The Misbegotten (60 page)

‘I am awake,’ he said carefully.

So, in a quiet voice, Starling told him all of it. She told him about Dick Weekes and the lovers’ tree; about Duncan Weekes and what he had seen and told to Alice the day she went to Box; about Rachel Weekes and why Dick had married her; and then everything Dick had said before he went into the river. Jonathan listened to it all without moving a muscle or making a sound; almost without any reaction at all, other than a look of pain that built like gathering clouds. When she finished she held her breath and waited.

‘Am I to be happy at these tidings, Starling?’ he said, at last.

‘Who could be? I speak only as one who has mourned her, and yearned to know of her fate, as you too have mourned and yearned. But this is the truth; we have it now, however black and bitter it may be.’

‘And the man who killed her. Rachel Weekes’s husband. He is dead. You’re sure of this?’

‘He is dead. Worthless wretch that he was.’

‘Worthless wretch perhaps, but one who also mourned her, it seems, in his own inadequate way. A puppet of my mother’s. I should disbelieve you at once, and cast you out.’

‘You know I speak the truth.’

‘For years you accused me, and were wholly convinced of
my
guilt.’

‘I know. I . . . am sorry for that.’

‘And now you are convinced that my mother was behind it all instead.’

‘Your mother, and your grandfather – who I
know
was a bad man, and not at all what he seemed from the outside; though you loved him, and Alice did too.’

‘You know he was bad? How do you know?’ Jonathan said angrily.

‘Because . . . because he had knowledge of me, sir, against my will. The day he came to tell me I would see Alice no more, and times again after that, before he died. I swear to you by the air I breathe, this is the very truth.’ Jonathan turned away as though he couldn’t bear to look at her; Starling saw a tear streak from his eye and vanish into the pillow. ‘You don’t know the full story of how he died, do you, sir?’

‘He died of apoplexy,’ Jonathan intoned. ‘A sudden fit, and painless.’

‘He died on top of Lynette, the new upstairs maid. She put up a good fight, and his heart gave out in his chest. And, Lord love you, sir, you were the only person in that house to mourn him.’
If he does not believe me, I will go from here and never see him again
. ‘And . . . we would have known it all far sooner – we would have known that Alice was Faukes’s child, if Captain Sutton had only given you back this letter at once.’ She handed Alice’s letter to him, and when he took it there was a tremor in his hand. ‘It confirms all we have learned.’

She waited while he read it, and watched the muscles of his jaw moving under his skin, alive, and playing out the fight of his feelings.

‘My mother has lied all her life; this I already knew.’ His voice was forced out through clenched teeth.

‘Sir . . .’ Starling whispered. ‘Sir, might I have one of her others? One of her other letters?’

‘What?’

‘I should dearly love to have one of Alice’s letters to keep. Just to have something of hers, you understand – some keepsake, touched by her hand.’

‘I have no other letters of hers.’ Jonathan frowned at her. ‘What letters do you think I have?’

‘All of hers – those that you wrote to her, and that she wrote to you. Yours she kept in a rosewood box in her room, and it vanished after she did. I thought you took it? Did you not take it, sir?’

‘No.’ Jonathan shook his head. ‘I did not take it. And hers to me I . . . I destroyed.’ His voice failed him for a moment. He shut his eyes. ‘All of them. When I returned and thought that she . . . when I believed, at first, what I was told of her conduct. I wish I had not. I . . . I wish I had not.’

‘But if you do not have them, who does? And what of the letter I took from you – one that you wrote to her, your last from Spain, from Corunna, soon before she died?’

‘I know not who took them. My grandfather, I daresay. And that letter from Corunna . . . I never sent it. She never saw it. It stayed in my pocket all the way back to Brighton, and then came with me to Bathampton after I received her letter. I never got the chance to send it. I have always had it.’

‘Oh.’ Starling felt even this small hope fade away. ‘Then that letter, recently returned to you by the Suttons, is all that exists of her; all there is to prove she ever lived, except what we remember.’

‘Yes. Between them, they did obliterate her.’ Jonathan looked down as he spoke, his brows shadowing his eyes, his mouth a bitter line. ‘Fetch my mother to me now.’ Silently, Starling obeyed.

