A Child of Secrets

by Mary Mackie

  ‘I reckon I already know,’ Jess said.

  Letting her hand relax, Lily murmured, ‘You always know everything. Maybe there’s some gypsy blood in you.’ The look Jess flashed her from those tawny eyes made her wince and she tried again: ‘Please try to understand. We couldn’t help ourselves, Jess. I love him! And he loves me. And I need to be loved, I can’t do without it. Oh… you’ve never been in love, how could you know?’ She threw herself over on to her side, away from Jess, fighting hard against her tears.

  Watching her, Jess felt the hardness inside her begin to crack. How could she know, indeed? How could she ever hope to understand the intimate pleasures that might be between a man and a woman when they loved? She would never know it the way Lily did; for her the joy had been destroyed, long ago. Inside her now there was only a cold shrinking, a fear of hurt. No, she didn’t understand. But, knowing and loving Lily, she could sympathise.

  ‘Do he know?’ she asked.

  Lily shook her head, her voice muffled in her pillow. ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Are you a-goin’ to tell him?’

  ‘Of course!’ She flung herself on to her back, displaying her blotched face, her dark hair strewn around it in tangled curls.

  ‘He ’on’t marry you, you know. He already have a wife.’

  ‘I know.’ The words were choked. She cleared her throat, saying again, ‘I know that. But… he said he’d take care of me. Always.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘He meant it! Don’t you dare say otherwise! He will take care of me.’ Frightened by the look on Jess’s face, she shrank deeper into the bed, adding in a small, desperate voice, ‘He must.’ She had to believe that. If Richard deserted her now…

  * * *

  The Fynchams were due home a few days before Bella’s seventh birthday, which that year fell on a Sunday. Celebrations were to be held on the Saturday, as usual, even more lavish than in previous years, but Lily couldn’t dredge up any enthusiasm for the event; her only interest was in seeing Richard. The more time went by, the more urgent became her need.

  In the event, Sir Richard’s homecoming was delayed by matters of business. Lady Maud arrived, and with her a flurry of guests to fill the house, to play tennis, go boating and shooting and walking, but the squire himself did not appear until the Friday evening. Then, as Lily paced up and down the schoolroom, she suddenly heard his voice – he was in the dressing room where Jess was washing Bella before putting her to bed. Lily heard the child cry, ‘Papa! Oh, Papa!’ and her own heart lurched and began to race. She started across the schoolroom at a run, only to collect herself, so that she appeared calm and sedate as she paused in the doorway of the dressing room. A night-gowned Bella was wrapped in her father’s arms, hugging him tightly. Jess was busy, as ever, tidying up.

  ‘Why…’ Lily said in a breathy voice. ‘Sir Richard! Good evening.’

  Across his daughter’s copper head, the grey eyes met hers and she saw the swift, fierce gladness in them; it made her want to fly to him and hug him, much as Bella was doing.

  ‘Miss Clare,’ he answered, and bent to set Bella down. ‘Be good and let Jess put you to bed, my love. I shall be there directly to kiss you good night. But first I must find out from Miss Clare whether you have been a good girl, and whether you deserve the birthday surprises I’ve brought you.’

  ‘I do, I do!’ Bella cried, and, ‘What surprises? What have you brought me, Papa?’

  ‘You must wait and see.’

  Lily preceded him into the schoolroom, heard him close the door. As she turned he took one long stride and pulled her into his arms, his mouth capturing hers, silently assuring her of how much he had missed her. She linked her arms round his neck, feverishly returning his kisses, weeping with both joy and fear. Then she glanced apprehensively at the door.

  ‘Richard—’

  ‘They’re occupied,’ he murmured, nuzzling her temple, holding her achingly tight. ‘We have a few precious minutes. Oh, my love… I couldn’t wait to see you. I had to know – will you be waiting for me tonight?’

  ‘Richard—’

  ‘It might be late. With guests in the house I might not get away until gone midnight. They like to sit and talk. Especially Jenkins. He can—’

  ‘Richard, please!’ She grasped him by the shoulders and leaned away, staring up at him with anxious eyes. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘So you shall, love. Later.’

