Whispers (42 page)

The two men were racing up the stairs in a second and while the Master took the doctor into Grace, Miss Prim tried to comfort Bertie on the landing. ‘I’m sure she is just exhausted,’ she soothed, but seconds later she was proven to be wrong.

‘It seems that your baby is on the way, Bertie,’ Leonard told the anxious young man, and the colour drained from Bertie’s face. Then: ‘Miss Prim, could you organise towels and hot water, please, and perhaps send for Phoebe in case the doctor needs any help?’

Poor Phoebe had only just gone home, but they all knew that she wouldn’t mind coming back to help Grace.

‘Right away, sir.’ Miss Prim hurried away to do as she was told, hardly able to take in that soon she was going to be witness to yet another birth. Now all they could do was pray that this one would go more smoothly than the last.

Poor Bertie was almost beside himself with worry as he paced up and down the landing under the watchful eye of the young Master, who felt powerless to help him. Grace’s screams echoed around the house as the doctor battled to deliver the baby. But then after an hour, the screams stopped abruptly – and the sound of a newborn baby’s wail filled the air.

Martha, who was holding fast to Bertie’s hand, smiled widely, but the smile was wiped away when the doctor appeared in the doorway some minutes later, his face set in grim lines.

‘Miss Prim, would you kindly go in and help Phoebe attend to the infant?’ he asked, and as the woman sprang forward and disappeared into the room he had just left, the doctor turned his attention to Bertie and Martha.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he began, spreading his hands helplessly, ‘but I am afraid Grace has gone. There were complications and I could not save her.’

‘What do you mean, she’s
gone
?’ Bertie’s whole body was trembling as Martha clung to his arm.

‘I fear her heart gave out,’ the doctor said gravely. ‘She was exhausted and then with the strain of the birth on top . . . I’m so sorry. This house has seen more than its fair share of heartaches over the last few days.’

Bertie and Martha stared at the doctor, unable and unwilling to take in what he was telling them. It couldn’t be true, Martha thought: her beautiful, kind sister was dead. But Grace was only a young woman, and had her whole life stretching before her!

‘Would you like to see her?’ the doctor asked kindly, realising that neither of them would believe it until they saw the evidence of what he was saying with their own eyes.

Martha nodded as she nudged Bertie forward. The fire that Polly had set was roaring up the chimney now, and the warmth met them as the doctor ushered them into the room. Miss Prim was sitting with her head bowed in a chair with a newborn infant cradled close to her chest. Neither Bertie nor Martha even glanced at the child. It was the woman in the carved four-poster bed that held their attention. Grace’s hair was spread across the pillow like a shining halo and she was even more beautiful in death than she had been in life.

It was then that a cry of such torment erupted from Bertie’s throat that Martha knew she would never forget it for as long as she lived.

Bertie fell across his wife, tenderly kissing her face and murmuring words of endearment as Martha looked helplessly on as if she was in a trance. And then the doctor gently touched Bertie’s back and told him, ‘Look – you have a fine son.’

Bertie’s cries were halted as he glanced towards the infant with contempt. ‘That bastard is no son of mine!’ he said savagely and with that he turned and slammed out of the room as they all watched with their mouths hanging slackly open.

‘The poor soul is in shock,’ Miss Prim muttered through her tears. ‘But won’t
you
come and look at him, Martha?’

Martha slowly crossed the room until she was standing in front of the child and as she gazed down upon his tiny face, the tears that she had held back suddenly ran in rivers down her pale cheeks. He was still Grace’s child, after all. Her nephew.

‘What will become of him now that his mother is dead if Bertie doesn’t want him?’ she asked fearfully.

Miss Prim shrugged her slight shoulders. ‘That is in God’s hands now,’ she said solemnly. ‘But for now you must ask Polly to run to the village and fetch the wetnurse who was going to feed Miss Melody’s baby. The child will be hungry soon.’

Martha stumbled away to do as she was told, but first she knew that she must visit Granny Reid to break the news to her.

As she related the tragedy to Granny, the old woman screwed her
eyes
tight shut and pressed a clenched fist to her heart. But then she composed herself and croaked, ‘Go an’ tell Miss Prim I wish to see ’er, lass. We must do what is in the child’s best interests now. It is what Grace would have wanted.’ Her gnarled old fingers plucked at the bedcovers as her faded old eyes brimmed with tears and Martha turned blindly away.

Minutes later, Miss Prim entered Granny’s room whilst Martha ran to the village to fetch the wetnurse.

When she returned she found Miss Prim still closeted in Granny’s room, and as she entered they both looked towards her.

‘Ah, Martha, I’m glad yer back. There is somethin’ we want yer to hear,’ Granny said. ‘We ’ave decided what must be done. The child will be dressed an’ placed beside Miss Melody ready fer when she properly wakens. And from this day on she must believe that the child is hers. It will be the best all round if Master Leonard is willin’ to go along wi’ the idea. We have a child wi’out a mother an’ a mother wi’out a child, so it makes sense, an’ there is Fenton blood runnin’ through the infant’s veins, after all. Miss Melody need never be any the wiser an’ she will love him as if he were her own. Her child can then be buried in the coffin wi’ Grace. All the staff here are trustworthy. They will hold their tongues and keep the secret fer love o’ Miss Melody when we explains it to ’em.’

