The Heir to Evercrest Hall

by Andrea M. Theobald

  He shrugged my arm off. “Ugh! Boys don’t do that.” Without looking across at me, Alby grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes and nose. He jammed it back into its home again and looked across at me with hatred. “My father was killed by that vile bitch!”

  “Well, now the governess is hanged and will go to hell.”

  “It wasn’t her!”

  “How do you know?”

  He did not answer me.

  “Did you tell the police who you think it was?” I persisted.

  “No one would have believed me if I’d tried!”

  I bowed my head, too afraid to look into the vitriolic hatred that was still in Alby’s eyes, and said, “I lost my parents too.”

  “What happened?” His eyes suddenly softened. I swallowed hard while fighting the urge to continue what I deemed was a half-truth; the tears of shame streamed down my face. Alby patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, old chap, if you don’t want to tell me, I understand.” His voice became more upbeat. “Do you want to know a little secret?”

  I nodded eagerly, expecting him to tell me who the real killer was.

  He said, “Often I cry like a girl at night, but no one has ever seen me, apart from you today. And I promise not to tell anyone that you cried if you do the same for me.”

  There was a long moment where we looked tenderly at each other, each sniffing heavily. The lie I had told him was well worth the look from him, for now it had made us much closer.

  I looked down at my torn pants and took a deep breath. “My father was murdered too, along with my mother and, well, I saw it happen.” I sobbed as I remembered my mother crying out to the faceless man, “She’s your daughter,” before he wrung her life out with his hands.

  Alby responded with a hand on my knee. “You don’t need to explain, my friend. You and I have seen horrors we will both take to our graves. We are both the same regardless of the stupid social class system.”

  I was taken aback by his words.

  Alby continued, “You are the only friend in the world I have ever had, and I shan’t have anyone else because you are the only one I shall ever want.” He positioned himself on his knees to face me, and gripping my shoulders with an excited expression he cried, “All the reason why we ought to become blood brothers; to seal our friendship forever.”

  I sniffed. I vowed never to tell him I was not a boy. I loved his friendship. More than that…I loved him.

  Alby scrambled to his feet and jogged to a spot on the other side of the lane.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. Panic gripped my chest.

  Alby picked up an empty bottle. He returned and thrust it at the stone wall, causing the glass to ricochet everywhere. Carefully he tiptoed in the grass and picked up a broken piece. He returned and made me grimace when he sliced his left index finger so blood flowed. Although the sight of it made me want to vomit, I focused on the pleasant sereneness of Alby’s face void of all pain.

  With the bloodied glass pinched between two fingers, he kneeled before me, and said, “Now, hold out your hand.”

  “No, I hate the sight of—” It was too late. Alby snatched at my wrist and sliced my left index finger also, causing me to cry out.

  “Don’t be such a girl,” Alby said with a laugh, tossing the glass piece back in the direction where it had been. He looked steadily into my eyes, grabbed my hand, and pressed the blood of his finger against mine. He closed his eyes, and asked, “Have you got your eyes closed?”

  “Yes.” I whimpered, fighting the urge to pull the pain away from the boy’s firm grip.

  Alby pledged, “From today and forevermore, with the gods as our witnesses, they will grant that you, Murray, and I, Albert, be blood brothers forever and ever and that the bond never be broken by anyone, or they will perish terribly, amen!”

  I felt uneasy when saying, “Amen,” because I was taught from the bible that there was only one God. That only wayward people believed in more than one. However, I did not care for long. When I opened my eyes, my heart leaped at the wildly excited ones looking deeply into them.

  Alby desperately hugged me; he pushed me away at arm’s length without letting me go, and said, “I’ll meet you here tomorrow at ten, and then I shall show you my home.”

  That was to be the last thing he ever said to me. The next day arrived. I waited around for hours. Then I came to one conclusion—Alby had abandoned me. My heart was shattered just like the green bottle remains at the foot of the wall.