She knocked softly on Mrs Alleyn’s door and was summoned inside at once. The older woman’s face was hollowed out by fatigue but her eyes lit with hope and happiness when Starling said that her son asked for her.
Enjoy this, madam – your last moment without blame.
Starling trailed her back to Jonathan’s room, and at the door Mrs Alleyn turned and frowned at her.

‘Why do you pester my steps like a tantony pig? Go now and bring up the beef broth, and some tea. And perhaps a little brandy.’

‘No, madam. I am no longer your servant,’ said Starling, and the words made her heart lurch with fear and elation both. A thrill that made her fingertips tingle.
There. I have cast myself off.

‘What? How do you say no? Go at once, and—’ Something in the way Starling stood, resolute, with her face full of knowing, pulled Josephine up short. ‘Well then,’ she said instead, incredulous, but almost resigned. The first sparks of a terrible anger were in her eyes. ‘Be gone, if that is so,’ she said. Starling shook her head.

‘I serve your son now, madam. Only he can send me away.’ Josephine glared at her a moment longer, and turned a little paler.
She must wonder what gives me the strength to speak to her thus. She must wonder, and she must know.
It was not anger that blanched her, Starling saw then. It was fear. She pitied Josephine again, for what was to come, and for what she had suffered, the hand she’d been dealt.
But it was none of Alice’s fault. The chickens will always come home to roost, Bridget used to say.
With a haughty expression that looked like a mask Josephine carried on to her son’s bedside, and Starling went behind her like a vengeful shadow.

Jonathan had edged his way up the bed, to sit straighter. There was a glaze of sweat on his face and he was breathing deeply, flaring his nostrils.

‘Jonathan! Dear boy, it gladdens my heart to see you woken, and well,’ said Josephine.

‘Does it?’ His eyes were hard.

‘Of course . . . why would you think to question?’

‘Because you lie, Mother. You have lied to everyone all your life. You lied to my father, and you lied to the world, and you lie to me. You killed Alice Beckwith with a lie.’ There was a frozen moment, and then Josephine shot Starling a glare like the jab of a knife.

‘What has this wretch been saying to you? What lies has she told? She is a mendacious rat, a muckworm . . . I only kept her because your grandfather instructed me to . . .’

‘Grandfather told you to keep her?’ said Jonathan. He looked at Starling, and she had no need to say anything more. ‘And there, I thought you had done it to be kind. How foolish of me.’

‘Jonathan, what is the matter? Why do you attack me – I who have only ever loved and cared for you—’

‘I don’t think you’re capable of love,’ said Jonathan. He continued before Josephine could reply. ‘Richard Weekes has told me everything.’

‘What?’

‘I said Richard Weekes has told me everything. Your little puppet, that foolish boy who thought himself in love with you, all those years ago. He has told me you sent him to coax Alice away. To make her betray me in any way he could. To goad her into an elopement . . . and when that failed he killed her. On
your
instruction.’

‘Lies.’ Josephine’s voice was almost lost; it was a breathy whisper, crushed by fear and anger. ‘It is lies. How dare he . . . how
dare
he!’

‘Do you deny it?’

‘Yes, I deny it! It is base lies, every word!’

‘Alice came to visit you one day, to ask for news of me. You told her . . . you told her that she was my grandfather’s bastard. Didn’t you? You told her that and then sent her away. You thought that would end our connection to one another for ever. But Duncan Weekes met her that day too, and he told her something else. Do you know what else he told her?’ said Jonathan. Josephine only watched him now, her face as still as stone. ‘Do you know what your coachman saw, peeping through the curtains one day?’

‘Enough! I will hear no more!’ Josephine exploded. She threw up her hands as if to cover her ears; turned away from the bed and made for the door.

‘Stay!’ Jonathan shouted. ‘Mother you will
stay
!’ The command was like a whip crack which nobody might disobey. Starling shrank back from the bedside, seeking a friendly shadow in which to hide. There were none to be had.
This might break him.

Josephine turned to face her son but came no nearer to the bed this time.

‘Do you deny it?’ said Jonathan. ‘I knew you for a liar. I’ve always known. But I never knew what you lied about, until now. And I can forgive you for it . . . of course I can. Such evil . . . such a sinful blight on our family, on all my memories, it turns my stomach to even think it! But it was not your doing. Not that part.’

