A Child of Secrets

by Mary Mackie

  The wide, frightened eyes stared up at her, bright blue and velvet brown. ‘Jess… I never meant to hurt him. I really thought he would be happy. I never meant…’

  ‘I know, miss.’

  The doctor arrived and went away again – Lily had called for help much too soon. Jess pitied her, felt angry with her, wanted to scold and hug her all at the same time. Lily was a child, not yet twenty, not wise in any way. For all her mistakes, she remained an innocent, trusting in dreams and happy endings.

  Her labour went on through the night. Dr Michaels returned in the early hours and saw her through the last stages, but it was Jess she clung to, Jess who was so close she could smell the fear on her as the contractions grew stronger and sweat poured from her, her face and body contorted with effort. And then suddenly the child was delivered, sliding out on to the soiled sheet, yelling lustily.

  ‘Is it all right?’ Lily asked anxiously. ‘Is it all right?’

  ‘It’s a boy,’ the doctor declared as he quickly checked it over. ‘Ten fingers, ten toes, good lungs on him too… a fine strong boy. What else do you want?’

  Jess had the pleasure of washing the baby and wrapping it in a flannel sheet with just its red, wrinkled face showing, while Miss Peartree and Dolly tended Lily, getting her washed and into a fresh nightgown. She was quiet now, allowing them to settle her back into bed where she lay exhausted and pale, her eyes closed. Her two attendants came to have a good look at the baby, exclaiming over him.

  Slowly, smiling down at the tiny boy-child in her arms, Jess walked to the bedside. He had a mass of dark curls, just like Lily’s, but he was long – he was going to be tall. He appeared to be gazing up at her with quiet trust and curiosity, one tiny hand pushing out of the enwrapping blanket. When she put her finger there he grasped it, holding it tightly – laying claim to her heart, she always thought in later years.

  ‘Don’t you want to have a look at your son?’

  Only Lily’s pink lips moved, saying again, ‘Is he all right? Tell me the truth, Jess! His eyes…’

  ‘He have a beautiful pair of eyes,’ Jess said. ‘Dark blue.’

  Lily did look at her then. ‘Both of them?’

  ‘Both of them, Miss Lily.’

  ‘Oh…’ Tears starting, Lily sat up. ‘Let me have him. Let me see him. Oh… Oh, isn’t he a darling!’

  Robbed of the sweet weight that had briefly filled her arms, Jess said, ‘He’re a beautiful boy. You should be proud.’ She felt compelled to add, defying the fates, ‘Our Matty will be, when he know he have a son.’

  The words fell hollow. No one in that room believed this was Matty’s son, born only six months after a hurried wedding that had followed on the heels of scandal whispered about Lily and a certain Mr Haverleigh. More than that – no one in that room believed that Matty would ever return to claim or disclaim the child.

  Jess felt the knowledge crawl across her skin: Matty was never coming back. With every day that passed she was more sure of it.

  * * *

  The thaw came slowly, melting the mounds of ice, turning the ground to mud. Snowdrops nodded in the woods and, as April came, the birds were busy. So was Ching, out on the rooftops watching for unwary nest-builders.

  Since Lily was occupied with her baby, Jess had full charge of the nursery, where Bella was gradually returning to full health. That winter’s ailments had depleted her strength, but when she wasn’t resting she liked making jigsaws and drawing, or playing with her many dolls. She and Jess got along famously, but she missed Lily.

  ‘When can I see the baby?’ she kept asking. ‘What is he called? I can’t remember the name.’

  ‘Jabez,’ Jess replied. ‘It’s a name out of the Bible. Jabez Matthew Hugh Henefer – there’s a mouthful for a titty-totty bor.’ Lily had chosen the names with care – Matthew for her husband, Hugh for her adoptive father, and Jabez because it had a strange, exotic sound to it – like Lilith. Jess had a feeling that Lily thought Jabez might be a gypsy name.

  They’d brought a low day-bed couch into the schoolroom and placed it where Nanny’s chair had been, near the fire. Bella took her afternoon rest there, often with Ching curled in her lap, though the cat had to be shut elsewhere when Lady Maud came up.