  ‘Now, Richard! Richard… I’m sorry, but…’ Not knowing how to phrase it, she heard herself announce portentously: ‘I am with child.’

  She felt the shock that rocked him – saw that he had not anticipated such an event, or if he had then he had put it to the back of his mind, as she had until it happened. He said, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Two months.’

  ‘Dear God—’

  ‘Forgive me!’

  The sight of her tears made him fold her again in his arms. ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said savagely. ‘The fault is mine, not yours, my love. Don’t weep. It will be all right. But there’s no time to lose. Two months… Let me think about it. Wait for me, later. And don’t worry. I shall stand by you. I shall find a solution.’

  He was so distracted that he left without going in to Bella, which upset the child and had Jess racking her brains to invent excuses for him.

  Looking back, long afterwards, Jess supposed that that was when she first began to suspect the truth. But it was only a tiny suspicion, easily argued away. She was convinced the man in the case was Ashton Haverleigh; she didn’t care to examine the clues that might lead to an even more shocking conclusion.

  * * *

  It was not so very late when Richard Fyncham came to the attic suite that night; he had encouraged his guests to seek their beds early, to prepare for the morning regatta he had planned. Then he had made his way to the library and up the secret staircase which came out in the schoolroom – his private way, which only he knew. Now, he paced Lily’s room like a caged beast, while she sat white-faced and trembling on her bed.

  ‘You should not have left it so late, Lily. You should have warned me as soon as you suspected.’ Then, regretting his irritation, he sat down beside her and gathered her into his arms. ‘No, forgive me. This is not your fault. But something must be done, and soon. I could arrange for—’

  ‘I won’t have it killed!’ Lily whispered desperately. ‘I won’t!’

  He was horrified. ‘How could you think such a thing? But we must find some way of concealing it. You must go away, until it’s born. We’ll find a good home for it and—’

  She turned her huge, hurting eyes on him. ‘Abandon it – as I was abandoned? No, Richard. Never! This child is mine, and yours. I want to keep it. I shall love it, if I have to walk the streets to raise it.’ The notion terrified her, but she couldn’t bear to think of her child left, as she had been, unloved and unwanted, never sure of its parentage.

  ‘Then there’s only one solution – we must find you a husband.’

  Lily almost choked on a burst of wild laughter. ‘A husband? Who would have me?’

  ‘We shall find someone.’

  * * *

  When morning came, Lily felt unable to face the Belladay celebrations. She begged Jess to go in her stead. Assuming she was simply afflicted with morning sickness, Jess agreed, put on her best print dress and straw bonnet, and accompanied Bella to the regatta at Martham Staithe.

  If she hadn’t been so worried about Lily, she might have enjoyed the day. It was hot and fine, the sky and sea both a brilliant blue, with a brisk wind that sent the boats scudding. Matty and a couple of his Martham fisher mates were in the race to the point and back, and while they were doing that Reuben Rudd appeared and stood near Jess, passing the time of day – testing the water, she fancied, and finding it lukewarm. She exchanged a few verbal sideswipes with him, fending him off in a lighthearted way that disguised the turmoil inside her.

  ‘Well,’ he said eventually.
‘I’d better get back to my birds.’

  ‘Don’t you never take a holiday?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Happen I might – given the right reason.’ His look was bright and bland, challenging and charming. ‘You fancy a walk tonight?’

  Oh, if only she could!

  Then beyond his shoulder she saw a bearded face topped by a black hat, with shadowed eyes that pierced her. Merrywest here again. Merrywest still haunting her. He always seemed to be about, encouraging his converts in the area; he’d recently started a temperance campaign, so she’d heard, and here he was again, standing with a little group of chapel-goers. Amongst them was Eliza Potts, wearing a fashionable dress and hat that made her look as if she was somebody.

  ‘I have to work tonight,’ Jess said, more sharply than she intended.