  Chapter Two

  “Young lady, make sure you wear a hat and something with long sleeves. We don’t want you getting burnt.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” I called from the bedroom.

  Aunt Pam withdrew the last batch of warm cakes out of the oven when I walked into the kitchen, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a cardigan. I brushed past her and sat myself at the far end of the long wooden table. Awaiting me on a plate was one of the small cakes, which I stowed in my pocket.

  Flicking away a few long strands of salt and pepper hair that had escaped from her bun, Aunt said, “I’ve told the family that there are sixteen cupcakes in all, so no sneaky snacks on your way there.”

  “There is no reason for concern. You’ve wrapped them up as good as a baby. I doubt they’ll come to any harm, or go missing.” I grabbed the dark plait that ran down more than half the length of my back and leaned an elbow on the table. Resting my head lazily in the palm of one hand, I brushed the tuft of hair end playfully about my face.

  “I have been promising to do these for the family for a good while. Now that we have had a good year with the raspberries, I thought what better time to bake my famous tea cakes. I don’t know what we would have done without them fixing up the roof. That would not have been possible without Billy’s expert knowledge.” Aunt stopped talking, which made me look up. She stared. “He is a good lad, Billy. He would make a fine husband for some lucky lass. Oh, Maria, you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, and stop wasting my flour.”

  “I heard you say,” and I replied back in my Aunt Pam’s you-listen-to-my-good-advice voice, “‘Billy is a good lad, he will make a fine husband.’ Anyway, why didn’t you get the boys to do the roof? They are just as good at fixing things as Billy boy.”

  “They’re all doing double shifts, and in their spare time, they ought to be resting. Besides, Billy had some spare time, and he was more than happy to offer his help.”

  Looking suspiciously at my aunt, who had conveniently turned her back on me to stack the baking dishes in a neat pile beside the wash basin, I mouthed the numbers one…two…three…

  Aunt twirled about. “That boy won’t be single for long. He is nearly twenty and well, you being eighteen—”

  “I don’t want to marry Billy, nor does he want to marry me.”

  “He is a good boy. He is good with his hands, and he is easy on the eye. He would love the bones off you if you would give him half the chance.”

  “He doesn’t love me.” I groaned. Of course he didn’t, and I wasn’t going to divulge to my aunt that he and one of my friends were in love; that they were secretly seeing one another, not in broad daylight, but during the time of nightfall and in the refuge of Billy Harris’ father’s barn. Jenny was her name, and she had a reputation for having admirers all the time, and Billy—who was the best of the bunch, according to Aunt Pam—was extremely good with his hands to the point of getting Jenny into trouble. I had suspected the bulge was more than too many cakes. I mused at the thought of an expedient wedding, of the shock on Aunt’s face and the rest of the community’s, at seeing a good lad go to waste with a “bad un” like Jenny.

  “The problem with you, madam”—she pointed her washcloth at me—“is that you don’t see what is good for you in front of your nose. You have your head in the clouds, drawing pictures all the time, always in a dream world.” To that, I rolled my eyes. “You are an attractive young lady, but you are letting it go to waste. Countless young lads have eyed you up f
or marriage, but you ignore the whole darn lot as if you think they’ll be waiting for you forever. You, my dear girl, are giving everyone the impression that you are leaning toward the convent. No decent boy,” she shook her head prolifically, “is going to wait around if he thinks you want to be a bride of Christ. Before you know it, life will have passed you by, putting shame on the memory of your mother…” Aunt Pam twirled back to her dishwashing.

  I played with the hard lump hidden beneath the bodice of my dress that was suspended by a silver chain. “I’ll never go into one of those places. Imagine having to wear dowdy black all day. All I would be doing is praying, eating, and getting fat. I want to see the world. I want to support myself, and you know how I’m going to do that?”

  “Good Lord, if it’s what I’m thinking, that occupation is as far away from a convent as north is from south.”

  I put my chin out. “I’m going to become an artist.”

  “You are a female. Painting is a man’s occupation.”

