The Promise

by May McGoldrick

  She looked up at him with an expression of mock-innocence. “But isn’t this what a ‘lady’ does?”

  “Aye,” he said, tightening his hold of her hair and guiding her back to him.

  CHAPTER 21

  The day was pressing forward, and Rebecca was beginning to feel uncomfortable waiting at the stables. She had already returned to the house once, inquiring about a possible message from Lady Wentworth, but there had been none. Deciding finally that she may have misunderstood their meeting place, she asked for directions and mounted her horse. With a groom trailing behind, Rebecca headed off in the direction of Melbury Hall.

  When the forest trails opened out onto rolling farmland, she found herself riding through fragrant fields of wheat, barley, oats, and hay. Eventually reaching the long, winding road that led in to Melbury Hall from the village, Rebecca was surprised to come upon a conservatively dressed man, about the same age as herself, riding a rather decrepit looking horse and heading in the same direction. He greeted her in a friendly fashion, and she found him to be Mr. Cunningham, the schoolmaster at Knebworth. And he had already heard much about her from the rector and his wife.

  Immediately at ease with the man, Rebecca dismissed the groom, and the two continued on together, chatting comfortably.

  It had become his Friday routine over the past couple of years, she learned, to spend his mornings at Melbury Hall tutoring the servant’s children for an hour and the young slave children for another hour. He also rode out during the week occasionally, but those visits were generally in the evening, with the intention of reading with a number of the adults in service. And he was delighted to hear of her offer to help in the work there.

  “But what brings you out to Melbury Hall this morning?”

  “Lady Wentworth and I had planned to meet by the stables at Solgrave earlier and go riding,” Rebecca replied. “But I believe one of us must have misunderstood where we were to meet. At least, she did not appear. So, I thought I would ride over and make sure she is not unwell.”

  Mr. Cunningham consulted his pocket watch with concern. “’Tis quite unusual for Lady Wentworth to be careless in keeping an appointment. I do know that when she rides, though, by this hour she has generally returned to Melbury Hall.”

  Rebecca glanced discreetly at the teacher. He was medium in height and build, with regular features that were pleasing, but could never be considered handsome. The spark of intelligence in his dark eyes, though, and the absolute confidence that rang in every word he spoke, gave him a distinctive flair. Rebecca thought the schoolmaster’s knowledge of Millicent’s schedule interesting, however.

  “It was probably just my error regarding the meeting place. At any rate, I was hoping she would receive me if I were to ride over. I would like to deliver my apologies in person, and perhaps impose upon her for another visit some time soon.”

  The man’s intense face brightened as he turned to her. “That is quite delightful, Mrs. Ford. Quite the thing, indeed! Lady Wentworth could certainly use the company.”

  “This is the second time today that I’ve heard this sentiment.”

  “Have you?”

  “Lord Stanmore’s feelings were much the same.”

  The schoolmaster nodded with understanding. “’Tis difficult to not be affected by that good woman’s melancholy. She is not a very happy woman.”

  So different from the Millicent Gregory Rebecca had known so many years ago. She glanced at the rolling vista of farms to their right. She knew they had to be nearing Melbury Hall. In one field a number of black-skinned workers were toiling steadily.

  Cunningham followed her gaze, frowning. “Do you know that there are thousands of African descent—both free men and runaway slaves—living in terrible poverty along the Thames east of London?”

  “I did not know that, though I fear conditions are not much better in some of the cities in the colonies.” They rode in silence for a moment. “Mrs. Trimble informed me of the squire’s practice of slaveholding. She also mentioned the past disagreements between him and Lord Stanmore on the subject.”

  “Those disagreements are hardly in the past. His lordship’s efforts in Parliament toward abolishing this wicked practice are aimed directly at those in league with Squire Wentworth. Sad to say, the king himself condones the trade and the use of slaves. Like many others, the Squire’s involvement is not limited to keeping the Africans on his farms here; he is also deeply involved with using them on a number of plantations that he owns in Jamaica. There are also rumors that he has invested heavily in ships that carry on the slave trades, as well.” Mr. Cunningham’s strong voice reflected his conviction. “Wentworth thinks he is above the world of men…and the morality that guides us. But in truth, he is standing on the edge of a precipice, and the earl’s hand may just be the one to push him over.”

