * * *

  A few days later, when the rain had gone and the summer resumed its smiling course, Lily and Gyp walked up to the big house. They were both invited in and shown up to the nursery suite.

  ‘Gyp!’ Bella came rushing to hug the little dog, who leapt up and licked her face.

  ‘Cousin Oriana suggested I should come,’ Lily said as she peered curiously about her, wrinkling her nose at a vague, unpleasant odour.

  ‘I’m delighted that you did,’ Nanny said. ‘Now, Miss Bella, why don’t you show Miss Clare your drawings – and your writing.’

  Lily was interested, curious both about the child and the nursery suite. She went to the window and peered out at the leaded balcony and the stone parapet, with the park spreading far below. ‘Gracious goodness – isn’t it high? Can we go out there?’

  ‘No!’ Alarmed, Bella backed away, her hand seeking Jess’s for comfort. ‘I’m not allowed out. I – might fall.’

  ‘Not if—’ Lily stopped, the warning looks on both Jess’s and Nanny’s face reminding her of poor Harry’s fate. ‘Ah, well,’ she added with a smile, ‘it’s nicer in the garden, anyway. Shall we go for a walk? Would you like to go to the beach? If that’s in order, Nanny Fyncham?’

  ‘I’m sure Miss Bella would love it,’ Nanny said, settling into her chair beside the fire, which Jess lit every day, come heat or freeze. ‘Jess will come with you. Get the things together, Jess.’

  As they were making down the attic corridor, Lily looked back, wrinkling her nose. ‘Whatever is that smell?’

  Before Jess could reply, Bella said, ‘That’s Nanny. Her room smells of pinkle-pot. So Kate used to say.’

  ‘Ah…’ said Lily, her pretty face eloquent.

  She led the way, via a path new to Jess, through the woods behind the house and past a strange hummock with steps leading down to an iron gate.

  ‘That’s the ice-house,’ Lily said. ‘They fill it with snow and ice in the winter and freeze meat there. They also use the ice for ice cream. Brrrr! It’s a cold, cold place. Do you like ice cream, Bella?’

  ‘Oh yes!’

  ‘So do I,’ said Lily, licking her lips. ‘With honey on it!’

/>   The path ended at a little gate in the perimeter wall, from where Lily crossed the coast lane and skipped lightly down into another stretch of woodland. The sun glimmered among tossing leaves, on to fronds of bracken and bramble, and grass thick with flowers. Lily pointed them out to Bella, telling her about the birds and animals they glimpsed. She would, Jess thought, make a fine governess, if only her hopes and dreams hadn’t set her heart on a totally different direction.

  ‘Oh!’ Lily stopped so suddenly that Jess walked into her. ‘Gracious goodness!’

  Following her gaze, Jess too saw the little group of brightly painted caravans. They stood in a clearing, around a fire whose smoke drifted up through the leafy canopy towards the clear summer sky. A couple of horses were tethered under the trees, and on the steps of one caravan an old woman dressed in black was intent on some handiwork.

  Lily had an almost hungry look on her face. ‘They’re back! Did you know, Jess? Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Jess denied. ‘Come, we’d best go on, Miss Lily. Don’t want Bella gettin’ near no diddicoys. There’s no tellin’ what could happen.’

  ‘But I want to know…’ Frowning distractedly, Lily glanced at the child who had come back to see what was keeping them. ‘Now is not the time, I suppose. But I must talk to them before they leave. One of them might know…’

  Bella piped up, ‘Is it gypsies? They told Kate she was going to get married – she told me so. Do you want to get married, Lily?’

  ‘I’d like to find out whether I’m a gypsy princess or only a fairy changeling,’ Lily said.

  ‘I thought you were a mermaid,’ the little girl responded.

  ‘That, too,’ Lily smiled, and moved on slowly, with many lingering, backward glances.