  Her ladyship had taken to visiting the schoolroom for tea since Bella had been so ill. She brought with her a whiff of the outdoors, talk of horses and dogs. Was it enforced idleness, because of the snow, that had caused the new tension that showed in jerky flicks of her auburn head, in restless eyes and an inability to settle more than a few minutes? Her visits left Bella exhausted, as though the mother’s nervous tension drained her child’s energy, but as far as Jess could tell Lady Maud did not visit the nursery at night any more. Perhaps she had realised that her visits frightened Bella, or perhaps it was Ching’s presence that deterred her. Lady Maud detested the cat and the cat knew it – he would torment his enemies, if he had the chance, as he had tormented poor Miss Wilks.

  Sir Richard’s visits were more welcome. He came smiling, bringing kindness and love to his daughter.

  One afternoon his stay was curtailed when George arrived with an urgent message – ‘Mr Rudd is most anxious to see you, sir.’

  The squire left at once.

  Having settled Bella down to rest, Jess went to stand at the window, looking over the balcony parapet to the wide acres of the park, green now with spring. Different from the way it had looked that winter morning, blanketed with snow. The day Matty disappeared. She wished she could go down and see Rudd, if only for a minute. She hadn’t seen him to speak to since they met at the lodge. Oh… it was best not to see him. Thinking about him was bad enough.

  ‘Jess!’ Sal Gooden hissed from the doorway. ‘You’re wanted. In the library. Quick sharp.’

  ‘In the—’ Jess had never been inside the library, not in all the time she’d been at Hewinghall.

  ‘That’s what I was told. I reckon Lady Maud want to see you about somethin’. Maybe they’re hirin’ a new governess.’

  If they were, Lily would be disappointed: she’d set her heart on coming back to the big house before long.

  Quickly tidying herself, Jess ran down to the library and knocked on the big, carved door.

  ‘Come in,’ bade the squire’s voice.

  She saw him outlined against one of the windows, then a movement drew her attention to the far side of a grand marble hearth where a fire was crackling. Reuben Rudd stood there. He looked as if he’d come straight from the woods, wearing his tweeds and leather cape. Mud and leaves caked his boots and buskins and there were further traces of mud on his hands, even a streak down one cheek which might have looked comical had it not been for the sombre light in his eyes.

  Something bad had happened. The atmosphere in the room fairly screamed disaster. Why else had she been summoned here? Why else was Rudd looking like that? And the squire… Though the fire sent out a deal of heat, something cold touched her soul.

  ‘I’ll leave you to talk,’ Sir Richard said quietly, making for the door. ‘I’ll see you’re not disturbed.’

  As the door closed behind him, Jess forced herself to look at Rudd. He came and took her arm, saying, ‘Sit down, lass. I’ve some news to tell thee. Bad news, I’m afraid.’

  Jess sank to the edge of one of the big leather chairs, feeling the fire’s heat all down her right side. As Rudd dropped on one knee beside her, she said, ‘It’s Matty, en’t it?’

  Twenty-Seven

  It seemed a long time before Rudd spoke. He knelt there, watching her with heavy eyes, then took her hand between his own, rubbing it gently. ‘Aye, lass. I’m sorry, but… Obi found him, early this morning.’

  ‘Found him?’ She didn’t understand.

  ‘In the woods, not far from the ice-house. Among a bank of thorn. A tree had come down on top of him. Quite a few trees came down under that weight of snow.’

  She knew what he was saying, but… ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Since the night of the big
snowfall, I’d say.’

  Only half aware of the comforting pressure of his hands around hers, she stared at the fire, watching the flames dance. She’d known, hadn’t she? She’d known Matty must be dead. He wouldn’t just have gone away. Not Matty.

  Even so, she didn’t believe it.

  ‘You reckon the tree fell on him?’

  ‘That’s what we thought, at first. Then later, after we got the tree away… then…’

  She stared at him, not even breathing. In his eyes she read the sick horror of what he’d seen; she didn’t need telling what a state Matty’s body had been in, lying under the snow all that time, then the thaw, the animals all waking, hungry…

  ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ Rudd said, pressing her hand harder. ‘There’s no easy way to tell thee. He was shot. Through the head.’

  Shot?

  ‘One single shot. Not a shotgun. A pistol of some kind. We thought at first he must have shot himself, but we couldn’t find any gun nearby. The police are searching, but—’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘It’s for them to investigate now, Jess.’