  “With so much animosity between them, why then does he allow you and Reverend Trimble…two men who appear to be openly aligned with his lordship…to visit his farms?”

  The schoolmaster smiled grimly. “You have been living in a different world, Mrs. Ford. Who Squire Wentworth is and what he says are two separate things entirely. Though I’m a Scot, I can say without prejudice, that this is the Englishman’s way. It is obvious to all who know him well that he hates Lord Stanmore, but he’d never show it publicly. He has too much to lose.” Cunningham’s hand gestured to the farms on their right. “I was already running the schoolhouse at Knebworth five years ago when Wentworth bought all this land and Melbury Hall. Those who knew the man’s background and knew of the plantations that he ran in Jamaica had no doubt that he bought this property for the purpose of rising in society.”

  “Was Lady Wentworth…Millicent already his wife at the time of his acquisition of Melbury Hall?”

  “Nay! But she was acquired within short months.” The schoolmaster replied sullenly. “Melbury Hall gave him status. His new wife—because of her money and noble lineage—gave him an entrée into the upper classes.”

  The hostility that bristled in Mr. Cunningham’s words was unmistakable, but Rebecca found she could not blame the man. The little that she’d seen and heard only served to confirm the schoolmaster’s words.

  “Then has there been any improvement as a result of your efforts?”

  “I must sound very ungrateful.” Cunningham added after a long pause. “Aye! Some arrangements were agreed upon by the squire after Lord Stanmore insisted. Small improvements, such as allowing the African children to take an hour out of their workday on Fridays to sit with me. Or calling in for Reverend Trimble when someone is on their deathbed. Or allowing a doctor to be brought in when someone has broken a bone. But ‘tis still so…so disheartening in many a way. For every step we have taken forward on behalf of these people, there seems to be a vicious price that must be paid.”

  Ahead of them, a young dark-skinned boy was trying to pull an overloaded sledge piled high with wood across the road.

  “What kind of price, Mr. Cunningham?”

  “Beatings! Families broken up and scattered willy-nilly! Sometimes, I tell you, there has even been the loss of life!”

  Feeling suddenly ill, Rebecca turned sharply to the schoolmaster. “Here? At Melbury Hall? What has been done about this?”

  “The law protects the squire. And every death has been called an accident. If no one cries out…if there are no complaints, there is no need for a magistrate’s involvement!”

  “But surely people will eventually cry out against such conditions. It is happening in the colonies. One can stand oppression for only so long!”

  The man’s intense gaze suddenly turned guarded, as he stared straight at the boy ahead who continued to struggle with the weight of the load.

  “I do not think I should say any more, Mrs. Ford. You are a visitor at Solgrave. You are not here to stay. ‘Twas wrong of me to complain so recklessly.”

  “Mr. Cunningham…” She stopped, seeing the boy slip and fall hard to the ground.

&nbs
p; They both reined in their horses. Before she could dismount, though, the lad was back on his feet and attempting to haul the sledge out of their way.

  “That is far too heavy a load, Israel lad! Look, you’ve sunk into the rut here.”

  Mr. Cunningham dismounted and walked to the young worker. Taking hold of the back of the sledge, he pushed it out of the rut as Israel pulled. Beyond the bumpy road, a path sloped gently downward toward a winding river.

  “Today is Friday, lad. I thought you’d be waiting at the Grove for your lessons.”

  The young boy’s gaze never lifted past the dusty boots of the schoolmaster. “I cannot come to the lessons today, master.”

  Rebecca studied the lad’s long black hair tied at the back of his neck. The old breeches were frayed at the knees, his feet were bare. He didn’t look much older than her Jamey. It sickened Rebecca to think that no matter how young, no matter how innocent, a human being had no ability to escape the evil of enslavement. She thought of the words of the Frenchman, Rousseau, that she had read in Dr. Franklin’s paper—Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains.

