A Child of Secrets

by Mary Mackie

  ‘I shall never wear grey!’ Lily snapped. Grey was the colour of nothingness, of lost hopes and endless servitude.

  ‘That’ll be up to Lady Fyncham, I should think,’ said Eliza, holding up Lily’s new ballgown, a rustle of kingfisher silk. ‘Shame you’ll not be wearin’ this, miss. Such a waste. Well… I hen’t never heard of no governess attendin’ no ball, have you? ’Cept in the servants’ hall, of course. Maybe you can wear this there, and dazzle all them footmen, and boot-boys, and gardeners.’

  Lily didn’t stop to think. She picked up the nearest weapon – a hand mirror – and flung it. Eliza ducked, throwing up her arms. The mirror cracked on her elbow. She howled, rubbing the place, backing away for the door. ‘You’ll be sorry for that! You see – you’ll be sorry. That’s the last time you throw things at me, you boss-eyed witch!’

  Later, when Lily picked up her hand mirror, she found it cracked right across. Seven years’ bad luck, she thought. The gypsy hadn’t mentioned that. Her distorted reflection stared back at her, her eyes swollen and sore, her face puffed. The crack ran right across her face, dividing it into two unequal pieces. Blue eye in one part, brown eye in another. Changeling, she thought bitterly.

  Then, straightening herself, she put the mirror aside. She would not succumb to hopelessness. Her papa had abandoned her, that was clear. But the gypsy had foreseen coming happiness and that was the truth. Lily already had Ash, and she had her hopes of her real father. This change meant a little alteration in plans, a brief delay, nothing more. It would not affect the ending. Not at all.

  She sat down and penned a letter to Ash.

  * * *

  Fargus brought the carriage round as Lily came down the stairs wearing her best costume, of turquoise and white. On her hair she wore a perky little plumed bonnet, and she carried a turquoise parasol. She was Lily Victoria Clare, the rector’s adopted daughter, not a grey governess.

  She saw Cousin Oriana blinking tearfully in the doorway of the drawing room, a handkerchief to her mouth. Her washed blue eyes widened as they took in Lily’s attire, and the reasons for it, but she didn’t remonstrate. She was feeling much too guilty.

  ‘Lily… my dear, you must know this is not the way we had hoped—’

  ‘I know. Nor I. But c’est la vie, Cousin Oriana. I do not intend to be a governess for long. My fortune lies elsewhere. I am perfectly sure of that. So please don’t worry about me.’ Smiling her brightest smile, she stepped lightly across the polished floor and placed a kiss on Oriana’s cheek, tasting the wet salt of her tears. ‘Dear Oriana, I shall miss you. I hope you’ll be happy in Weston-super-Mare.’

  Miss Peartree shook her head, more tears spilling down her soft, lined cheeks. ‘I fear my friend is unable to offer… I must look elsewhere. But with only the income from my small inheritance…’

  ‘I see.’ Lily’s smile had died. All at once she was bitterly angry with her papa. ‘He’s abandoning you, too.’ She glanced along the hall and saw Eliza standing by the baize-backed door with a cold smirk on her face. Raising her voice a little, Lily said, ‘He’s abandoning us all, it seems. And what shall you do when my father goes to York, Eliza? Hope that the new rector needs a lazy… I mean, a lady’s maid?’

  The baize door slammed, with Eliza behind it. But the look on her face remained with Lily. How very odd. Eliza knew many things that she wasn’t supposed to know, but she hadn’t known that the rector was leaving. The news had dismayed her. Serve her right, Lily thought.

  ‘She’ll do well enough,’ Oriana Peartree said, and reached to hug Lily. ‘Oh, my dear, you deserve better than this. If your poor dear mama were here to see… I do hope you will find happiness.’

  ‘I shall,’ Lily said. ‘This is not goodbye, Cousin Oriana. I shall call and see you often. Take care of Gyp for me, will you?’

  ‘You’re not taking him?’

  ‘Not until I’m sure he’s welcome. I shall ask Sir Richard if I may have him with me, and I may well enlist Bella’s help to persuade him.’ Her mouth quirked at the thought. ‘He won’t be able to resist her plea, even if he can resist mine. Sir Richard is a dear, susceptible man.’