  “There are women painters too!”

  “Yes, there are, but those women are the ones from the upper classes, and they don’t do it for a means to an end. It is only because they have too much time on their hands, not laboring tirelessly away like the likes of our lot.”

  “I could paint animal pictures and sell them at the markets in the city.”

  “You are speaking fairy tale talk. I am having none of it.” Aunt Pam rinsed out the wiping cloth and wiped flour off the table. She ceased cleaning up near me, and said softly, “Girls at your age are starting their own families. You had best start thinking about your future, my dear, before your looks start fading and you become an unwanted old maiden. It will be the convent, a job, or saying ‘I do’ to a lad. I can’t keep you here forever.”

  I flipped white powder from the end of my hair. Aware that my aunt was studying my floury dog creation on the table top, I angrily smeared the image with both hands.

  Aunt Pam sighed. “Now these are wrapped up nicely. Don’t spend too long away; only as long as it takes to get Billy to come over for dinner on Friday.”

  “Billy, Billy, Billy!” I cried, snatching the cake sack off the table.

  “Be careful with those. And don’t dawdle, Maria. Oh, and please be careful, there will be a lot of livestock being moved about. It will be safer to go along Evercrest Lane. And whatever you do, don’t go on to the coach road, there are too many mad—”

  I angrily slammed the front door behind me. Ever since I had reached my eighteenth birthday, the pressures of life had come to my doorstep.

  Outside in the barn was tethered the old cart horse, Big Red, with only a bridle on his head and a crude chaff sack where a saddle ought to have been. With the flour sack of cakes balanced on a large fence post, I tucked my dress hem into the waistband of my knickerbockers and climbed halfway up the railings. With the reins in one hand, I was about to slide onto the horse’s back when Big Red had other ideas—he took one large sideward step with his outer hind leg, creating a wide berth and preventing me from safely bridging the gap onto his back.

  “Big Red, behave yourself!” I jumped off the fence and pulled the horse forward with the reins and positioned him close against the railings again. This time I grabbed the cake from my pocket and shoved it under the horse’s nose. While Big Red was preoccupied with munching happily on the treat, I was able to leap astride onto his back.

  I made sure to keep to the side of the lane at all times, to allow random sheep mobs and small cattle herds to pass without being obstructed by my lethargic horse. The coach road would have by far been the quickest route to get to the Harris’, but the perils of traveling on that route made it an unwise option. There were enough maniac drivers on the road, which had been the prerogative of the coachmen who used to travel at great speed to get the mail delivered in the old days. Now that the stagecoaches had all but diminished in favor of mail delivery by the rail network, one would think the roads would have become safer; not at all—now there were the young aristocrat males who belted their horses at high speed in fancy high-wheeled gigs, joined by their thrill-seeking, squealing passengers. Rather than fall at the peril of some madman, I obeyed Aunt’s orders and turned down Evercrest Lane, even if it meant at one point in the journey I must be reminded of the last time I saw Albert Davenport.

  “Who cares, everyone thinks you’re mad anyway,” I said out loud. One just had to listen to the women discussing the latest developments at the big house. They had described that the lad was not all there in the head, that he was away with the fairies, and that the only place for him was in one of those special hospitals in the city.

  This was the first month of autumn and still the day felt as if it belonged to the hottest month in summer. The majority of the sky was clear, just the occasional cloud would shroud the sun and give me and my horse some welcomed respite. I crossed the bridge and admired the way the weeping willow’s branches kissed the gentle river’s surface. Birdsong was everywhere, and sheep bleated in the fields. Apart from the natural sounds of creatures and the rhythmic beat of Big Red’s large hoofs on the dirt, the lane was very quiet.

  For the next ten minutes, I sang my favorite church hymns. I was not game enough to sing at the top of my voice, not like Billy’s sister, Vera, a friend of mine, who liked to think she was an opera singer in my right ear at church. Immediately, my thoughts turned to Vera’s confession after the church service when we’d stood off to one side of the parishioners just before leaving. It was she who had uncovered the crime of one of her family members.