  By the time they reached the beach, the tide was coming in, almost reaching the line of seaweed and flotsam it had left behind early that morning. Throwing off her shoes and stockings, Bella went to dig in the sand and play with Gyp, while Jess spread the blanket and got out her mending. Lily remained on her feet, glancing back the way they had come.

  After a while, she said, ‘I think I’ll go for a walk.’

  ‘Not to see them diddicoys, miss,’ Jess warned.

  Lily flashed her a look. ‘And if I am?’

  ‘Nothin’, Miss Lily.’ Shaking her head, Jess went on with her sewing, aware that Lily was standing uncertainly.

  At last Lily stamped her foot. ‘Oh, sometimes you make me so angry, Jess!’ And she whirled away, to go running down the sandy slope to the beach.

  Gyp went yapping after her, and Bella joined the game. The three ran off along the sand, just above the tide line. Concerned, Jess stood up so that she could see better. Bella was calling to Lily, who eventually stopped and allowed the child to catch up with her, taking her hand. She would calm down soon, Jess knew, and probably come back and say she was sorry. Well, that was Lily – changeable as the weather.

  As she was about to sit down and carry on with her mending, Jess glanced back landward. A movement among the dunes drew her attention to where an old woman was making her slow way through the sand. She had a big basket over one arm, and as she came she kept pausing to bend and pick some of the ling that grew here and there, white-flowered and purple.

  With a sick feeling of alarm, Jess realised that the woman must have come from the encampment in the woods. She had probably seen the little party go by, and followed them. Jess knew instinctively that her presence was no accident.

  Making a show of being surprised to find anyone there, the woman tipped up her face and looked at Jess, saying, ‘Afternoon, miss.’ She was bent of back and had a thick streak of coarse grey in her hair. Some accident had twisted her spine and her left arm, and robbed her of her left eye, leaving a livid scar slashing across her face. To disguise the injury she wore an eye patch embroidered with sequins, a gaudy oddity against a drab black gown, with a blue and black paisley wrap draped round her hair and shoulders.

  ‘You’ve a kind face,’ she told Jess. ‘You won’t turn me away, I can see that.’

  ‘Then you’re wrong. Clear you off!’ All Jess’s nerves were on the alert, scenting trouble. It wouldn’t do for Lily to come back and find a gypsy here.

  ‘You must need some pegs,’ the wheedling voice argued. ‘Or perhaps a yard of lace – a pattern of my own making, with luck woven into every knot. Lovers’ knots. You are in love, girl, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I en’t,’ Jess denied, though her mind flew at once to Reuben Rudd.

  The gypsy seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Sew my lace on your drawers, girl. It will bring your lover to see you. Or…’ the single dark eye, practised in reading faces, scanned Jess’s blushes with interest, ‘perhaps it will make him your lover.’

  As she spoke, she fingered the contents of the wicker basket slung over her arm and balanced on her hip. She had shapely hands, dirty and stained with nicotine though they were, with a ring on each of the long fingers that sifted through a bag of coloured stones, letting them tinkle together suggestively. ‘How about a lucky amulet? Dipped in the healing waters of Our Lady’s Well at Walsingham. Some have the power of healing. Some will bring you sweet dreams of absent lovers. Take your pick. Only a ha’penny. Or, for your kind face, you can have one for nothing if you run and bring the young lady.’ The dark brown eye told nothing in response to Jess’s sharp look. ‘I hear she’s kind to poor gypsies,’ the woman added.

  ‘She don’t want to see the likes of you,’ Jess said. ‘And I en’t got no money, so—’

  That was the moment Gyp chose to come charging up the sand, barking like fury until the gypsy bent and offered him her outstretched hand. Gyp paused, sniffed, and backed away, sneezing.

  ‘Gyp!’ Lily’s clear call came. She appeared round the side of a dune only a few yards away, holding Bella by the hand. She was remonstrating with Gyp for his naughtiness, but the words died as she saw the gypsy and stopped, staring.

