The Lie Tree (11 page)

‘He does not mean it,’ Myrtle said quickly.

‘Erasmus never says anything he does not mean,’ Uncle Miles retorted. He sounded genuinely annoyed. Unlike his sister, he was not prone to flashes and fizzes of ill humour. Most of
the time his easy-going nature acted as a sort of padding and offence simply bounced off. When a barb did penetrate, however, it remained there forever.

‘We need to leave Vane, Miles.’ Myrtle adjusted her white scarf to protect her throat. ‘Go further afield – the Continent, if necessary. I need you to help me persuade
him.’

‘Sorry, Myrtle, but right now I feel a need for some sort of apology from that husband of yours,’ her brother answered stiffly, ‘and I would bet ten guineas that he has no
intention of giving it. Until he does . . .’ Uncle Miles sighed and lifted his shoulders in a shrug, then lowered them again, letting responsibility slide off them.

Even without Uncle Miles’s warning, Faith would have known that a storm was breaking as soon as she entered the house. Quiet people often have a weather sense that loud
people lack. They feel the wind-changes of conversations, and shiver in the chill of unspoken resentments.

It was Mrs Vellet, not Jeanne, who came to claim their bonnets and capes.

‘Mrs Sunderly, I wonder if I might have the privilege of a word?’ The housekeeper’s voice was carefully hushed but huskily emphatic. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but this is
an important matter.’

‘Oh.’ Myrtle let out a breath and smoothed her hair. ‘Very well, but first have tea brought to us in the parlour. There is only so much importance I can tolerate right now
without refreshment.’

Although it evidently took an effort of will, Mrs Vellet held her tongue until Faith and Myrtle were installed in the parlour with a tea set between them. Then, at last, she received a nod from
Myrtle.

‘Madam, Jeanne Bissette is a good girl – a decent, hard worker. She may be a little pert and silly at times like all girls her age, but she has been serving in this household since
she was thirteen, and there has
never
been a word spoken about her honesty Madam, she freely admits that the newspaper was in her possession, but surely that is not a
crime
—’

‘Mrs Vellet!’ interrupted Myrtle, eyes widening. ‘What in the world are you talking about? Has Jeanne been complaining of her treatment here?’

Mrs Vellet took a breath, folded her hands and composed herself with visible effort.

‘Madam . . . your husband believes that somebody has been searching through his papers. One of his letters is a little smudged . . .’ She gave a small impatient shake of the head.
‘To me it looks as though a drop of water has fallen on it, but the Reverend is very certain that it has been smeared by a wet finger.’

A wave of heat rushed through Faith. She had let herself hope that the smudge would go undetected. But, no, her father had noticed it. She was sure that she must be glowing a guilty scarlet.

‘He insisted that all the servants should be made to show their hands. Jeanne was found scrubbing hers under the pump behind the house, so she fell under suspicion.’

The first rush of panic ebbed. Faith’s heart slowed enough for her to think clearly and understand the housekeeper’s words. She herself was not suspected. Her father had found the
evidence of her crime, but had not traced it to her.

‘And . . . was there ink on her hands?’ asked Myrtle.

‘Yes, miss – but not pen ink. Printer’s ink from a newspaper.’ Mrs Vellet dropped her gaze and stirred a little uncomfortably. ‘When she was asked about it, she
turned out her pocket and handed over the newspaper straight away. She says she found it in town – she knows she should have left it where it lay, but she was curious and hoped to read it
after she had finished her work.’

There was a short expressive silence, in which Mrs Vellet did not mention why Jeanne had been curious, and Myrtle did not ask. Faith had no difficulty reading between the lines, or guessing
which newspaper it had been.

‘Who has the paper now?’ asked Myrtle.

‘Your husband confiscated it,’ answered the housekeeper.

‘I will bear your character references in mind,’ declared Myrtle a little wearily, ‘but I think I must speak to Jeanne myself, so that I can decide what is to be done. Send her
to me, as soon as she can be spared from her work.’

‘Her work? Madam, your husband has dismissed her! She is packing her belongings, and has been told that she must leave this house first thing in the morning.’

