A Child of Secrets

by Mary Mackie

Jess edged through until she could see the jostling rabble, including a few women amongst whom was Eliza Potts. They were spreading in a semicircle against the railing, lanterns swinging, fingers pointing, raised voices arguing. Four men were struggling to contain a raging, cursing figure whose drunken strength was nearly a match for them. He was raving, kicking out, striving to break free of the hands that held him, his fury directed at Preacher Merrywest.

  The preacher, though not a big man, stood out because of his black hat and his ferocious beard. He was thundering, ‘Hold him!’ as the captive got an arm free and swung a punch at the air. The effort unbalanced him and he fell to the gravel. His captors leapt on him immediately, one wrenching his arm behind him, another sitting on his legs.

  ‘Blast and damn you!’ the man raged, refusing to own defeat.

  Jess felt as though her heart had stopped her throat: she knew that voice. The drunken, cursing captive was her brother Matty!

  ‘What is the meaning of this flagrant intrusion?’ Sir Richard demanded. ‘You’re trespassing on my property and disturbing my guests. Who are all these people? Who’s your spokesman?’

  ‘I am,’ Merrywest said, and raised his voice to command, ‘Enough!’

  Immediately the noise diminished, though Matty continued to struggle vainly, spitting obscenities. Even lying face down, pinned on the gravel, he exuded hatred at everyone around him.

  ‘My name, sir, is Merrywest,’ the preacher informed the squire. ‘I have the honour to be a lay-preacher of the Methodist church, attached to the Lynn circuit.’

  ‘What of it?’ Sir Richard was impatient.

  ‘My friends and me have been conducting a crusade hereabouts, sir. A Christian temperance crusade, to foil the demon drink. Sore needed, you’ll agree, sir. Drink, that’s one of the evils of our time. That leaves women destitute and children hungry. That turns men into wild beasts and—’

  ‘You’re not here to deliver a sermon,’ Sir Richard said shortly. ‘Get on with it, man. You’re wasting my time.’

  Allowing himself a thin smile, Merrywest explained, ‘Tonight we were gathered in Martham Staithe, outside the “Admiral Nelson” inn, to reason with lost souls and offer them a chance to repent and sign the pledge – I’ve copies here if any of your guests would care to—’ The look on the squire’s face interrupted that line of argument and Merrywest, knowing when to hold his tongue, went on, ‘I was conducting a peaceful campaign, sir, when this here man,’ with a dramatic gesture at the prone Matty, ‘this man – who just so happen to be an employee of yours, sir, name of Matthew Henefer – he run mad. He start a-swearing and a-cursing. He disrupt our prayer meeting, and attack my congregation.’

  Exclamations came from the assembled partygoers, men muttering, ‘Tut-tut, disgraceful,’ ladies gasping, ‘Save us!’ A young Britannia giggled behind her fan as her partner, wearing a cloak and domino mask, whispered in her ear.

  ‘When we tried to stop him,’ Merrywest went on, ‘he pick up a shovel and threaten further violence, to me and to others.’

  ‘He’ve broke my nose!’ a man by the railing snuffled, holding a bloody kerchief to his face, the sight of which made the guests exclaim anew.

  ‘Whiles I don’t like to have to speak ill of any man,’ Merrywest added, enjoying the reaction of his distinguished audience, ‘this en’t the first time he’ve done something of the kind. I know this man of old. The drink let the devil into him, that’s fact – when drink go down the throat, sense and reason go out the head. If we han’t stopped him, sir, I reckon there’d a been murder done tonight.’ He paused again while that dramatic claim ran its course, then concluded, ‘So we brung him to you, sir. You’re the squire hereabouts. You’re a magistrate, too. And he’s your man. Let you now decide what’s to do. Have you got a place where he can be put?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the squire said irritably, anxious to have it done with. ‘We can hold him here overnight.’ He glanced around and, seeing his butler and two of his footmen waiting, summoned them to help take Matty away, saying to Merrywest, ‘Do you intend to bring charges?’

  ‘Aye!’ voices cried from behind him. ‘Assault and battery,’ and, ‘He want lockin’ up,’ from Eliza Potts, but also, ‘He were provoked!’ with, ‘It warn’t his doin’.’ Arguments broke out among the crowd, until Merrywest turned and roared, ‘Hold you hard!’