  Just then the lad lifted his head slightly to answer a question Mr. Cunningham asked. Rebecca and the schoolmaster saw the bruises on his face the same time.

  “What happened to you, Israel?”

  He didn’t answer. Rebecca immediately dismounted and came near, as Mr. Cunningham lifted the lad’s face for a better look. She winced at the dark bruises under the left eye and on the cheek—at the cuts and swelling that marred one side of his mouth. His fall appeared to have opened an earlier wound, and there was fresh blood in his mouth. The most beautiful hazel eyes, though, watched her with curiosity.

  “Did someone beat you? Is this Mickleby’s handiwork? I warned that bailiff. I told him the next time he raised a hand…” The teacher continued but the lad acted as if he were not hearing a thing. He continued to stare at Rebecca.

  “Israel?” she said when the schoolmaster paused. “My name is Mrs. Ford. I am staying at Solgrave for a while this summer. We are neighbors.”

  His gaze studied every aspect of her face. They took in the hat, the hair, the eyes.

  “Aye, ma’am.” he finally said softly.

  “Your lip is bleeding. Can I clean it for you?”

  His gaze lowered again. “’Tis nothing, ma’am.”

  She took out her handkerchief and offered it to him. “I am sorry that I asked. Of course you are old enough to take care of this yourself.”

  He stared at the lace handkerchief in her hand.

  “Take it. I want you to use it.”

  Still he continued to stare.

  “You may keep it.”

  “Keep it, ma’am?”

  “I want you to.”

  With hesitant hands he reached out and took the handkerchief. But instead of bringing it to his bleeding lip, he closed his eyes momentarily and inhaled the cloth’s slight lavender fragrance. When his hazel-colored eyes opened again, Rebecca was further surprised by the tears welling up in them.

  “Bless you, ma’am,” he whispered softly before tucking the handkerchief safely inside his shirt and turning to the load of wood piled high in his sledge.

  Mr. Cunningham and Rebecca watched him pull the sledge down the hill, but the memory of his response to the simple smell of a handkerchief lingered.

  “Are there many like him here at Melbury Hall?”

  “There are at least a dozen children of African descent who live in the Grove. Some of the wee ones were born here, others were brought over with their mothers from the squire’s plantations in Jamaica.” The schoolmaster led Rebecca back toward the horses. “But Israel is the only one of them who has no one. And that may be why he is treated worse than the others.”

  Rebecca could understand Millicent’s melancholy the day before. She could see perfectly the reason for her low spirits. She herself had not even arrived at Melbury Hall, and already her mood was souring.

  “Who is this Mickleby that you mentioned?” She accepted Mr. Cunningham’s help onto the mare.

  “He is the latest in a line of hard-handed bailiffs that the squire has employed. A brute of a man with nasty temper and a quick fist.”

  “What do you mean the latest?”

  The schoolmaster’s face was darkened with loathing. “’Tis an ongoing cycle, as sure as the winter ice follows the fall rains. Someone gets hurt at Melbury Hall. When the word eventually reaches Reverend Trimble or myself, then Wentworth blames his bailiff, fires him, and brings in another…worse than the last.”

  “And he continues to hire ‘brutes’ to oversee the slaves he keeps?”

  “I think I have finally figured out how he goes about all of this.” The chimneys of the house came into view in the distance. “Squire Wentworth says he fires them here, but I’m thinking he simply moves them to his plantations in Jamaica. And then he simply brings in the new bailiffs from Jamaica.”

  As they rode on in silence, Rebecca considered the problems she had faced for the past nine years in Philadelphia. They all seemed so inconsequential suddenly, to what was facing these workers. Prejudice against a single boy because of his deafness or his deformed hand might be fought against one person at a time, but how could one fight an established agricultural business practice. Perhaps the same way, she thought, one person at a time.

  “This is where we must part ways.” Mr. Cunningham said as they arrived by the circular driveway that led on to the main house. He motioned toward the courtyard entrance. “One of the grooms will see to your horse, and the steward will notify Lady Wentworth of your presence.”

