A Child of Secrets

by Mary Mackie

  Jess was sure now: Eliza had lied, to save Merrywest’s skin. But what did she hope to gain from it?

  * * *

  ‘Dear God, thank you, thank you, thank you.’ The writing was jagged, splattered with tears, but Lily didn’t care. She’d been out for a walk in the soft April evening and Richard had come riding along one of the woodland paths – quite, quite by chance. Now, she was happy for the first time in weeks, because she knew he hadn’t harmed Matty.

  Leaping down from his horse, he had tried to take her in his arms, but she had backed away, saying something incoherent about the blood on his hands: ‘It will always be between us – his blood crying out. “All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this—”’

  ‘Lily!’ He had taken hold of her, shaking her. ‘You surely don’t think that I… Oh, my sweetest dear, what have you been thinking? Yes, he came to the hall; he came and found me in the library. He was drunk. Raving. He didn’t know what he was doing or saying. He swung a punch at me – and landed on the floor in a heap. I went for help, and by the time I returned he was gone. He’d stormed about the library, knocking books down, opening drawers and cupboards. I don’t know why. Maybe he hoped to find money, maybe just as an outlet of rage. But I thought it more discreet not to mention names, to say simply there was an intruder. Darling love, I swear to you that when I last saw him he was alive.’

  Relief sent her into his arms, to share passionate, drowning kisses, rediscovering each other, reconfirming their love.

  ‘But who could have done it?’ she said then. ‘Who, Richard?’

  He held her tightly. ‘I don’t know. Oh, my love, forget about Henefer! He’s too much on your mind.’

  ‘How can I help it?’ she protested. ‘I feel responsible. If I had not married him—’

  ‘Hush! God knows I wish it had been different, but his death was not our doing. Believe that, Lily. Believe it.’ His arms pressed her tight until he felt her begin to relax. He surveyed her with ardent eyes, clear and grey. ‘Oh, my darling love, how I’ve missed you. We must find a way for you to return to the big house. Not yet, perhaps, but in a little while. I’ll speak to Maud. I’ll see if she will agree to your returning – with the child, too. Bella will like that. It will be good for her to have another child in the nursery. Besides…’ He gazed passionately into her eyes, stroking her face. ‘He is her brother, after all. He is my son. He should be at Hewinghall.’

  * * *

  The mystery of Matty’s death remained unresolved: it looked as though neither the weapon nor the culprit would ever be found. For Jess it was a continuing wound. If only she had killed Merrywest when she had the chance! Now, because of Eliza, the villain went free.

  As the anniversary of young Harry Fyncham’s death approached again, in May, Jess sensed the rising tension in Lady Maud. She had been upset for months – because of Bella’s long illness, Jess assumed – but now she often came to the nursery in a talkative, high-strung state, her breath strong with scented cashews chewed to cover the odour of gin.

  When the fateful date arrived, Jess lay awake far into the night, watching and listening until a fitful sleep overcame her. She woke at once when the banister on the family stairs cracked as if someone was leaning on it. A faint gleam of lamplight passed her door, the telltale board creaked and then, because her ears were tuned for it, she heard the bolt on Bella’s door being drawn back.

  Jess threw her covers aside and reached for her wrap, shivering in the dawn chill. The first streaks of light showed beyond her high window, touching pink on the underside of wind-stretched cloud as she crept barefoot to her door and waited there, her ear pressed against it.

  The silence went on so long that Jess unlatched her door and edged it open. As she looked out, Lady Maud came out of Bella’s room, her wrap flowing behind her, the flame in her lamp dancing as she strode for the schoolroom, leaving its door open, too. An added draught told Jess that Lady Maud had opened a window. She was going out on to the roof.

  Fearing that the rush of cold air might disturb Bella, Jess hurried to the child’s room and found her peacefully sleeping. On the night table beside her there lay an envelope with the name ‘JESS’ written on it. A note? From Lady Maud? Jess picked it up, slit it open with fumbling fingers, peered at the words in grey dawn light…

  She was doing her best to learn to read. She’d listened hard when Bella was studying, and she’d pored over books by herself in spare moments – she was proud of her prowess with print. But she still had trouble making sense of hand-written words, especially when they were scrawled all over the page like a spider’s tracks. She deciphered: ‘If you came about my d…’ Jess guessed the word was ‘daughter’, and it must be ‘care’ not ‘came’; so, ‘If you care about my daughter…’ but she couldn’t make out any more.