  ‘Aye, all right,’ Rudd grudged. But he glanced over his shoulder to see what had made her start and stop like a frightened pheasant, and what he saw made him give her an odd, speculative look. ‘The preacher?’

  Jess tossed her head. ‘I was just thinkin’ how ridiculous Eliza Potts do look in that there hat!’

  ‘Well, I think she looks right bonny,’ said Rudd, and went away.

  That was when the boats came scudding in, with Matty in the lead, and what with her pride in him, and the wind in her face, it fair made her eyes smart and her nose run. Weeping over Reuben Rudd? Huh, would she be such a fool?

  Back at Hewinghall, games and sports for the children took place, and a cricket match had been organised between the men of Hewing and the men of Syderford. Jess took Bella for a stroll to watch a bit of the match, and just after they arrived the batsman sent the ball at a cracking pace across the grass, to end up only a few feet from where Jess was standing. The shirt-sleeved fielder who came dashing after it was Ash Haverleigh.

  Seeing Bella, he jerked a look at the woman with her, but when she wasn’t Lily he only nodded and went back to his place.

  Later on, when Jess was by the dais watching Bella and her father dole out prizes, she glimpsed Lily’s grey-clad figure near the shrubbery walk. She also saw Ashton Haverleigh, covertly moving from tree to tree, making his way across the park. Lily saw him coming and vanished in among the shrubs. But was she avoiding him, or had she been waiting to meet him?

  Jess was not the only one to have noticed that small incident. Whispers began to spread, noting further proof of ‘goings-on’ between Lily and her cousin’s husband.

  The whispers reached Matty, who came seeking Jess in a rage against Ashton Haverleigh. ‘I went lookin’ for him, but he’ve gone. Let me catch him and I’ll knock his solin’ head off!’

  ‘Hush, Matty!’ she begged him. ‘Don’t talk that way, bor.’

  But he wasn’t listening.

  By the time Jess took Bella up to the nursery for her nap, Lily was back. In fact, much to Bella’s alarm, she was out on the roof.

  ‘Come in!’ the child begged, backing away from the open window. ‘Oh, do come in, before you fall.’

  Lily climbed back in and closed the window. ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ she told Bella for the hundredth time. ‘You can’t fall if you’re sensible.’

  ‘Harry fell,’ said Bella.

  ‘Yes, but Harry wasn’t being sensible. He was being disobedient and very, very silly. Oh… go and have your rest, my dear. You want to be fresh for the ball. By the way, Jess… I shan’t go to the ball. I don’t feel well enough. You must go. I expect you could wait on the gallery, as you did last year.’

  A Fancy Dress Ball had been planned. Bella was to be a fairy, so Jess had been busy, sewing a costume and making wings out of cheesecloth, with a wire frame that Matty had brought: ‘Mr Rudd made it,’ he’d announced. Rudd kept reminding her of his existence in ways like this, either sending her small objects of interest, or getting Matty to pass on a message about nothing, or perhaps turning up unexpectedly, the way he had today. He wasn’t pushing, just letting her know he was there.

  Jess often wished he’d give up and let her be; then times like today, when she suddenly found him near and realised how much she missed him, her heart wept for what might have been.

  * * *

  Ready for the ball, Bella was a vision in winged white, a tall and awkward seven-year-old with a diamond tiara on her ginger hair, her nose sprinkled with freckles and a front tooth missing.

  After Jess and Bella had gone down, Lily roamed the attics wishing she could breathe. All day she had felt half suffocated by the heat, which was why she’d gone out for a walk, just to see what was happening. She had never imagined that Ash Haverleigh would have the gall to show himself so openly. But she had no wish to see him. No, never again. To avoid him, she had fled back to the safety of the nursery suite. It was Richard she loved, Richard whose child she was carrying – Richard who wanted her to marry in order to conceal her shame. Oh, if only she could think!