  Miss Peartree looked worried. ‘Oh, Lily…’

  But Lily only laughed and went out to the waiting carriage, hoping that her papa might be watching. She would not glance at his study window, nor send him word of farewell. She would never forgive him.

  Arriving at Hewinghall, she instructed Fargus to drive up to the front door – she had no intention of going to the back like a servant when she had more than once accompanied her papa here as a guest.

  The butler let her in but, rather than leading her into the great hall as she had expected, he took her through to a small lobby and thence to a lamplit corridor which she had always assumed was servants’ territory. A door let on to a flight of shallow stairs which soon took a turn, climbing up to a suite of rooms which were much smaller than the state rooms Lily had previously seen. She realised she was seeing the less sumptuous private apartments. Less sumptuous? Shabby might be more the word: the carpet runner was worn, the furniture bore evidence of much use…

  In an angle of a passageway lay a door at which the butler knocked and was bidden, ‘Come in, Longman.’

  Inside lay a long, low-ceilinged room furnished more for comfort than splendour, with potted palms and stuffed birds under glass, a harmonium in one corner, and two red setters sprawled on the floor. Lily had seen farm parlours that had more pretensions to grandeur. Sir Richard Fyncham rose lazily from a horsehair couch, stretching to his full lanky height, and the dogs too got up and came eagerly to sniff round Lily, who stroked their heads, thinking them beautiful animals.

  ‘Miss Clare,’ the squire greeted with a smile, strolling across with his hand outstretched. ‘Welcome. I hope you’ll forgive us for summoning you in this rude manner, but, as you’ll appreciate, Nanny’s death…’

  ‘If you had listened to me,’ his wife said from the far side of the room, where she sat at a desk writing letters, ‘Miss Clare would have been well settled in by now.’

  For the merest second his smile withered, then he was surveying Lily with renewed kindness. ‘We had not anticipated losing Nanny in this way. I had hoped she would enjoy a long retirement in Park Lodge.’

  ‘Is Mr Tomalty leaving?’ Lily asked, making conversation.

  ‘He has decided to go and live with his daughter. Will you sit down, Miss Clare? Longman, have someone bring some tea.’

  Lily took the chair the squire had indicated and the two dogs followed, wanting to be petted. She obliged them.

  ‘This is Prince, and that’s Pacer,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Gun dogs. Rudd’s been training them for me and we’re about to find out what they can do when the shooting starts. Oh, but… you’re not enamoured of shooting, are you? That unfortunate incident at New Year… I shall not be inviting your cousin Dickon to shoot on Hewinghall land again. Not until his sportsmanship is improved.’

  At this, Lady Fyncham got up from her chair and, settling her bustle under rustling skirts, said, ‘Miss Clare is here to be informed of her duties. Perhaps you would let me see to that. Dogs! Down! As for you, Richard, I thought you had a meeting with Frazer.’

  Her tone, addressing her husband, was much the same as that she employed for the dogs. But he answered mildly, excused himself, and took the dogs with him.

  ‘Well, Miss Clare.’ Lady Maud’s voice was as hard as her expression. She was so pale, her face so gaunt, she looked ill. ‘Perhaps now we can have it understood – you are here to teach my daughter, as a governess, not a family friend. I want us to be clear about that from the beginning, however familiar my husband has chosen to be until now. He was brought up in a somewhat relaxed manner, being the youngest of three brothers and never expected to amount to much. But I warn you, you must not try to take advantage of your previous privileged position. The transition may not be easy. Indeed – let me be frank – despite excellent recommendations from your school principal,
I am not entirely convinced you are a good choice. I give you three months in which to prove your worth.’

  Three months was about right, Lily thought. By the end of that time, everything would have changed, in ways that would astonish the haughty Lady Maud. The squire’s wife would regret her condescension when she discovered who Lily really was, and that she was to be married to the Honourable Ashton Haverleigh.

  A maid appeared with a tray of tea for three. Lady Maud bade her put it down on a side table and, ‘Take Miss Clare up to the nursery suite. But first…’ Taking a paper from her desk, Lady Maud held it out. ‘Here is a list of your duties and the lessons I wish you to introduce. We shall pay you twenty pounds per annum, to begin with. You will bring my daughter to see me every afternoon, unless I decide otherwise, and I shall keep a close check on her progress. Very well, you may go.’