  The light was growing, seeping through the curtains. Across them a shadow moved – Lady Maud walking on the roof balcony. Jess withdrew, closing Bella’s door gently behind her.

  The draught still blew from the schoolroom and the shrill cries of soaring house martins came loud. Jess stole across the bare boards and worn rugs to the open window, going cautiously for fear of being seen. Outside, the sun waited to rise from a dark bank, throwing angry red light on to the underside of higher cloud. Against that sky, pale and dark blue streaked with scarlet, with martins darting around her, Lady Maud stood on the balcony, her hair and clothes blowing on the morning breeze, her hands knotted into fists as they rested on the stone parapet. Though Jess couldn’t see her face, every line of her body expressed misery. She was speaking to herself, muttering softly, something about ‘Harry,’ and ‘Why? Why?’ Then, as if making a decision, she threw one knee on to the parapet and hoisted herself up, poised on all fours, breathing, ‘Yes, like this. Brave boy! Like this, Harry,’ and with her arms outstretched she slowly straightened to her full height.

  Jess drew back, as if by doing so she could wrench her mistress away from danger. But Lady Maud had perfect balance. Despite the wind that wrapped her clothes close about her body and blew her hair round her face, she walked steadily along the parapet, treading like a dancer in her bare feet, going briefly out of Jess’s sight behind the edge of the dormer. Jess heard her laugh, and say, ‘Oh, Harry! Yes!’ as she came back. The light of the rising sun glittered in the tears that wet her face as she let her wrap loose and stood there with it flying behind her, her head up, staring into the brightness of the sun.

  Then Ching appeared, jumping lithely down from the roof slates to the leaded balcony and up on to the parapet, two feet away from her ladyship. Tail sinuously stroking the air, he gave a little ‘Prrp?’

  Lady Maud glanced down and saw him. She uttered a cry and began to teeter, her arms flailing wildly.

  ‘Milady!’ Jess’s cry mingled with her lady’s scream as she fell.

  Ever afterwards Jess retained the impression that Lady Maud could have saved herself – could have jumped the other way, down on to the balcony. Instead, she let herself go over the edge. As if, all along, part of her had wanted to fall. To follow Harry…

  * * *

  Lady Maud was dead! Lily could hardly believe it. First Matty and now… Fate was opening the way for her and Richard to be together. This was how it would happen, her heart’s desire, at last. Oh… she grieved for Matty – she had shed many tears for him – and she was sorry for Maud, dreadfully sorry, but the way Jess told it Maud had been growing ever more deranged over Harry’s death. She was happier dead, off in heaven with the son she had adored. Her daughter she could safely leave in Lily’s hands; Lily would love Bella, be a real mother to her. That was how it would all end. Happily. As in all good fairy tales.

  That Richard too saw the same eventual ending was proved by the way he had immediately sent Bella to stay with Lily, to keep her away from the scandal and upheaval that were inevitable. He and Lily would have to be discreet, perhaps for several months, but in the end they would be together. Happiness would flower from this dread
ful, dreadful accident.

  It was an accident. Of that Lily was convinced. Maud had, perhaps, courted the danger, but she hadn’t intended to kill herself.

  ‘Then why’d she leave a note?’ Jess blurted, and immediately wished she had bitten her tongue.

  Lily became still, her eyes bright and hard. ‘Note? What note? What did it say?’

  Now Jess felt badly. She’d promised the squire never to mention that note. ‘I en’t sure. I couldn’t make out her writing, not clearly.’

  ‘Well, where is it now?’

  ‘Thrown away.’ She didn’t add that Sir Richard had destroyed it.

  ‘I see. Well… gracious goodness, Jess, perhaps she was asking you to… to take Bella to see her later. Or just to see that she ate her porridge. It could have been a million things.’

  ‘Then why’d she never write down her instructions afore? She alluss sent word by Mrs Roberts, or one of the maids – or told me herself when she came up.’ Jess had an uneasy feeling about that note.