Only Faith, who knew her mother very well, saw Myrtle stiffen slightly and try not to react. Running the household and managing the staff was Myrtle’s domain. The Reverend expected his
wife to carry out his wishes, but never before had he bypassed her completely.

Faith’s hands were shaking. The blame that should have landed on her head had missed her, and struck somebody else to the ground. She set her cup on its saucer lopsidedly and it tipped,
spilling hot tea over her wrist and down her dress.

‘Oh . . .
Faith.
’ Myrtle sounded utterly exasperated. ‘You stupid, clumsy girl. Go and change your clothes, and then . . . oh, read your catechism.’

Faith came downstairs for dinner in her freshly laundered blue dress. Its cleanness made her feel worse, like a poison pen letter in a crisp new envelope.

The thought of telling her father the truth filled her with utter panic. If her father shut her out, the sun would go dark and her dreams would fall to dust. She needed that little hope of
winning his regard, respect and love. She could not bear the thought of losing it forever.

And Jeanne can always find another place,
murmured a desperate voice in her head.
I cannot find another father.

It soon became clear that dinner would be a subdued affair. Uncle Miles had consented to come back indoors, but had asked that his food be brought to his room on a tray.

Faith’s father was late to dinner, stalking in steel-eyed and taciturn. He was not, however, nearly as late as the dinner. The family had been sitting for half an hour before the first
dish arrived.

It was carried in by a frightened-looking young girl Faith had never seen before. The new girl seemed half dazzled by her task. She spilt soup on to the tablecloth every time she tried to use
the ladle. When her skirts brushed Myrtle’s spoon off the table so that it hit the floor with a clang, she started so badly that she knocked over the cream jug. The Reverend was forced to
pull back his chair to escape the advancing tide.

‘This is insupportable!’ His voice was not loud, but icy enough to slice through all other sounds. ‘Is this child a local imbecile, or has someone dragged a donkey on to its
hind legs and wrapped an apron around it?’

The girl’s eyes were brimming as she attempted to mop up the worst of the cream with her apron.

‘Enough – you are making it worse.’ Myrtle’s voice was a little impatient, but less sharp. ‘Go and change your apron, and have Mrs Vellet fetch a fresh
tablecloth.’ The girl seized the chance to flee the room.

‘She is quite hopeless,’ Myrtle declared, with a fragile lightness of tone, ‘but she was all that could be found at short notice. I wonder . . .’ She paused, and Faith
saw her neat lace collar bob slightly as if she had swallowed. ‘I wonder if perhaps it might be worth keeping Jeanne on a
little
longer, just to spare ourselves such
trials.’

‘She leaves in the morning,’ the Reverend stated flatly.

‘Nonetheless I wish . . . I do wish, my dear, that you had given me the chance to talk to the girl, and perhaps handle this my own way—’

Faith’s father abruptly slammed both knife and fork down beside his plate, and fixed his wife with a glare. ‘I might have done so, had I seen any evidence of your competence to deal
with the matter! I had thought that you were equal to the task of managing this household, but it seems I gave you
far
too much credit.

‘A man’s home should be his refuge, the one place where he can be master without being embattled. Is that too much to ask? Instead, I am served chill offal at the dinner table by
ill-washed servants who slouch, spill, slam doors and show not the slightest respect. The maids make free with my private papers, and half the household turns a blind eye to poachers and vagrants
stamping across the grounds. I am plagued and thwarted in the very place where my wishes should be law.’

Myrtle’s blue eyes widened, then she dropped her gaze. Her face slowly flushed, and the knife in her hand trembled a little.

‘I . . . I am very sorry, dear,’ she murmured, almost inaudibly.

‘I know to my cost that there are limits to the female understanding,’ the Reverend continued bitterly. ‘Nonetheless, I hear that other wives manage to keep their servants in
some sort of order, and prevent their household descending into a disgusting shambles.’ He stood abruptly, casting his napkin down on the table, and walked out of the room.

Faith felt a terrible tearing sensation inside her, as she always did when her father spoke to her mother that way. She wanted to be on her father’s side, and it hurt when her sympathy was
dragged to her mother. She could almost sense the waiting ears outside the door, revelling in Myrtle’s humiliation. Her mother doubtless knew they were there too.

