The Green Ribbons

by Clare Flynn

  ‘I am not a person to judge others, Mrs Egdon, but I have to ask myself if you are a fit person to be employed here. We set the highest moral standards here. All our staff need to be role models for the inmates.’

  Hephzibah swallowed and looked down, tempted to take her son and walk out of the room and head back to Miss Pickering’s. Then she told herself that the whole point of doing this was to try to make amends, to try and find some peace and salvation.

  ‘Mrs Wilson, I am not proud of what I did and I seek to make no excuses. If I could undo it, I would. I have damaged the lives of many people. My son is fatherless. My husband is dead. I contributed to the disgrace and death of the Reverend Nightingale. Not a day passes when I don’t castigate myself and I wish I could turn the clock back. But I need to support myself and my son. I have two letters of reference here, one from Sir Richard Egdon, my father-in-law, who is one of the guardians and who, prior to my marriage, employed me as a governess for his daughter, and the other is from Miss Pickering, who runs the school in Nettlestock and has been kind enough to welcome my son and me into her home. It was Miss Pickering who suggested I apply for the post here, which I understand has been vacant for some time. I will do whatever you ask of me. I just want to make myself useful and earn enough to support myself and Edwin.’

  The matron looked from Hephzibah to Edwin, sighed then said, ‘We are very stretched. And you’re right, there has been a vacancy for some time. We would need you three days a week. You could start by hearing the children’s reading. On a trial basis only. It will, of course, depend on the approval of the guardians and Miss Fletcher who is the full-time teacher. I know you helped set up the lending library here and that has made a great difference. I can’t promise anything as the guardians often take a dim view of those who have low morals, but I’ll see what I can do.’

  A year passed and Hephzibah had grown used to the workhouse, but familiarity did not make it seem any less bleak to her. She did get pleasure from teaching the small children and from the hope that perhaps one day their learning might place them in a position to do more than their parents had been able to achieve.

  Hephzibah and Edwin continued to live with Miss Pickering. The young woman would not entertain the idea of mother and son living anywhere else and claimed to enjoy their presence.

  ‘Since Mother took to her bed, I’ve had little or no company. Of course I’m at the school during the day, but having someone to dine with and to sit with in the evenings has been a real joy.’

  ‘You have never wished to marry, Miss Pickering?’

  The school teacher dropped her eyes and gave a little cough.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t wish to pry,’ said Hephzibah. ‘I’m just surprised.’

  ‘There was someone once.’ The teacher’s eyes misted and she looked away, embarrassed. ‘I had to care for Mother after Father died when I was eighteen. She took his death badly and has been a semi-invalid ever since. It was hard enough for her to accept my teaching at the school, but marrying and leaving her here alone was out of the question.’

  ‘You said there was someone once?’

  Miss Pickering sighed. ‘I trust you, Mrs Egdon, so I’ll tell you, but I beg you please not to tell another soul.’

  Hephzibah nodded.

  ‘I have loved another ever since I was a girl. His name is Robert and he lives in a cottage just the other side of the old silk mill. We hoped to marry but my father wouldn’t permit it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He did not consider it to be a suitable match. Robert is an agricultural worker and Father believed that he was far below our station.’

  ‘But when your father died? Weren’t you free to marry him then?’

  ‘It was too late. By then Robert was married to someone else. He is five years older than me. A single man earns significantly less than a married one and his income rises in line with the number of his children, so it was imperative for him to marry and start a family. He was not bringing enough money home and was under constant pressure from his parents to take a wife.’

  ‘How very sad. How terrible for you. Do you still see him? Does he still live in Nettlestock?’

  Miss Pickering nodded. ‘I see him every Sunday in church and his two eldest children are in my school.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Pickering. I am so sorry. That must be hard to bear.’

  ‘He has been blessed with his children. His marriage is a good and stable one, but once in a while I have met his eyes, coming or going from church, or passing on the towpath and...’ Her voice broke and she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘When I look in his eyes I know he still loves me. It’s a comfort in a strange way. At least I can say I have loved and been loved.’

  Hephzibah looked at the woman, seeing her in a new light. She reached out and took her hand. ‘I know what you mean, Miss Pickering. It is the same for me, I too must seek consolation in knowing that I have known love. And at least I have Edwin. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to see Robert’s children every day.’

  ‘No. In a way it is comforting. They are such good children and I can see him in them. And I bear no ill-will to Robert for not waiting for me. He had no choice. And his wife – she’s a good-hearted woman. She married him in good faith and she knows nothing of what was between us.’

  The evening was growing darker and Miss Pickering rose to light the lamps. Hephzibah reflected how fortunate she was that she had found a friend and such a haven of tranquility after what had gone before. She had Edwin, a constant source of joy and comfort and she was able to get some satisfaction from teaching at the workhouse and, like Miss Pickering, she had the consolation of knowing that once she had loved and been loved.

  Miss Pickering leaned forward. ‘I have never asked you this before, Mrs Egdon. I have never wanted to pry either, but is it true what they say that you only went with the parson so you could have a child? That Mr Egdon had to have a son in order to inherit the estate?’