  At the door, a thought made Lily turn and look her new employer directly in the eye. ‘May I… may I ask one question, please? About the ball on Saturday. My father and I were invited…’

  Lady Maud’s look was cold, her voice toneless. ‘Naturally you will be there.’

  ‘Oh!’ Lily almost sagged at the knees, so intense was her relief. ‘Thank you!’

  ‘You will be there to look after my daughter,’ her ladyship amplified with a wave of her pale, bony hand. ‘Not as a guest, Miss Clare, but as a governess. On duty.’

  Through a mist that veiled everything but her new mistress’s face, Lily stared her disbelief. Not to wear her kingfisher gown? Not to have the chance to dance with Ash, in front of all the neighbourhood?

  ‘And, by the way, Miss Clare, you will address me as “milady”; you will pay me the respect that is due to my rank; and, the next time you wish to enter my house, you will use the side entrance, or the kitchen courtyard door. The front door is for friends and persons of rank.’ She allowed herself a slight, patronising smile. ‘I fear you have a good deal to learn. The rector’s charmingly quaint little daughter has been allowed many liberties which a governess must learn to forgo.’

  * * *

  Whatever other privations Lily was to endure, no one expected her to use Nanny Fyncham’s room until it was properly scrubbed out. Indeed, Mrs Roberts had asked the squire if the room might be painted and he had agreed to have it done when the weekend’s jollifications were over. In the meantime, the men had brought an extra single bed into Jess’s room.

  Lily didn’t mind that; she was glad to be with Jess, and with Bella. She was all false smiles and brittle gaiety.

  ‘I don’t expect to be here for very long,’ she kept saying. ‘But while I am here it will be fun.’

  When Bella asked questions, Lily told her bluntly that Nanny had been taken by the angels to live with them in heaven; she would not be back. Lily had come to take her place, ‘for the time being.’

  ‘Why didn’t you bring Gyp?’ Bella wanted to know.

  ‘I wasn’t sure he’d be welcome, but Mrs Roberts says that your papa has kindly agreed that Gyp may come to join us. We’ll go tomorrow and fetch him, shall we?’

  For Bella, it seemed, Lily and Gyp were ample substitutes for Nanny. She didn’t mention the old woman again. But perhaps she thought about her; she was restless, unable to settle, demanding stories and rhymes. It was late before Jess was able to leave her and return to the schoolroom.

  Lily was standing by an open window with one hand on the coarse mane of the rocking horse, making it sway gently. The sun was low, glinting on a distant edge of the sea, stretching shadows from the trees in the park.

  ‘You weren’t surprised when I arrived,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I… I’d heard them sayin’ as how—’

  Lily swung round. ‘You knew, Jess!’

  ‘I heard rumours,’ Jess admitted. ‘I din’t wholly believe them, though, miss. It wun’t have done to worry you if—’

  ‘“Ettu Brute”,’ Lily muttered. ‘It seems that everyone knew except me. Very well… So be it.’ Reaching into her pocket, she brought out an envelope. ‘I want you to take this for me. Tonight. You should be able to get to Martham and back before it gets completely dark.’

  ‘Martham, miss?’ Jess took the envelope, puzzling over the scrawled writing.

  ‘It’s for Mr Haverleigh,’ Lily said. ‘And don’t look like that, Jess! How else am I to tell him what’s happened?’

  ‘But, miss—’

  ‘Please, Jess! Just do this for me. Please!’ Her voice turned husky, her eyes bloomed with bright anguish. ‘I’m trying very hard to hold myself together. I simply refuse to give up all hope. You must help me, Jess. You know Martham Staithe, don’t you? The cottage is on the edge of the creek. To get there, you go…’

  Jess was on her way before she had time to think about it.

  Twenty

  By the time Jess reached Martham, dusk was gathering. Inside the pretty cottage by the creek, with hollyhocks growing up to thatched eaves and the door trailed over with roses, lamps sent out a soft glow of welcome. The door was ajar and she heard voices inside, conversing easily, laughing, but Lily had said not to wait for an answer, so she laid the envelope on the mat inside the door and hurried away.

  The light was fading rapidly, the stars blinking on one by one as the sunset glow died behind dark bands of cloud. A great flock of starlings passed overhead, heading for their night’s roost.