  “And where do you conduct your lessons, Mr. Cunningham?”

  “I shall be stopping at the kitchens first, ma’am. This hour is promised to their young ones first. From there, I shall go past the house and down that knoll there, just past that glen they call the Grove. That’s where all of the slaves have their huts.”

  “Mrs. Trimble mentioned that you might be in need of some assistance with teaching. I am available after my visit with Lady Wentworth. May I join you at the Grove?”

  “You are not obligated, Mrs. Ford, to…”

  “I know I am not,” Rebecca replied amicably. “But I want to.”

  “I have to warn you though, the conditions…that is, your expectations of a classroom might be a wee bit different…” The schoolmaster’s words trailed off and he looked off toward the Grove and gathered his thoughts. “How these people are housed and treated and where I conduct the lessons may not be the most fitting place for someone of your…quality, if I may say so.”

  “Do not waste your energy with such concerns, Mr. Cunningham.” She spurred her horse toward the Hall. “I shall meet you at the Grove later.”

  ***

  “Her name is Rebecca Neville.” Oliver Birch announced with quiet confidence. Long, hard miles and too many hours combing the roughest quarters of Bristol, Dartmouth, and the Thames waterfront had bought that confidence. “At least, this was the name she went by ten years ago, when she left England.”

  “What else?” Stanmore asked shortly, remembering the lie she had told him of always living in the colonies. He thought back over her words carefully. No, she had not lied—only hinted. Evasively—and uncomfortably.

  “They boarded the ship together. Elizabeth was already obviously unwell. Later, it was apparent to those on the ship that an arrangement regarding James had been made between the two women before they’d started the journey. All the interviews that I’ve conducted confirm that Rebecca Neville was an acquaintance of your late wife.”

  Stanmore recalled their discussion this very morning. As always, her main concern had been for James, and as a result she had nearly slipped and defended Elizabeth openly against his accusations.

  “The unsettling matter is that in all of the inquiries I’ve directed toward your deceased wife’s family and friends, no one has even hinted of such an acquaintance.”

  “And she definitely was no
t one of those my father’s doctor hired to attend her during her confinement?”

  “Definitely not. Each of those people has been accounted for.” Birch looked down a list of names on a piece of paper in his hand. “But if your lordship could suggest more people that I might still question…”

  “Too bad that coachman was killed in that accident.”

  “I’m certain he would agree, m’lord.”

  Stanmore shot the lawyer a withering look. “What of her past, prior to going to the colonies. Have you discovered anything?”

  “Very little, m’lord,” Birch answered, hiding his embarrassment. “But I am far from nearing the end in this search. I had not expected your lordship in London so quickly, so my people have still not reported back. Still, though, we have learned some rather puzzling things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, soon after Rebecca’s departure with Elizabeth, there were some rumors of a widespread inquiry concerning Miss Neville’s whereabouts. So far, I have only been able to confirm that this is true. I have even been able to ascertain the names of the lawyers who were conducting the search for her. But as far as who was behind the query…or for what reason…that I still need to search out. There is no chance, m’lord, that your late father…”

  “Definitely not. He engaged no lawyers or anyone else at the time.” Stanmore rose to his feet in the lawyer’s study. The good smell of ink and old leather from Oliver’s law books pervaded the air. “Neville…Neville. It is an old name, but I do not believe I know anyone of that family.”

  “It is a very old English name. Since the time of the Conqueror, they have been the earls of Westmoreland, Salisbury, Northumberland. But the noble line of the family became extinct over a century ago. I intend to look further into that. There must be some descendants still around. Perhaps I can locate the parents or family of Mrs. Ford.”

  “Elizabeth’s snobbery would not have allowed her to befriend anyone beneath her own rank.” Stanmore turned impatiently to his lawyer. “But if Rebecca was from a good family and not…well, not in trouble herself, why should she agree to go to the colonies in such haste? In addition, whatever could have convinced her to shoulder the responsibility of raising James under the conditions that you have described?”