  ‘Is that what they say?’ She got up and went to stand by the window. ‘It seems strange for me to admit that now, but yes I went to Merritt Nightingale because I was desperate to save my marriage. At the time I believed I loved my husband but I know now I was only infatuated with Thomas Egdon.’ She sat down on the window seat and turned to face Miss Pickering.

  ‘Thomas Egdon was like no one I had ever known. I think that was why I believed I loved him. He was exotic compared to all the bookish types around me in Oxford. Of course, he was handsome too. The moment I looked into those blue eyes I was lost. When he paid me attention I fell completely under his spell. I stopped thinking straight. I married him even though I knew he had been having a love affair with Abigail Cake. I pretended I knew nothing. I brushed it away. I acted as if it hadn’t happened and that it would not continue.’

  ‘And did it?’

  ‘I thought so, but now I’m not so sure. That’s one of the things I feel most guilty about. That I might have misjudged him. I assumed he was unfaithful to me with Abigail Cake when in truth he was more interested in his horses, his gambling and his friends. I blame myself for his death.’

  ‘You mustn’t do that. If anyone’s to blame for that it’s likely Abigail herself. She’s the one who threw herself under that train. So whether he tried to save her or she dragged him with her makes no difference. It would never have happened if she hadn’t jumped.’

  ‘If I hadn’t done what I did she’d never have been in that position in the first place.’

  ‘That’s not true. That girl had a pretty hard life. Her father beat her all the time. And losing her baby must have hit her hard. She was probably out of her mind with grief. She tried once before to kill herself. Jumped off the bridge in Mudford, but someone fished her out.’

  Hephzibah moved back to sit in the chair beside Miss Pickering. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘And Mr Nightingale? Did he know why you did what you did with him?’

  Hephzibah nodded.

&n
bsp; ‘I see.’

  Hephzibah smiled and shook her head. ‘Do you know, Miss Pickering, I once thought you and Mr Nightingale might marry. I thought you would have been a good match. But of course I knew nothing of your Robert. And...’ She got up and looked out onto the darkening garden. ‘And at that point I didn’t know that I was in love with Merritt Nightingale myself.’

  Miss Pickering gave a little gasp of surprise.

  ‘If I had known we would have fallen in love I would never have done what I did.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Can you understand that? I thought it was a way to save my marriage. I thought I was making a sacrifice, but then when I discovered how I felt... When I saw how he felt...’

  The clock had just struck eight when there was a knock at the door and they exchanged a glance. The knocking must have disturbed Mrs Pickering, who began to hammer on the ceiling with her walking stick.

  ‘It must be the squire. I’ll go and settle Mother if you’ll be kind enough to let him in, Mrs Egdon.’

  When Hephzibah opened the door, at first she didn’t recognise the figure standing in the shadows. The man took off his hat and moved towards her and she gave a little gasp. For a moment she was glued to the floor, paralysed with shock and disbelief. She was aware of the scent of honeysuckles in the garden and felt the chill of the evening on her skin, then before she could think or speak she was in his arms and he was holding her until she thought he would press all the breath out of her.

  Her hands went up to his face and she ran her fingers over it, unable to trust herself that this was Merritt. He had grown a beard and she touched it with her hand then pressed her mouth against his, seeking the familiar sensation of his lips on hers through the unfamiliar feel of his beard. They stood there on the doorstep locked in each other’s arms, kissing with all the passion of that first afternoon together.

  Eventually Merritt pulled back and held her at arm’s length. ‘Oh my dearest Hephzibah, I have missed you for every second of every day since I lost you. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘Forgive you? It is I who must beg your forgiveness.’

  ‘But after what you said by the towpath in Mudford that day. You said you never wanted to speak to me again. That I’d lied to you.’

  ‘I was wrong, my love. I was very stupid and very wrong. I was the one who heaped trouble upon you. It’s thanks to me that you lost your parish, your home. You lost everything for me. I’ve ruined so many lives. They told me you were dead.’ As she said the words she began to cry and he gathered her into him again.

  He bent down and kissed her. ‘Not dead. Very much alive. Although I have felt I was dead all the time I have been apart from you.’

  She clung to him, unable to believe he was standing there, flesh and blood. ‘They said you were beaten so badly you had died in the Reading infirmary.’

  ‘I was seriously ill. When I was in Reading they wrote to tell my parents I was dying so my father came to visit. He was not satisfied with the prognosis and had me transferred to the hospital in Birmingham where he could supervise my recovery. I was unconscious for days. My injuries took a long time to heal.’

  Hephzibah looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. ‘What kind of injuries?’

  ‘Concussion. A collapsed lung and a ruptured spleen. They took part of my spleen away and I became very ill afterwards. And a broken leg, arm, four ribs and my collarbone. I walk with a limp now – the leg will never be what it was.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But I recovered. I owe my life to my father. When I was released from hospital my parents took me back to their home. But when the story of what happened came out and Father realised I could never return to the living here, we quarrelled and I left.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Merritt. It’s my fault.’