  She’d left it on the table in the schoolroom and forgotten about it until later, when Sir Richard was there. He’d seen the note and asked what it was and when she’d told him she wasn’t sure, because she couldn’t read it clearly, he’d read it himself. Then he’d gone very quiet, and crumpled the paper up and thrown it into the cold hearth and put a match to it, watching until it was all burned.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he’d said. ‘Ravings. I’d be obliged if you would forget it ever existed, Jess. My wife’s memory needs no further soiling. There will be talk enough without this.’

  * * *

  With Bella staying at the lodge, Jess divided her time between there and the big house; she went early to wash and dress Bella, and again in the evening to get her to bed, but unless she was specifically needed at the lodge she took her meals in the servants’ hall and did extra jobs that Mrs Roberts found for her. Below stairs there was much fresh gossip about Master Harry. Those who had been at Hewinghall when the young heir died now found many parallels in his mother’s death, not to mention new cause for superstition and legend-building.

  Crossing the yard one breezy morning, Jess heard Eliza Potts’s voice behind a bank of billowing sheets: ‘…and didn’t Kate Hewitt – Kate Lester as was, the last nurserymaid – alluss say that attic was haunted? Well, now we know. Harry Fyncham lured his mother after him.’

  The other maids twittered nervously in response.

  ‘And who’ll he call next, heh?’ Eliza went on. ‘He ’on’t be satisfied with one. These things alluss run in threes. Maybe Miss Bella’ll run mad. Maybe grief’ll send the squire shanny. Maybe the Fynchams’ll die out.’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Jess swept aside the damp sheet and confronted the gossips. ‘Miss Bella’s frit enough already without you spreadin’ more wicked gossip. Call yourself a Christian, Eliza Potts… you oughta be ashamed of your evil tongue. Lady Maud fell. The cat scared her and she fell. There wan’t no ghost. There never have been no ghost.’

  ‘Tell that to Miss Lily,’ Eliza retorted. ‘Or should I say the Widow Henefer? Sal Gooden heard her say to Mrs Roberts as how she was alluss a-hearin’ things in the night and reckoned she was bein’ watched.’

  ‘You’re alluss tryin’ to blame Miss Lily,’ said Jess, stung by that reference to Matty. ‘She han’t never done anythin’ to you. Or is that a case of “the sins of the father”? Is it him you’re gettin’ back at?’

  For the first time that Jess could remember, Eliza blanched and looked confused. So Miss Peartree had been right! Contenting herself with a look of total disgust, Jess walked away, making for the back door. She was surprised to find herself trembling.

  Behind her, Eliza’s wooden pattens clopped on the cobbles as she came hurrying. ‘What’d you now mean by that remark?’ she demanded in an undertone that wouldn’t carry beyond the two of them.

  ‘I reckon you know what I mean,’ Jess replied, equally low. ‘Reckon I shoulda known, too – long ago. I remember you sayin’ you had your sights set higher than a gamekeeper, on’y I thought that was just talk.’

  ‘You en’t got no proof o’ nothin’!’

  ‘No more’n you’ve had proof of things you’ve said about me and Miss Lily – and a dozen others. But mud sticks, Eliza. I’m now warnin’ you – do you imitate to do any more harm to Miss Lily, and I might have to mention a word about Reverend Clare somewhere.’

  As she turned away, Eliza’s hand on her arm stopped her. ‘Hold you hard, Jess Henefer. We en’t been friends, but I don’t reckon you’re the sort as’d talk out o’ turn. ’Specially… that’d be wholly bad for me right now. I’m goin’ to be wed soon. If he found out…’

  ‘Wed?’ That was news. ‘Who to?’

  Eliza’s green eyes narrowed, as if she had not planned to tell, but pride made her toss her head and straighten her shoulders as she said, ‘The preacher. Merrywest.’

  ‘What?’ Was this a sour joke?

  ‘I reckon he owe it to me, after I ruined my reputation for him by tellin’ how we was together in that barn, the night your Matty got hisself killed. I made my choice then. I knew my family wouldn’t be best pleased, but I had to tell the truth. And it was the truth.’

  The high colour in her cheeks, the flash of her eyes, said much more – she and Merrywest were lovers.

  ‘You in love with him, Eliza?’

  ‘I reckon.’

  ‘And him?’

  ‘He feel the same.’