  ‘It appears to me that I ought to arrest the whole lot of you!’ Sir Richard shouted. ‘Well, Merryweather, or whatever your name is… what about it? Are you accusing him of some specific crime?’

  The preacher’s glance slid to where Jess was standing, a diminutive figure in her maid’s black and white. He said, ‘I en’t a vindictive man, Sir Richard. Forgive and forget, that’s my motto. Do you strongly warn him, when he’s sober. That’ll suffice. Lock him up. Let him cool his head. He’ll be sorry enough, come morning.’

  Was he being cautious because of her? Jess wondered. If this came to court, she might be called as a witness for her brother: she might be angry enough to tell the whole truth about his accuser. That she might! she thought fiercely, and with a final flash of eyes at her enemy she went after the men who were dragging her brother off.

  Knowing where they were taking him, she hurried round the end of the east wing. The window of the lock-up looked out into a north-facing side-yard floored with uneven cobbles. The window was barred with iron behind four panes of glass, one of which was broken, half the glass missing at the bottom. Near it, a drainpipe from the roof had become misaligned, so it missed the drain and poured water into a corner that was damp with moss. In darkness dimly lit by stars, it smelled dank and unwholesome. Not that Jess noticed; she was too worried about Matty.

  Someone was bringing a lantern that shed uneven light through an open doorway, from a passageway into the lock-up. Several men bundled Matty into the rough room, pushing him towards what looked like a butcher’s block set low against the back wall. He staggered and fell to his knees on the uneven floor, cursing as the men and the light went away, the door clanged shut and a key grated in the lock.

  ‘Blast you!’ Matty yelled after them, but his curses faded into incoherence as he realised his helplessness.

  Jess could have wept for him. ‘Matty?’ she ventured, close to the broken pane. ‘Matty, that’s me – Jess. You all right, bor? What happened?’

  ‘Go away!’ he answered hoarsely, and, ‘What’re you doin’ here, Jess? You shun’t be here.’

  Slowly, with many outbursts of temper and outrage and bitterness, he told her how he had been at the ‘Nelson’, downing ale and thinking about Lily, building up a head of rage in which he decided to go and find Ashton Haverleigh and kill him. In the yard that fronted the inn, Merrywest had been standing on a barrel declaring the evils of alcohol to a knot of villagers and amused inn-goers. Some were from Syderford, some from Hewing, others from Martham. There was already argument, Syderford having won the cricket while Martham claimed victory in the regatta and Hewing felt cheated of both.

  Seeing Matty reeling from the inn, the preacher had made pointed remarks about ‘goings-on’ among the gentry, both at Hewinghall and Syderford. Many men had been affronted by his slanders. Then someone in the crowd had mentioned Lily’s name, someone else had laughed, and that had set Matty off. He didn’t wholly remember what else had happened, except that there’d been a general to-do with men on all sides trading punches. He’d been picked out, by Merrywest, as the instigator.

  Just as Jess had thought – Merrywest would do anything to harm her and her family. Yet there’d been fear in him tonight. He wasn’t as secure as he pretended. Perhaps he was afraid that she could harm him, if she tried.

  * * *

  In the small hours of that night, a wretched, sleepless Lily confided in her journal all that had happened. The page was spotted with her tears. In a jagged, ill-formed writing, the passage concluded: ‘Dear God! Peter Dunnock! I would sooner wed Matty Henefer!’

  She was still fully dressed, pacing
up and down the schoolroom, when Jess finally returned with her face set and her apron stained with green lichen and brick dust.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Lily demanded. ‘Lady Maud was not best pleased to find you missing. Sally had to bring Bella up and I had to put her to bed myself. She was over-excited. I left Ching in there with her – you’ll have to remember to put him out before you go to sleep. Well? Answer me, Jess. Explain yourself. If you’ve been dallying with that George—’

  ‘I’ve been with our Matty. He got in a fight and they slung him in the lock-up.’

  ‘It was Matty? Oh… Jess, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise… Is he all right?’

  ‘No, he en’t,’ Jess said flatly. ‘He’re hurt and bleedin’, he’re drunk, and he’re got the miseries. All on your account. He was stickin’ up for you because folk were talkin’ about you. He was defendin’ your good name. Like the blame fool he be.’

