Carisbrooke Abbey (20 page)

‘Yes.’ His voice was close to despair.

‘In that case, I am going to do something I have never done before, and hope never to do again. I am going to betray a confidence.’

Hilary was in the schoolroom, trying to interest the children in the globe, but her efforts were not meeting with success. Sara was staring into the middle distance, clearly engaged in a daydream, whilst Janet was sighing heavily and little Mary was engrossed in a fly which, almost dead with cold, was staggering round her desk.

‘Who can tell me what this country is?’ asked Hilary, pointing to England.

To her surprise and delight, Janet put up her hand.

‘Yes, Janet?’ she asked, encouraged by this sign of interest in her young charge.

‘When is it time for tea?’

Hilary gave a sigh. ‘Not yet. Now, can you tell me what this country is called?’

‘America,’ said Janet.

‘No, it’s not America, it’s England. This is where we live, in England. See, here is America.’ She twirled the globe. ‘It is much bigger than England, and a different shape.’

‘It’s a different colour, too,’ said Mary, taking an interest in the lesson as the fly staggered to a halt.

Hilary gave an inward sigh. Teaching the children was proving to be far more difficult than she had anticipated.

‘Now I want you to draw me a picture of England on your slates,’ she said, making the most of the fact that she had their attention. ‘I want you to copy it carefully from the globe, looking particularly at the shape. Make sure your drawing is this shape as well.’

 ‘I’m no good at drawing,’ said Sara with a long-suffering air.

‘Then this is your chance to practise,’ replied Hilary.

She handed out the slates.

There was a sudden commotion outside the door, and Hannah rushed into the room. Her eyes were as round as saucers, and her whole demeanour spoke of her excitement.

‘Oh, miss, you’ll never guess, there’s a lady as wants to see you downstairs.’

‘A lady, Hannah?’ asked Hilary in surprise.

‘Yes, miss. A
real
lady, with a silk walking dress and a parasol, and dainty shoes, and smells just like lavender.’

‘Do you know who she is?’ asked Hilary.

‘No, miss, I didn’t catch her name, but she’s in the parlour with Mrs Hampson, and the missus is like a dog with two tails. She’s so pleased she got up this morning. There’ll be no keeping her in bed after this! You’re to go down at once, miss.’

‘But the children ... ‘

‘Don’t you mind them, miss. I’m to keep an eye on them for you while you’re downstairs.’

Hilary shuddered to think of the chaos which would await her on her return, but she was nevertheless eager to discover who the lady could be.

‘Very well, Hannah.’ She turned to the children. ‘Now, girls, I want you to behave yourselves for Hannah,’ she admonished them, ‘and I want to see your pictures of England when I return.’

Then, stopping only to check her appearance in the looking glass on the landing, she went downstairs.

She could hear voices coming from the parlour. She went in. There was Mrs Hampson, her eyes sparkling with delight, and there, sitting opposite her, was Mrs Palmer.

 ‘Hilary! Would you believe it! Here is Mrs Palmer, kindly called to see how you do. She’s been telling me all about how she met you at the abbey, and how she was delighted you could help Lord Carisbrooke with his library, and how she was just passing so she thought she’d call in to pay her respects.’

Hilary regarded Mrs Palmer with some surprise and not a little unease. It seemed strange that Mrs Palmer should decide to call on her.

‘My dear Miss Wentworth, how good it is to see you again,’ said Mrs Palmer, as though they were old friends. ‘I have just been telling Mrs Hampson how much my daughter and I enjoyed your company at the abbey.’

‘I’m not a bit surprised,’ chimed in Mrs Hampson. ‘Hilary’s been an absolute blessing to Peter and me. She’s been looking after the girls whilst I’ve been laid up in bed.’

She beamed at Hilary.

‘If I could just have a word with Miss Wentworth alone?’ asked Mrs Palmer.

Mrs Hampson looked put out at being asked to leave her own parlour, but it was only for a minute. Quickly rallying herself she said, ‘Of course you can, I’ve got to see to the baby anyway.’

‘Miss Wentworth, pray, do sit down,’ said Mrs Palmer, once Mrs Hampson had left the room.

Hilary’s eyebrows rose at Mrs Palmer’s presumption in playing the part of the hostess, but nevertheless she took a seat, being curious as to what could have brought Mrs Palmer to the farmer’s house.