  “Why were you up there in the first place?” I had asked her after she had said she had hurt her arm from falling out of the barn loft.

  “I wanted to go to a quiet place, and then I fell asleep.”

  “You’re not a very good liar,” I’d replied.

  That was when she retold what really had happened, all in a hushed voice. She’d been putting her father’s clothing away in his drawers when she’d discovered a large bottle of scotch. Wanting to sample the wares and in a safe, discreet place before her father returned from work, she’d waited until sunset, stowed the bottle in her blouse, and snuck over to the barn. Vera had been all snuggled up in the sanctuary of the loft, but when she’d taken an overgenerous swig of the amber fluid, she’d spat it out in disgust. Intent on returning the scotch back to its rightful home, she’d prepared to descend the ladder when there was tampering of the latch at the barn door. Quickly, she’d climbed back into the depths of the loft to fearfully observe the barn door opening enough to allow two shadowy figures in.

  “That was when I saw our Billy coming in with a girl. The two began to cuddle, and when the girl spoke, there was no mistaking who she was—it was Jenny.” I had remembered gasping and Vera nodding with encouragement before adding, “She was giggling and saying ‘Oh, Billy, not like that,’ as if she was a right royal ladyship like she hasn’t done it five-fold or more.” I had giggled, noting Mrs. Jenkins’ disapproving frown in the church foyer. Vera continued. “The two began kissing, there was cuddling some more, then it became even more hands on…”

  I giggled out aloud across Big Red’s ears at how Aunt had unwittingly said Billy was good with his hands.

  Vera had looked nervously about her. “Next I watched them lay down in the straw pile, right below me, and well, I couldn’t help but lean over the railing to have a little peek. That was when I saw him lift up her dress, and that was when I saw her”—to which I had gasped—“yes, that’s right, Marie! I nearly cried out ‘cause she was wearing nowt below!”

  As a result of Vera’s inquisitive nature, she had overextended her upper body overtop the loft railing; and just as the lovers had prepared to take their love further, the railing gave out. Vera had exclaimed as a whisper could allow, “I had crashed down beside them, and my arm had smacked on the broken railing.”

  “What did they do?” I had asked, looking down at Vera’s bandaged arm.

  “They both separate
d, of course.”

  “No, silly! Did they get upset? Surely, they would have been in fear that you would tell on them.”

  Vera had looked down at her feet. “Well, err, I decided to keep it a secret. You know the saying ‘do unto others what you would want them to do unto you.’”

  “So, when it is your turn to cuddle up to a boy in secret, while your brother is spying on you from high above, he will have to honor your secret too?” I had cried out in the laughter, earning the frowns of Mrs. Jenkins and her disciples.

  “I didn’t want to get my brother into trouble, and I wasn’t spying!” Vera went on to describe how the bottle of scotch had also been a casualty, resulting in the unmistakable scent permeating the air. Billy, Jenny, and Vera, all three knowingly having partaken in a great sin, respectively, had reached a compromise not to tell anyone of each other’s offenses. But Vera could not contain the knowledge without telling at least one person. “Marie, promise me you won’t tell a living soul.”

  “Do I have a choice?” I already had a whole bundle of secrets to take with me to the grave.

  I was alerted to my immediate surroundings when Big Red did a sudden sidestep. Because the horse’s ears faced backward, I looked behind and saw a herd of cattle with a horse and rider coming up in the distance. The animals appeared distressed as they bellowed out to their calves to stay near. In the meantime, I kept a firm hold of the reins for their inevitable pass.

  Nearly coming level to a wide bend, where farther along the lane was a large whitewashed gate, I saw in the distant fields, Evercrest Hall. The building stood out like a white giant, reigning down on a regiment of sky-reaching trees; the gleam of greenery and blue reflecting from its many windows. This was the residence of the Davenport family, the jewel of what was part of the largest property in the county.