  ‘Why…’ The attack bewildered Lily. ‘That was kind of him. But I don’t see that I can be held responsible for—’

  ‘No, miss,’ Jess said wearily, turning away. ‘No, I don’t reckon you would see, at that. Sorry, miss. Will that be all?’

  Long into the night Lily lay wakeful, feeling as if there was no help left. Richard wanted to be rid of her; Cousin Oriana would never understand; even Jess had started being snappish.

  Matty… How awful to think of him lying alone in the dank, dark, rat-infested lock-up – all because of her. He’d actually fought for her. Shed his blood. That was more than any other man had ever done. How sweet of him to care. And he did care – she knew that. He’d proved it in a dozen ways. Lily remembered how Matty had found her in the rectory garden, exactly a year ago. He’d been kind and surprisingly gentle for such a big, uncouth man. He’d laid his coat around her to keep her warm and, as they parted, she had allowed him to steal a kiss.

  She was really quite fond of him, she realised. Certainly fonder than she was of Peter Dunnock.

  When dawn came, Lily got up and dressed and, by the first grey light, stole down the back stairs and through the house, along the long, flagged west corridor to the store rooms. She didn’t know what she would find, she only remembered someone describing where the lock-up lay.

  Tentatively, she patted at the door with the flat of her hand. The metal felt cold, gritty with incipient rust. She wiped her hand on her skirt, said, ‘Matthew? Matthew Henefer?’ No response made her slap the door again, harder this time. ‘Matthew Henefer, are you there?’

  ‘Who’s that?’ the sleepy mumble came.

  ‘It’s I – Lily Clare.’

  After a moment of utter silence she heard his boots scrape on the floor. When he spoke again his voice was closer, incredulous: ‘Miss Lily?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was scanning the door, thinking how huge and solid it was. If only… And then she saw the ornate head of the big old key still sitting in the lock. She put her hand on it, tested it, heard it scrape and grind, turning the mechanism. As the door swung inwards, she saw Matty staring at her, regarding her with awe, as if she were a vision.

  Nausea churned in her stomach, morning sickness, apprehension, pity, guilt… What a sight he looked – his clothes torn and thick with dust, dried blood crusting one corner of his mouth, the flesh around his eye swollen, his eye half shut.

  ‘Oh…’ she managed faintly, tears coming all too easily. ‘I can’t bear it! You did this for me, Matthew. How am I ever going to thank you?’

  ‘Why… En’t no need for thanks, Miss Lily. I done what I had to do. What any man would have done.’

  ‘No, that’s not true. Only you would do this for me. Only you, Matthew. You’re fated to be my champion. My good, gentle knight. But… You ought to know – I’m not worthy. I don’t deserve your loyalty. I am such a fool. Such a terrible, wicked, hopeless fool. And a sinner, too.’

  ‘No, you en’t!’

  ‘Yes, I am. I am! When I tell you… Oh, you’ll never forgive me. You’ll hate me.’

  ‘Miss Lily…’ He moved nearer, stirred by the sight of her distress. She was pale in the early light, her hair disarrayed, her eyes huge and desolate. ‘I could never hate you, Miss Lily. Whatever you’ve done.’

  ‘Couldn’t you?’ She peered tearfully up at him, her heart twisting inside her as she saw that he was sincere. ‘Oh, Matthew… If I could believe that to be true I should be so happy. You see, I… I’m in the most terrible trouble – the most terrible trouble that a stupid woman can be in. I need someone to help me. I shall be ruined unless someone, some kindly, unselfish, perfect gentle knight comes to my rescue and…’

  ‘Blast!’ His voice was low, thick with sick rage as he caught her pleading hands and held them against his dusty coat. ‘I knew he was a wrong ’un, fust time I seen him. Blast him, that he’d do this to you…’

  * * *

  Having done her early cleaning and hauled up the hot water, Jess knocked on Lily’s door and went in. The room was empty. Where had Lily gone so early? Her journal lay on the night table, open with the pen lying across a page scrawled with black ink. Then, as Jess set down the ewer of water, a step outside made her glance round.

  ‘Jess.’ Lily was in the doorway, crumpled and tear-stained but with a new glow of serenity about her. ‘Oh, Jess…’ She came drifting across the room with her arms open to embrace Jess. ‘How I thank God that you came into my life. You – and your brother. We’ve always said it was fated, haven’t we? So it was. I’m sure of that now.’