  She didn’t comprehend him. What was he saying – that Matty had been murdered? How could that be? Who would do such a thing?

  Her mind provided the name: Merrywest.

  ‘Look…’ From his pocket Rudd produced a bedraggled shred of cloth with something attached to it – a button: a silver button with a wavy edge and a trellis pattern, a button from ‘Hardlines’ Henefer’s waistcoat, that his oldest son had worn. ‘I brought you this, so’s you’d know for sure.’

  She took the button, and as her fingers played over the shape of it the first tug of grief came, like something far distant that had no real connection with her. ‘One of these buttons was in your cottage,’ she said. ‘Do you remember?’

  ‘Aye,’ Rudd replied gravely, and when she looked at him he added, ‘He told me about it, Jess. It’s not important.’

  She stood up, staring across the room at the windows, holding the silver button tightly in her fist. The light seemed dazzling and the grief was inside her now, deep inside her, ripping up through her vitals, into her chest, rushing up her throat… Beside her, Rudd straightened too and she looked up at him, saying, ‘That foolish great lummox!’ And then the tears came, roaring up to fill her head and burst out in a cry of bottomless pain. Rudd put his arms around her and drew her to rest against him, and stood there, holding her, letting the grief rage.

  * * *

  When the news reached Park Lodge, the truth that Lily had feared for weeks came rearing up to stun her: Richard had killed Matty – she was sure of it. Richard had killed him, hidden him and then called in his footmen as a means of explaining the mess in the library. Then he’d got Matty out to the wood and left him in the snow. Richard had been madly jealous of Matty – he’d said so in the note she kept tucked inside her journal. He’d turned murderer out of love for her – and that meant she was to blame for Matty’s death.

  She came flying to the big house, scarlet flags on pallid cheeks, eyes abrim and bonnet askew. She paused on the threshold of the nursery, where Jess was folding linen and Bella played on the hearthrug with the cat.

  ‘Jess! Oh, Jess… I just heard. About Matthew. Oh… I don’t know what to say. It’s my fault. It was because of me.’

  Jess felt hard and cold, her heart dead, but beneath it resentment stirred. How typical of Lily to take the blame, drawing attention to herself. She couldn’t bear not to be at the centre of everything.

  ‘No, Miss Lily,’ she said flatly.

  ‘But it was. It was my fault! If he hadn’t married me, he would be alive now. Oh… I never meant to hurt him, Jess. How did it go so wrong? Poor Matthew—’

  ‘His name was Matty!’ Jess cried, pressing her fists to her head for fear it might explode. ‘Nobody never called him Matthew, ’cept you and Miss Peartree. He was Matty, just Matty. But you had to change it. Even his name wasn’t good enough for you. Because he wasn’t good enough!’

  Lily was shaking visibly, her pink lips trembling, her eyes wide and wet. ‘That’s not true, Jess. I did care about him. He was good, and kind. It was I who changed him. I hurt him, disappointed him. Oh… Jess, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!’

  That she meant it sincerely was obvious.

  Unable to hold on to her resentment, knowing that Lily needed someone to share her grief, Jess held out her arms and together they wept for Matty.

  * * *

  ‘Murder, by person or persons unknown,’ was the verdict of the inquest.

  For Jess, the arrival of her family was a comfort. Fanny and her husband ‘Sprat’ Fysher, and Tom, who had been Matty’s best mate, came to Hewing for the funeral, bringing with them Sam – how he’d grown! – and young Joe. Jess embraced them all, glad of their support.

  After the service they returned to Park Lodge for refreshment.

  Rudd was at the lodge. Every day that passed gave Jess more reasons for admiring the gamekeeper – his steady strength, his supportiveness, his patience… Maybe one day soon, now that Matty was gone, she’d be able to tell him the whole truth. For now, too much else weighed on her mind.

  The Fyshers had brought momentous news – Preacher Merrywest had been arrested, charged with Matty’s murder.

  ‘Merrywest?’ Lily queried. ‘Who…?’

  ‘The preacher – the Methodist preacher.’

  Lily couldn’t take it in. Guilt gnawed like blight inside her and she felt desperately alone despite the people around her. They held her responsible, she felt sure, and so she kept her baby out of their way and soon made excuses to go up to him, to feed him.