  Her quest for fresh air took her out on to the roof again, beneath a sky thick with stars and a waning moon riding low over the woods. Even there, Lily felt stifled. The mild air and the starry sky seemed to press down on the old house. Music floated up from the great hall far below as she gazed into the distance, beyond the church tower that was just visible in the night, to the rise that hid the rectory. How she wished she could turn time back to when she was younger. She had not appreciated what her papa had done for her. If she’d been more winning, less of a rebel, might things have been different?

  Oh, if only her real father would come! He would know what to do. He would sweep her away from Hewinghall and make everything right. She pictured him arriving to rescue her, his carriage careering down the drive with its lamps agleam, four plumed horses tossing their manes as the whip cracked over them and the liveried coachman hauled on the reins to bring them round, into the courtyard with a shower of gravel and dust, the door swinging wide—

  ‘There you are!’ Richard’s voice, low and vibrant, made her start, the fantasy fading. He was climbing out of the window, stepping down with agile ease, a tall figure in hose and doublet, with a feathered bonnet, a short cloak, a sword… Romeo, if she was not mistaken. ‘I had to come. I’ve been worried about you. My dear darling…’ He gathered her into his arms, holding her hurtingly tight. ‘How anxious you must have been all day. But I haven’t been idle. I’ve been racking my brains and… I believe I’ve found the solution.’ Through a thickness in her throat, she managed, ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes. The perfect answer – it came to me as I heard his name being announced this evening. He’s dressed as Young Lochinvar – appropriate, don’t you think? I’ve been chatting with him and he evidently thinks warmly of you, Lily.’

  ‘Who?’ she croaked.

  ‘The rector. Peter Dunnock.’

  Lily stood quite still, her mind blank and her body draining cold with shock, while his voice went on: ‘Your father did moot the possibility before, I believe, and Mr Dunnock was not unwilling. He would not be the first man to agree to such a marriage, nor would he lose by it. I shall offer him some financial inducement. It will be ideal, Lily! You can remain as Bella’s governess, perhaps start a small school – that would be good for Bella, better than remaining cooped up here with no companions of her own age.’

  Was it Bella he was thinking of? She wrenched away from him, crying, ‘But what of me, Richard? To marry Peter Dunnock… To have him know my shame… To have his dreadful mother know—’

  ‘Then who do you suggest?’ Richard exclaimed, capturing her flailing hands. ‘I’ll speak to Dunnock – not tonight, but tomorrow, after church. This must be decided at once.’

  Sounds which had been no more than a faint disturbance began to resolve themselves into a raucous chorus of shouts and scufflings. On the still air the noise carried clearly, floating up from the park, where a band of people were approaching, some carrying lanterns on bean-poles. The leader was wearing a broad-brimmed hat, but the group centred around a man who was being forced along by four others. He was struggling and wrenching t
o be free, swearing at his captors.

  ‘We’ll see what Sir Richard have to say!’ the voice came clear. ‘He’re the magistrate. We’ll ax him what he think.’

  Richard had pulled back against the slope of the roof, not wanting to be seen. He said, ‘Forgive me, love. We’ll talk more of this later,’ and clambered back through the window.

  Twenty-Five

  Jess was up in the minstrels’ gallery when guests began to crowd at the windows, peering out, while others made for the main door. As the music faltered, Jess could hear the shouting outside, people bawling for Sir Richard to come out. Another voice, booming above the cacophony, sent trickles of alarm over her flesh: that resonant, commanding voice belonged to Preacher Merrywest; it was the voice he used to call down hellfire on the heads of sinners, a voice that turned her blood to wash-water.

  She slipped down the ‘hidden’ stairs and pushed open the door at the bottom in time to see the costumed squire come running down the main stairs, holding his sword out of the way, his cloak billowing behind him. He made through the door to the great hall and thence to the lobby and the front door, with Jess not far behind.

  Half the party had spilled out into the gravel courtyard by that time, out of curiosity and the need of air. Cavaliers and roundheads, warlocks and warriors, medieval princesses and fairytale ladies mingled oddly, exclaiming at the rude disturbance.

  ‘What the devil is going on?’ Sir Richard demanded, making his way to the front of the group. ‘How dare you invade my property in this manner!’