  Jess could hardly believe it but she actually pitied the girl. ‘Do he? Well, that’s prob’ly what some o’ his other women thought, too – them as came willing. Not them as he forced, or blackmailed. Like my mother. And me, and other young girls from his Sunday school.’ Funny, but it was easy to say it to Eliza, not to hurt her but to warn her. Jess felt entirely calm about it.

  ‘You’re a liar!’

  ‘No, I en’t,’ Jess denied quietly. ‘And you know it. In your heart you surely know that man han’t got an honest bone in his whole body. He’ve used you, just like he uses all women. And when he’ve got tired of it he’ll go back home to his quiet little wife and his two quiet little ’uns, safe behind that mask of holy—’

  Eliza stiffened and jerked as if she’d been hit. ‘He’re married?’

  ‘Din’t you know that?’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’

  ‘Then don’t. All you have to do is go to Lynn and call at number seven, Port Street. Mrs Merrywest’ll soon tell you who to believe. Funny, I wonder why he never mentioned her? And him such a fine, upstanding, preachifyin’ man, so hot after sinners!’ She watched as a flurry of emotions chased across Eliza’s even features – disbelief, bafflement, dawning realisation… a recipe whose end-product was righteous anger.

  ‘Blast him! He can’t do this to me! Blast! My family’ll kill him. Wait till I tell our Jim, and my dad. No man crosses the Pottses and gets away with it. No man! Not even a high-talking, lying, snaky-tongued preacher!’

  ‘You still say you were with him in that barn?’ It was important for her to know for sure.

  Eliza’s eyes narrowed, turned crafty. ‘Mebbe I wan’t, after all. I can deny it, can’t I? I can say I was lyin’, to protect him. Blast, so I can!’

  ‘But were you there?’ Jess cried. ‘Were you with him that night?’

  Eliza stared at her, a slow smirk spreading. ‘Wun’t you like to know, Jess Henefer? Wun’t you just like to know?’

  * * *

  They gave Maud Fyncham a fine funeral, on a beautiful day in May. A glass-sided carriage filled with flowers bore the shining coffin, drawn by six black horses. Half the county came, including the Clares and the Haverleighs, but Lily stayed discreetly at home.

  The coroner’s verdict had been: accidental death.

  Bella was dressed all in white, walking beside her father with Jess not far away. Watching the child bravely throw a handful of earth down on to the coffin, Jess held back her tears with an effort. Perhaps the little ’un didn’t
fully understand. Or was she relieved that her mother was gone? At least she didn’t know how Lady Maud had died. Everyone had agreed that, given her horror of the roof, the details should be kept from her, if possible.

  Despite the brightness of the day, Jess felt a heaviness on her spirit. Eliza had said something about tragedies running in threes; Jess believed that, too – if a second death followed a first, you could look for a third before the end of the year. Matty, Lady Maud… When she glanced at the faces about her it seemed as though she was seeing them through a veil of black muslin such as many of the ladies wore. But Jess wasn’t veiled. She had on a simple black bonnet, tied down with long crape streamers. The dark veil was in her mind.

  Trying to blink it away, she looked further, and there, at the back of the crowd, one face shone clear, like a beckoning, guiding light: Reuben Rudd’s face, wearing the steady look that always gave her new heart. Reuben – the one bright hope in her life.

  As the interment ended and the party moved away, Rudd contrived to come close, to say a cheerful word to Bella and make her smile; then he straightened and looked at Jess in that direct, disturbing way he had, saying, ‘If you need to talk, lass, you know where to find me.’ And he was gone, before she had time to reply.

  The invitation remained in her mind, the lure growing stronger. On that day, what she needed most in all the world was to be with someone who cared. And so, while the adult company gathered for the funeral repast, Jess took Bella for a walk, making slowly in the direction of the gamekeeper’s cottage.

  In May there was plenty to see, wildflowers to pick and identify, nestlings learning to fly, young rabbits bobbing away across sandy banks. Jess hadn’t Lily’s depth of knowledge, but she had learned a lot and so had Bella – if Jess hesitated, the child often supplied the answer. She soon forgot the mournful occasion they had left behind.

  ‘Look, Jess!’ Bella pointed along the grassy lane they were following. Near the stile a black retriever stood, gazing into the field hidden behind a flowering whitethorn hedge. ‘It’s Dash. Mr Rudd’s dog.’