  ‘She think herself too good for us,’ Fanny said. ‘Well, I shall see that little ’un afore I go, whatever she say. If he’s Matty’s son then he’s my nephew, part of our family, and she ’on’t keep him from us.’

  ‘She don’t mean to,’ Jess excused her friend. ‘She’re in a bad way over losing Matty. Now, what’s all this about Merrywest?’

  Police enquiries had revealed that Merrywest had been in the area on the night Matty vanished. The preacher had become a frequent visitor to Martham Staithe, leading Bible classes and prayer meetings with his recent converts, and he had been lodging in Hewing with the Pottses’ relative, Mrs Kipps. On the night of the storm he had not come in – got snowbound on his way back from a meeting and had to spend the night in a barn, so he’d claimed when he turned up next day. As soon as the snow had allowed, he had trekked to Hunstanton and taken the train back home.

  And now he had been arrested on suspicion of murder.

  Jess pitied his wife and children. Perhaps now, at last, Merrywest’s real self would be revealed. If she was called to give witness, she’d tell everything she knew. There was nothing to stop her now.

  However, after only a few days, below-stairs gossip reported that Merrywest had been released.

  Jess went down to the lodge, taking Bella with her to have a reading lesson, but while Bella cooed over the baby in his pram, outside in the spring sunshine, Jess relayed the news to Lily and Miss Peartree.

  ‘Eliza Potts have given Merrywest an alibi.’

  Lily shook her head, her mouth curving bitterly though her eyes remained dead. ‘Then that is that.’ She had known, anyway, that Merrywest wasn’t the culprit. She knew that Richard Fyncham had killed Matty.

  But, ‘Eliza?’ said Miss Peartree worriedly. ‘Why, what does she know about it?’

  ‘She say she was at that meeting, and walked home with him. She got trapped in the same barn, and stayed there the whole night with him. Didn’t say so afore for fear of scandal, but now she’re had to confess, to save his skin.’

  ‘Do you doubt her word, Jess?’ Miss Peartree asked.

  ‘I dunno, miss. All I know is that Merrywest have an eye for the ladies, and Eliza is a handsome woman. ’Course, that was wholly innocent, so she say. He din’t lay a finger on her. She’re just one of his faithful followers…’

 
As the baby gave a faint wail from his perambulator outside, Lily leapt up and hurried out to see to him, not sorry to escape.

  Behind her, into the silence, Miss Peartree said, as if to herself, ‘Eliza Potts is no novice in the ways of the flesh. And… she does appear to have a particular taste for men of the cloth.’

  ‘Miss?’ Jess’s expression must have been eloquent.

  The old lady’s face was troubled. ‘I’ve never told anyone else, but… I have reason to believe that Eliza was Reverend Clare’s mistress.’

  What? ‘Why, Miss Peartree, ma’am!’

  ‘Didn’t you ever think she took liberties?’ Miss Peartree asked. ‘I certainly did. But he wouldn’t hear a word against her, would he? I thought it was because he didn’t want to trouble himself with domestic matters, but, just before Reverend Clare left, Mr Rudd asked me if I’d ever suspected anything untoward might be going on with Eliza and her brother. Poaching, that kind of thing. Well, I hadn’t, but I’d never felt comfortable with her, ever since she accused Dolly of stealing, so one day, when she was out, I made it my business to look in her room. I found some pheasant feathers under her bed, and then…’ Pale eyes behind her spectacles blinked unhappily. ‘I discovered some poems. They were… love poems. Passionate love poems, Jess. Written in the Reverend Clare’s hand. And as I looked further… I found some of my dear cousin’s jewellery – he’d given her things belonging to his own dead wife!

  ‘Oh, we were fools not to see! Those Tuesday afternoons when he liked us all to go out, when she was there alone with him… the power she had over him. I mean… why else would he have recommended her so fulsomely to Lady Maud? He felt guilty, and he was trying to compensate her. Oh, Jess, my dear, I have felt so badly about it. So helpless. I can never tell poor dear Lily. But I fear Eliza is trying to hurt Lily as a means of punishing Reverend Clare. All the gossip, and then this terrible preacher, and… and Matthew…’

  Matty, yes.