  Jess said nothing. She couldn’t. She had a feeling that something dreadful had happened.

  ‘Your brother…’ Lily said. ‘He’s a fine man. A fine, good man, Jess. I’ve been to see him. I went to thank him for being my champion. And… as we were talking, I found myself confiding in him. And he… he has been good enough to understand. Jess… your brother and I are to be married. Very soon. He has offered to stand by me, to claim the child as his own.’

  No!

  Jess’s mind wouldn’t seem to work beyond that flat denial.

  ‘Be happy for us,’ Lily pleaded. ‘Oh… it’s not ideal, for either of us. But he’s a good man. He’s strong, he’s kind. He loves me, and I am very fond of him. I could do worse – much worse! I’ll be good to him, I promise you. I shall never forget what he’s done for me. I’ll always be grateful.’

  ‘And faithful?’ It was out before Jess could stop it. ‘Or will you go runnin’ back to that Mr Haverleigh the minute he crook his little finger?’

  ‘Ash?’ Lily blinked at her. ‘But surely you know… I never want to see Ash again. I promise you, Jess.’

  * * *

  Later that day, Lily was summoned to the library, where Richard Fyncham was standing by a terrestrial globe, twirling it round at a pace that had days passing in seconds.

  ‘Close the door,’ he bade her, and when she had done so he came striding across the room to take her by the shoulders and demand, ‘Why? Why, Lily?’

  ‘Because he loves me! Because he won’t ask questions!’

  ‘But a gardener…’

  ‘I’d rather have him than Peter Dunnock!’

  Releasing her, he stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to read her mind. ‘Very well. It may be best, at that. I’ve spoken with him and he’s loyal to you. Very loyal. Did you tell him…’

  ‘He thinks it’s Ashton Haverleigh’s,’ Lily said dully. ‘Everyone will think so. Such a reputation I have.’

  ‘Oh, my love…’

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ She shuddered away as he reached again for her. ‘I know I’ve become an embarrassment. You want to get rid of me, in any way you can. You used me, just as Ash—’

  ‘No, Lily.’

  ‘Yes, Richard!’

  Again he was silent, watching her with those clear grey eyes full of sad reproach. Unable to bear it, Lily turned her back on him, folding her arms around herself for comfort.

  ‘We won’t argue about it, not now,’ he said. ‘But you’re wrong, Lily. You – we – are
in this predicament because I was careless, because I love you, “not wisely, but too well”. Believe me, love, if it were humanly possible I would claim you as my own and stand proudly beside you for the rest of my days. As it is, I shall do all I can to help you and Henefer – and the child, when it’s born.’ He moved closer, his hands on her arms turning her to face him. ‘Lily, my love… Forgive me. Please.’

  Needing reassurance, she lifted her arms round his neck and felt him fold her to him, safe and secure. It would be all right, she told herself. So long as Richard loved her, everything would be all right…

  * * *

  Letters were sent to York, seeking Reverend Hugh Clare’s permission for the match; his affirmative answer came by return.

  There was talk, of course, when the news got out. Gossips went on and on, like pigs in a harvest field. The official tale was that Lily and Matty had been in love for months, despite the difference in their station. Frustration, and the desire to protect Lily from wicked tongues, had driven Matty to drink and fisticuffs; so the squire had agreed that, to calm the young man down, it was best for them to marry. They would be setting up home in Park Lodge, with Miss Peartree, and Lily would continue to give Bella lessons until a new governess could be found.

  Lady Maud was angry: she called Lily to her room and demanded to know what had been going on. But she wasn’t really interested one way or the other, so long as her own life wasn’t disrupted. The squire had persuaded her that a fuss would only draw more attention: the matter was being resolved. Let it rest.

  Matty and Lily were married on the twenty-first of September in a quiet, early-morning ceremony conducted by Reverend Peter Dunnock. Jess was at the church that golden morning, and Miss Peartree and Dolly, and Reuben Rudd stood as best man. He and Jess both signed the register as witnesses. At the churchyard gate, the newly wedded pair climbed into one of Sir Richard’s carriages and were whisked off to the station in Hunstanton, bound for a few days in King’s Lynn, where Lily would meet her new in-laws for the first time.