‘I beg you, continue no further with this,’ Josephine whispered.

‘It’s too late for that. I
know.
Do you deny it?’ he demanded. In response, Josephine only stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. She took a long, shuddering breath.

‘You were never meant to know about your grandfather! My whole life I have guarded against your
ever
knowing!’ Her face distorted with horror.

‘I understand. I understand that you sought to . . . protect me. From such ugliness. But now I must have the truth. Because I have tortured myself, Mother. Do you understand? I have tortured myself for the loss of Alice for twelve long years, trying to think what happened to make her leave me. I even thought, in dark moments . . . I even thought I’d killed her! When I came back after Corunna, and my mind was disordered . . . I have lain here and thought myself a murderer, and a madman, and all the time you knew! You
knew
!’

‘She was an
abomination
.’ This was more like a growl than speech; low and brutal, vicious with hatred. Starling’s heart stirred at the sound of it. ‘When she came to Box and asked for my father, I knew at once she was some issue of his. But the more I looked at her, the more I thought . . .’ She trailed off, shaking her head. ‘I knew. I knew who she was, then, though I thought that child had been dispatched at her birth, into the far north. I confronted my father. I made him tell me . . . Oh, Jonathan! It stilled my very blood that she still walked the earth! She was an
abomination
!’

‘She was
innocent
! And I will have the truth, for her sake and for mine, because this house – all our fortune – is mine, and if I think you are lying to me,
ever
again, I swear I shall put you out and you will end your days a washerwoman, or begging in the hedges.’

‘You would not! The
shame
of it!’

‘I have no shame left, Mother; I’m surprised to hear that you do. So speak truly now, and let us have it all. Am I my father’s son?’

‘Yes. You are . . . perfect. You are my salvation—’

‘Alice was your daughter. Yours . . . and my grandfather’s.’ To this, Josephine gave only more silence, as if she could not bear to say it.

Tears swelled in Jonathan’s eyes and dropped onto his cheeks. ‘But I loved her, Mother. I loved her so dearly. You knew that.’

‘She wasn’t meant to exist! I was . . . I was so young when she was born. She was taken away at once; it made me sick to even look on her, to hear her wail. Oh, I wanted to drown her right then! But my father told me she’d be adopted away and would never know of her parents. He told me this, and I believed him, like a fool. Then I married your father, and moved away from
him
, and . . . it was like waking from an evil dream. It was like life had started anew, and all the old tyranny could be forgotten. But my father, he . . . he
kept
her instead; he raised her up in comfort, close at hand. He
loved
her.’ As she said
loved
Josephine’s lips curled back from her teeth; she turned it into a curse word.

‘You didn’t know she was nearby, all those years? At Bathampton? You didn’t know Grandfather saw her regularly – that he took me to meet her?’

‘Of course I never knew! I would
never
have allowed it to continue – never! And he knew it . . . I was kept ignorant for that very reason. But when she . . . when she turned up at Box, asking after you, and after her
benefactor
, Lord Faukes . . . I knew then. I knew. My aunt Margaret had that milky pale hair, just the same as hers.’ Josephine’s eyes widened. ‘Only look at the miniature downstairs in the parlour and you will see.’

‘My grandfather was not at home when Alice called. You were cruel to her. Vicious to her.’

‘She asked me for news of you, her beloved . . . that’s what she called you.
He is my beloved, and this silence is more than I can bear.
When I realised what my father had done . . . that he’d let you
know
her . . . that he’d let that
creature
fall in love with you . . .’ Josephine stopped and put her hands to her midriff, clamping her jaws tight shut. She looked like she might vomit; spitting up these truths that revolted her so. ‘There was no quicker way to be rid of her, and to ensure she would renounce you, than to tell her. Half of the truth, if not all of it.’

‘But why did you not stop there? She wrote to me to say we could never wed, she wrote to me of her broken heart. Why was that not the end of it? Why send Richard Weekes after her, why kill her?’ Tears ran freely down Jonathan’s face; he didn’t seem to notice them.

‘I didn’t think . . . I didn’t
think
, when I told her. Your grandfather was furious with me . . . because, of course, she would tell you. She would tell
you.
We could not allow it. I wanted her sent away – far away. I wanted her reduced to a hedge whore, where no one would listen to her!’