  She daren’t use the shortcut by which she’d come – by night the wood was a terrifying maze of pitfalls and clawing branches; she stayed on the road where the worst risk was a twisted ankle. Sometimes trees closed on either side, making everything dark; then the way would open and let her see better. Not far away was the small gate Lily had shown her, and the path through the woods where the gypsies had camped. Soon be home safe. The trees closed in again, reaching to touch tips overhead, forming a lightless tunnel. But at the end of the tunnel she could see the outline of trees in the pine plantation, black spikes lifting against the starry sky. Not far beyond them a light gleamed from one of the windows of Park Lodge. From there it was only a mile to the house.

  As she stepped out with renewed confidence there was a sound among the trees ahead, the crack of a stick, a mutter of reprimand, a hiss of irritable excuses. At least two men were hiding there. Jess stopped, fearing they might hear her footsteps. If she went on she’d be seen. It wasn’t full dark with that moon climbing, brighter every minute.

  Was it poachers lurking in the wood? Rudd had told her how bad the thieving could be at this time of year, when the season was starting and folk in London would pay good money for fresh game birds. Jess recalled the cornfield beyond this copse. It was stubble now, just the spot for a covey of partridge to spend the night, easy prey for a couple of men with a swift net – unless the keepers had got there first and strewn thorn branches to guard the birds and snag the nets.

  One of the hidden men muttered something. The other hushed him. Without wanting to, Jess put faces to those voices – Matty, and Jim Potts. It could easily be them. Waiting for the sky to get really dark before they crept off after the birds. Oh, that Jim Potts was a wrong ’un. And Matty was a foolish great lummox, easily led. If they got caught—

  Something swooped at her out of the night, a pale shadow against the trees. It almost brushed her hair. She cried out in fright and threw up her arms, wrapping them round her head.

  ‘What the—’ the exclamation came from among the trees. With a flurry of undergrowth, the two waiting men erupted into the lane only to stop in confusion.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re a-doin’ of, mawther?’ one of them demanded.

  ‘I…’ Jess managed, swallowing her panic. ‘There was an owl. That came at me and—’

  ‘Jess!’ The quiet, half-accusing, half-relieved voice belonged to Reuben Rudd. She could see moonlight slant on the barrel of the shotgun he was holding crooked across his arm. ‘What are you doing out at this hour?’ He glanced behind her, at the shadowed woods, and though she couldn’t see
him clearly she knew he was frowning. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Who’d you think I might be with?’ she retorted fiercely, relief turning to temper, fuelled with hurt because of the way they had parted. ‘I been runnin’ a message.’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘I couldn’t get away afore. Things en’t normal at the big house today.’

  ‘No,’ Rudd answered gravely. ‘I’d heard. I’m sorry. Nanny Fyncham was a good old lady. I liked her.’

  ‘So did I,’ Jess said. ‘And I can’t stand here—’

  She was interrupted by a shot. It came from beyond the wood, in the direction of the cornfield. A faint cry of ‘Mr Rudd!’ was followed by the bang of the second barrel.

  ‘Blast!’ Rudd bit out. ‘That’s Obi. Blast, man, we’ve missed them! Come—’ In the act of turning away, he stopped dead, staring at Jess. She saw the flash of his eyes, a glint of bared teeth as he muttered bitterly, ‘You!… Damn it, Jess… You wait here!’ and he was gone, his companion after him. Jess caught a glimpse of Dash bounding alongside as they vanished down the path that led to the cornfield. She heard the pursuit for some distance, heard voices calling, a dog barking.

  ‘You!’ she thought dazedly. What had he meant? What had she done now to make him swear at her? Oh, she had no business being out here all alone in the dark. No, she wasn’t going to wait.

  She started away, heading for the light that beckoned from the lodge.

  * * *

  Lily was reading by lamplight, curled in Nanny’s chair beside the embers of the fire as Jess took off her coat and went to warm herself.

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘No. But someone was home. I left the letter on the mat.’

  ‘Good. Is it cold out?’

  ‘No. I just… Just felt in need of comfort, that was all.’

  ‘I know.’ Lily glanced around, at the deeply shadowed corners of the big room, where the lamp didn’t reach. She pulled the shawl she was wearing closer round her throat. ‘It’s this place. It feels as if there are eyes watching us.’