Myrtle retired to her room, complaining of a headache. The carnage on the dining-room table was cleared, and the dishes borne away to the scullery.

Leaving the dining room, Faith heard faint sounds of sobbing. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the servants’ stairs, next to the kitchen. Peering around a corner, she glimpsed
Jeanne huddled at the foot of the stairs, crying uncontrollably.

The housemaid’s expression was shocked, drawn and bewildered. Her eyes were swollen, and even her mouth puffy from crying.

Faith drew back around the corner. It was no good though. In her mind’s eye, Jeanne Bissette was no longer pretty, confident and contemptuous. Now she could only picture the older girl
looking like a slapped child. Perhaps Jeanne did not expect to get another post. Perhaps Jeanne had nowhere else to go.

I cannot. It is not possible.

And yet here Faith was, outside the library, one hand poised ready to knock.

She felt sick, her mind still squirming and looking for reasons to flee. Faith tried to imagine God watching her, willing her to take the noble course. But in her head, God had her
father’s face. Even now a foolish part of her brain felt that if her father did not know what she had done, God would not know either, and then it would not really be a sin.

Faith knocked. And now it was too late. She could not turn back.

The door was snatched open to reveal her father. When he saw Faith, his look of irritation faded a little. Evidently he had been expecting somebody less welcome.

‘Faith. Is something wrong?’

‘Father – I need to talk to you.’ Faith said it quickly so that she could not lose courage again.

Her father spent a second in silent scrutiny, then gave a nod of assent.

‘Very well,’ he said, and held open the door. Faith entered, and her father closed it behind her. ‘Sit down, Faith.’

She did so, unsure whether her father’s gentle tone should make her feel reassured or nervous.

‘I think I know what you wish to talk about.’ Her father settled himself behind his desk. A lot of his angry energy seemed to have ebbed out of him. Now he just seemed sombre and
tired. ‘You are still worried about my health, are you not? And you fear that I am angry with you for coming into my study uninvited.’ The glance he gave her was not unkind.

Faith swallowed and said nothing. These
were
things that worried her, but they were not at the front of her mind.

‘First of all, you need not worry about my health,’ her father went on. ‘As I said before, you were mistaken. I was not ill yesterday evening, simply weary and too caught up in
my work to give you much attention. As for your invasion of my study, that evening and the following morning . . .’ He clasped his hands and gazed earnestly at Faith. ‘It was ill-done,
and I shall be extremely disappointed if you ever do so again. However, I am willing to believe on this occasion that you meant no harm or disrespect. I will overlook the incident, Faith. We shall
say no more about it.’

He gave a small nod and evidently expected Faith to leave the room. She remained where she was, feeling foolish.

‘You have something further to say?’ He had already picked up one of his pens and opened his notebook, a clear cue for her to leave.

‘Father . . .’ Faith’s vision was jumping slightly with each beat of her heart. ‘I . . . I . . . I was the one who smeared your letter.’

The pen was set down. The book was closed.

‘What did you say?’ The kindness in his gaze had wilted away.

‘It was not Jeanne. I . . . I did it.’ Faith could not even tell whether her voice was audible.

Her father stared at her for several long seconds.

‘That letter has been in my strongbox since we left Kent.’ Faith’s father rose from his seat. ‘Are you saying that you deliberately
opened my
strongbox
?’

‘I am so sorry—’ began Faith again.

‘You had the ungodly temerity to pry through my papers? Did you look at the letter? What other papers did you read?’

‘Just the letter!’ protested Faith. ‘I . . . looked at some others, but only a glance. I am sorry, I should not have done it, but I did not know what else to do!’ Her
frustration gave force to her voice. ‘I knew there was some dreadful reason for us leaving Kent, and nobody would tell me what it was! I just wanted to know!’

‘What? Are you attempting to
justify
your behaviour?’ Her father was now shaking with anger. ‘No! Not another word. Be silent, and listen.

‘It seems I must judge you anew. I had thought you a dutiful daughter, with an honest heart and a keen sense of what she owes to her elders and betters. I had not thought you capable of
this skulking, deceitful behaviour. Evidently your character has been allowed to drift dangerously astray. Honesty is commendable in a man, but in a woman or girl it is essential if she is to have
any worth at all.