‘I expect you are wondering what I am doing here. I am aware that my daughter expressed herself rather thoughtlessly at the abbey, but I am sure you will forgive her. She is very young.’

Hilary privately thought that Miss Palmer was her equal in age, but said nothing, being interested to discover what Mrs Palmer had come to say.

‘Lord Carisbrooke mentioned that you were looking for another position and by the greatest good chance I happened to hear of one which would suit you down to the ground,’ said Mrs Palmer. ‘As soon as I heard of it, I thought,
Miss Wentworth would enjoy that, and she’d give good service into the bargain. Why, it’s made for her
. It offers a generous salary - far more than Mrs Hampson is able to pay you - and ample leave, besides being in the most beautiful location. Have you ever been to Scotland, Miss Wentworth?’

‘No,’ said Hilary.

‘Then this is your chance to go. You will love the lochs and glens,’ she said, in a voice which brooked no contradiction. ‘It has inspired poets, and you will enjoy every minute of your time there.’

It was not difficult for Hilary to discover Mrs Palmer’s motives for this sudden attack of concern on her behalf. Mrs Palmer, not knowing of Lord Carisbrooke’s decision never to marry - perhaps not even knowing of the taint of madness in his blood, and believing that his sister was confined to her room through ill health, rather than insanity - had decided that Hilary was too near to the abbey for her liking and meant to send her to the far north. It was a dreadful piece of presumption on Mrs Palmer’s part, but as Hilary did not want to remain in the vicinity of the abbey, or rather, she knew that she must not do it - for it was possible that if she did so her feelings would overcome her common sense - she was curious to learn more.

‘And what is the position?’ she asked.

‘It is that of a secretary to a learned gentleman who is writing a book on architecture. He needs an intelligent person to help him compile his notes. Knowing your love of books, I realized it would be perfect for you.’

Hilary had to admit that it sounded perfect. If she must work, and must do it far from the abbey, then the post Mrs Hampson was outlining sounded ideal. Even so, she did not lose her caution. It was possible that Mrs Hampson had invented the position in order to get her away from the abbey.

‘If the gentleman in question was to write and offer me the post, I feel sure I would be tempted to accept it,’ said Hilary.

Mrs Palmer seemed unperturbed by this stipulation, leading Hilary to believe that it might, after all, be genuine.

‘Of course. As long as I know you are interested in taking it up I will give him your name and your direction. Well, that is all I came to say.’

‘Thank you,’ said Hilary. ‘It is very kind of you to take so much trouble.’

‘It is no trouble,’ said Mrs Palmer, rising. ‘Now ring the bell, and send the maid for Mrs Hampson. I suppose I cannot go without bidding her farewell.’

Annoyed by Mrs Palmer’s high-handed attitude, Hilary nevertheless rang the bell and a few minutes later, having bid her hostess adieu, Mrs Palmer went out to her waiting carriage.

So Mrs Hampson was still determined to remove her from the neighbourhood, thought Hilary. Her thoughts drifted back to her ordeal on the roof of the abbey. Had Mrs Palmer locked her out? It now seemed unlikely. Even so, she wished she had had an opportunity to find out whether the Lunds had accidentally locked the door behind her, trapping her on the roof, or whether they had known nothing about the incident. She had meant to ask Marcus, but events had moved so rapidly that she had not had a chance to do so. Still, where Mrs Palmer was concerned, she meant to be on her guard. She would make sure the position was genuine, not only by waiting for a letter from her supposed employer, but by writing to him independently before she set off for Scotland.

‘What a surprise it was, to be sure, when I saw Mrs Palmer stepping out of her carriage,’ said Mrs Hampson, eager to discuss the visit. ‘She often goes by on her way to the abbey, with Miss Palmer beside her, but she has never stopped here before. You must have made quite an impression on her for her to take so much trouble. Did she have anything particular to say?’

Hilary did not take exception to Mrs Hampson’s inquisitiveness. She was grateful to have found a safe haven, at least for the moment, and Mrs Hampson’s interest in her affairs was a small price to pay for her present sanctuary.

‘She came to tell me about a position she has heard of in Scotland that she thinks might suit me,’ said Hilary.