  He shook his head. ‘Of course it’s not your fault. The differences between my father and me have always run deep. It’s all for the best.’ He looked into her eyes and stroked her hair. ‘You liberated me, Hephzibah. I was in the wrong job and what happened forced me to confront that. And most important of all, you gave me the gift of your love, even if only for a brief while, and the gift of my child. Where is Edwin? Is he with you? Is he well? Will you let me see him?’

  She buried her head in his chest and gripped the lapels of his coat. ‘Of course you can see him. You are his father. And, Merritt, he looks so like you. Every day when I look at his little face my heart is filled with love for him – and for you. I can’t wait for you to meet him again. To get to know your son.’ Then she stopped and stiffened in his arms. ‘You are going to stay aren’t you, Merritt? Oh please say you are. Don’t leave us. I don’t think I could bear it.’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t stay in Nettlestock. I am lodged for tonight at the inn in Mudford and I leave tomorrow. I thought you would be at Ingleton Hall but they told me in the inn that Thomas Egdon was killed and you were living here and teaching at the workhouse. I came here only to see you and Edwin and to say goodbye and ask your forgiveness. There’s nothing else here for me now.’

  She felt the tears rising and her happiness ebbing away. She looked up at him in bewilderment. ‘I can’t bear it, Merritt. To see you and lose you again. Why must you go? Will you return to Birmingham.’

  ‘No. There’s nothing for me there. I’m going to live in Rome. I’ve secured a position at the university there as Professor of Latin and Ancient Civilisation.’

  ‘Rome?’ she said, eyes wide with surprise. ‘I was due to go to Rome the day I buried my parents.’

  He looked at her with hope in his eyes, but his voice desperate. ‘I know, Hephzibah. You told me once you would go there because of that. But please come with me to Rome, my love – you and Edwin. Marry me, my darling. If you still want me? Do you think you can love me again?’

  ‘Love you again? I have never stopped loving you. Even when I thought you were dead. I have thought of you every minute of every day. I have prayed for you. I told Edwin that his father was a great man and that he should always be proud of him.’ She looked up at him, hesitating, unable to believe that he was alive, standing there in front of her. ‘Oh, Merritt, I have never been happier in all my life. I don’t deserve such happiness.’

  Instead of answering, Merritt pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. ‘You are the light of my life, Hephzibah and my delight is in you.’

  Hephzibah and Merritt set sail from Newhaven. They stood on the deck hand-in-hand watching the white chalk cliffs fade into the mist of the English Channel. Merritt was carrying Edwin on his shoulders so the little boy could see the receding coastline. The child was brimming with excitement about this new adventure and his first sea voyage.

  Hephzibah didn’t know what lay ahead of them, but with her new husband and her son beside her she was ready to face anything. She thought back to the day, eight years ago, when her trip to Rome had been cancelled by the death of her parents. Since then she had known grief, fear and unhappiness with moments of joy, but now she was wrapped in a cocoon of love and contentment, with a growing excitement and anticipation she hadn’t experienced since she was a little girl. She reached a hand out and brushed the hair from Merritt’s eyes where the wind had blown it. It was time to go below deck – but first she had one more thing to do. She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the pair of green ribbons and released them into the wind, watching them dancing like streamers behind the ship until they floated down, touched the surface of the waves, then disappeared under the wake.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  With thanks to my editor, Debi Alper, who is a fount of wisdom, encouragement and insight and whose words of advice have me frantically nodding. She is quite simply a joy to work with.

  Thanks to Helen Baggott, my eagle-eyed proof-reader who went way beyond proof-reading to spot inconsistencies, correct sources and who saved me from playing fast and loose with the seasons.

  To my merry band of beta readers who read an early draft and told me when I’d said too
much – as well as when I needed to say more. Your support and encouragement is invaluable. Thank you all – Jo Ryan, Clare O’Brien, Anne Caborn, Sue Sewell and Anne-Marie Flynn.

  Thanks to Jane Dixon-Smith of JD Smith Designs for another fabulous cover.

  While Nettlestock is a fictional place, I borrowed aspects of it from the very real village of Kintbury in Berkshire. I am indebted to the authors of Kintbury Through the Ages for useful background on the history of the village and its surrounds – although it should be apparent to anyone who knows Kintbury that it is not Nettlestock. I also drew on the fascinating writings of Alfred Williams in Round About Middle Thames, Glimpses of Rural Victorian Life edited by Michael Justin Davis, Rural Life in Victorian England by G.E. Mingay and David Raeburn’s translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics).

  Sign up to Clare’s new releases list and get your free download and from time to time other freebies and offers and advance warning of new book releases.

  Click here to get started: Clare Flynn FREE short story

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Clare Flynn was born in Liverpool and has lived all over the UK with spells abroad in Paris, Brussels, Milan and Sydney. After eighteen years living in West London she has recently decamped to the seaside in Sussex, where she can see the sea from her windows and where she is already finding inspiration for her next novel.

  For more information on Clare and her books visit

  www.clareflynn.co.uk

  If you enjoyed reading The Green Ribbons do please leave a review. Authors rely on good reviews and welcome them – even just a few words – and readers depend on them to find interesting books to read.

  You’ll also find regular news and updates on Clare’s Facebook page – AuthorClareFlynn