  There was nothing Jess could do to stop the encounter. The woman began to move towards Lily, saying, ‘I’ve got lucky charms, young mistress. And lucky white heather brought from the moors of Scotland. Or I could tell your fortune. The blood of Egyptian Kings runs in my veins. I’m gifted with the Sight. I can see right away that you haven’t been happy lately.’

  Any fool could see that, Jess thought – especially a canny old gypsy whose one good eye was trained to read small signs. Besides, she had probably asked around the village for tit-bits of gossip and thanks to Eliza and Mary Anne there’d be plenty of those to be had.

  ‘You’d best leave now,’ she told the gypsy sharply. ‘Do you annoy Miss Clare I’ll report you to the constable and he’ll soon see you off.’

  But the gypsy wasn’t listening. The gypsy was watching Lily, her eye bright and beckoning. Releasing Bella’s hand, Lily gestured her to go and join Jess. Bella did so, sidling round the gypsy with a frown of deep distrust as she made for the shelter of Jess’s skirts.

  ‘Miss Lily—’ Jess began.

  ‘It’s all right, Jess. I want to speak to her.’

  ‘But, miss—’

  ‘It’s all right, I said.’ Lily’s eyes flashed with temper. ‘You’re supposed to be looking after Bella. She’s your charge, not mine.’

  Stung, Jess desisted.

  The gypsy was holding out a sprig of white-belled ling. Slowly, she walked towards Lily. Her dirty, bejewelled fingers picked under her shawl and came out holding a long pin with which she reached to fasten the heather to the collar of Lily’s blouse. ‘That’ll guard you, lady,’ she muttered, cocking her head to slant a look across her sequinned eye patch. ‘That’ll keep you safe from harm. Old Bathsheba’s luckiest charms have been spoke over. They’ll last you all your life, so long as you keep the heather— Ah!’

  She had pricked her finger. A smear of bright blood showed among the grime; it had left a mark on Lily’s blouse. The gypsy apologised fulsomely, taking out a dirty handkerchief and spitting on it, dabbin
g with it at the bloodstain on Lily’s blouse – much to Jess’s disgust.

  ‘Leave it. Leave it!’ Lily was impatient. She fingered the prickly heather sprig and the soft flowers on it while she stared into the woman’s face. ‘I need to talk to you, Bathsheba. I need to know so much. Walk with me.’

  Jess would dearly have loved to follow, but she couldn’t, not with Bella dragging at her hand and wanting to go for a paddle in the sea. Well, as Lily had so curtly reminded her, it was Bella who must be her first concern.

  * * *

  Seeing the gypsy, Lily had felt her heart jump with hope, then plummet with despair. The woman was so old, so dirty. Even so, she might know something about a child who had been left here eighteen years ago. You haven’t been happy lately, her words repeated in Lily’s mind. But how did this gypsy know it, unless she truly had the gift of second sight?

  ‘What is it you want, lady?’ the woman asked. ‘The future? The past?’

  ‘Oh… both! Everything!’ Lily was near bursting, questions tumbling together incoherently in her brain. ‘Do you know anything about a stolen child that was left here eighteen years ago? She was left in a basket, on a doorstep. I’ve asked so many times before, whenever I’ve met any of your people. But none of them will tell me anything. Oh, please… I must know. I must know where the child came from – who her real parents were. Can you tell me? Please… Tell me everything you know.’

  ‘Everything?’ In the ruined face the single eye both mocked and pitied. ‘That would take long, cost much. More than you could afford, lady.’

  Money, Lily thought. Of course! She searched in her pockets for her little pouch purse, and found there a silver florin which she offered impulsively. ‘That’s all I have with me. But there’s more at the rectory. If you call this evening, I’ll give you… I’ll give you a guinea!’

  ‘Well…’ Holding out her dirty hand, the gypsy accepted the florin, spat on it and closed her long fingers round it. Then she cocked her head like a bird, staring at Lily with her one bright eye. ‘A stolen child, you say? Eighteen years ago? A long time, lady. Give me your hand. Let’s see if it will tell us…’