‘That is kind. I’m only sorry Mr Hampson and I can’t keep you, you’ve been such a help to me already, looking after the older girls whilst I’ve been in bed, but what with the maid’s wages and extending the house and now the new baby there’s not a penny to spare. What sort of thing is it?’

Hilary told Mrs Hampson what she knew, and Mrs Hampson whiled away the next half hour by speculating on the nature of the gentleman in question, whether he was old or young, married or unmarried, handsome or ugly. Hilary tried to rise several times, saying that she must return to the girls, but was met by a rejoinder of, ‘Nonsense! They will be perfectly all right with Hannah.’

At last Mrs Hampson tired and, having been out of  bed for the first time since the birth of her child, retired to her room, leaving Hilary to face the chaos in the schoolroom.

To her surprise, the girls were sitting and working industriously when she returned.

The reason for this was soon made apparent.

‘If we’re very good,’ Mary informed her, the tip of her tongue protruding as she finished her picture, ‘Hannah says there’ll be cakes for tea.’

Marcus, seated in Maud’s sitting-room, gave an inward sigh. Maud was going to betray a confidence, she had said, and that meant he must listen whilst she told him a story about the butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker.

He was used to such stories. Moralizing tales had formed a feature of his childhood, and many a brave child had been held up to him as a model when he had fallen out of the apple tree and broken his arm, or fallen from his pony. Then, too, there had been the stories about great scholars who had been held up as examples of the value of hard work, and the tales of saints that had been intended to lead to an improvement in his own behaviour.

Here, no doubt, was a story of courage in the face of adversity, or the benefits of endurance. It was the last thing he wanted to hear, but as he had a great deal of admiration for Maud he arranged his features into an interested expression and steeled himself to listen to whatever it was she had to say. After which, to please her, he would tell her that he had derived comfort from her words.

‘Here.’ She offered him a freshly-poured cup of tea.

He took the cup.

‘I am so sorry you have been made unhappy by the thought that you cannot marry Hilary, but that is not the case. You see, Marcus, there is no impediment to your marriage, because ... ‘

He lifted the cup.

‘ ...  you are not Lord Carisbrooke’s son.’

He paused with the cup just touching his bottom lip and turned uncomprehending eyes towards her. For a minute, he had thought she had said that he was not Lord Carisbrooke’s son.

‘So you see, there is no impediment to your marriage,’ she said.

‘I don’t understand. Did you say - no, you can’t have done - that I am not Lord Carisbrooke’s son?’ he said, lowering the cup.

‘That’s right,’ said Maud placidly, taking up her knitting. ‘I did.’

‘But ... ‘ He put the cup back on its saucer. His hand had started to shake alarmingly, and he was suddenly afraid of dropping it.

‘But ... I don’t understand.’

‘It’s really very simple,’ she said, flicking the wool as she continued with her knitting. ‘Lord Carisbrooke is not your father, and you are not his son.’

‘But that would mean ... no.’ He shook his head firmly as he thought of what her words implied. ‘My mother would never ... I cannot believe it ... Ah!’ His expression cleared as he saw what lay behind her words, a desire to persuade him that he was not disbarred from marrying. ‘I understand what you are doing. You are trying to convince me that it is all right for me to go ahead with my desire to marry Hilary.’

‘Not at all,’ she replied with asperity. ‘I would not dream of lying to you in such a way, especially not over something so important. You should know me better than that.’

He wanted to believe her. Because if she was telling the truth, that would mean ... An impossible hope began to dawn in his breast, but he refused to give in to it until he knew for sure, because if his hopes were raised, only to be dashed again, it would be a bitter blow. One from which he might never recover.

‘You must be wrong,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘My mother would never have betrayed my father.’

She sighed. ‘I see I will have to tell you the whole story. I rather hoped you might believe me and ask nothing further, but I suppose it was not to be hoped for. I promised your mother I would never tell you, but she never foresaw this situation. If she had done, I am convinced she would have told you herself. But as she is no longer with us, I must make the decision for her and tell you instead.’

Marcus was not sure he wanted to hear more. If he did, he was afraid that he would discover  his mother was not the woman he had thought she was. Because if he was illegitimate, then she must have deceived his father and had an affair. He could not believe it. His mother had been a wonderful woman, and never once in his childhood had he caught sight of another man at the abbey, which surely he would have done if she had been unfaithful.