Deep down, Martha knew that this would be for the best, so she nodded as Miss Prim bustled away to put the idea to the young Master.

Master Leonard agreed wholeheartedly with the plan and within an hour Grace’s baby was dressed in the finest clothes that money could buy and was sleeping contentedly in a crib at the side of Miss Melody’s bed. Meanwhile Phoebe reverently laid Grace out and placed two shining pennies on her closed eyes before laying Miss Melody’s dead baby in her arms.

That night for the first time since she had been a tiny girl, Martha slept with her Granny. She could not face the thought of being alone as she struggled to picture a life without her beloved sister.

Jess closed the book as tears streamed down her face, and in that moment she wasn’t sure who she was crying for: was it for Grace, or Martha? Or was it for Bertie, the baby who had died, or her own baby? At that precise time she had no way of knowing; the hurts were all intermixed, and she eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.

It was dark when she woke and she started as she saw Simon standing there with a tray in his hands.

‘I thought you might be hungry,’ he told her, ‘so the girls and I have rustled up a meal. It’s not posh, I’m afraid, but at least it will fill a hole.’

‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry,’ Jess told him dully as she struggled up onto the pillows. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s gone eight,’ he replied, hurrying to close the curtains against the freezing cold weather. Jess stared down at the poached eggs on toast. She knew she was being ungrateful, but couldn’t seem to help herself as she pushed the tray away.

‘Where are the girls? Are they both all right?’

He nodded. ‘They’re fine and downstairs watching the telly. But you’ve got to eat, Jess.’

‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ she whispered as she turned on her side with her back to him. She heard him sigh before lifting the tray and leaving the room again; and as she thought of her baby spending his first night all alone beneath the frozen soil in the churchyard. she started to cry again and wondered if she was ever going to be able to stop.

The next two weeks passed in a blur of misery and pain for Jess. She would wander into the nursery that she and Jo had so lovingly prepared for the new arrival and break into a fresh torrent of tears. She knew that she was torturing herself needlessly but didn’t seem able to stop it. But even if her heart felt as if it was broken, her body was slowly beginning to mend. She had had her stitches out, which was a huge relief, and the bruises she had got during the fall had all but faded away now. And all the time the whispers were there in the background. Once or twice she had thought she had seen someone in the mirror behind her, but each time she turned there was no one there, although she could feel the presence of Martha, who never seemed to be very far away now.

Laura had still not put in an appearance and Jess could only suppose that Beth was unwell, although it did seem strange that she hadn’t even popped in to see her of an evening when Den was at home to keep his eye on their daughter. Stranger still, Mel seemed to be spending a fair bit of time at the cottage now, but Jess supposed that this was better than shutting herself away in her room all the time and so wisely didn’t comment on the fact.

Karen, on the other hand, had been wonderful. She had called in regularly and done any shopping Jess needed doing, as well as helping the girls with the housework. But now Jess was beginning to feel a little bored, being housebound. It seemed a long day when Simon was at work and the girls were at school, and she wandered around the house aimlessly looking at the jobs that needed doing and feeling frustrated because she wasn’t well enough to tackle them yet.

She longed to talk about what had happened to someone, but everyone seemed to be tiptoeing around her because they were afraid of upsetting her further, and she felt like screaming at them, ‘Let me talk about my baby! Let me talk about who it was that pushed me down the stairs!’ But she didn’t; she kept the hurt trapped inside where it festered like an enormous boil that must eventually burst. Today
was
no different, and after attempting to read a book and watch a little TV she went to her room and again took Martha’s journal from her drawer.

9 January

Grace and Miss Melody’s baby were laid to rest beneath an old oak tree in the churchyard yesterday morning following a simple ceremony in St Theobald and St Chad’s Church in Caldecote. It was a bitterly cold day and the grass was still stiff with hoar frost as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Almost every villager turned out to pay their respects, as well as all the staff from the House, and the tiny church was full to capacity. Bertie was beside himself with grief and I think he would have fallen into the grave, had it not been for Hall Tolley’s strong arm to support him . . .

‘How did it go?’ Granny asked, the instant Martha returned from the funeral.

‘It went as well as a funeral could go,’ Martha assured her. ‘Master Leonard led the procession an’ the church were packed.’

Granny wiped her wrinkled cheeks as she tried to picture her sweet Grace lying beneath the cold earth.

‘But I shall ’ave to go now.’ Martha tucked the blankets beneath Granny’s chin. ‘The Master ’as laid on a feast fit fer a queen downstairs, an’ ’alf o’ the village ’ave come back to take advantage o’ the fact, so happen they’ll need a hand. Is there anythin’ I can get yer?’

When Granny’s head wagged, Martha sighed. The old woman had refused all offers of food, drink and even her medicine since Grace had died, and seemed to be visibly shrinking by the day.

Bertie was another one who was giving her grave cause for concern, for since Grace’s passing he had not been sober. Now as she headed off to the funeral feast she could only hope that he would conduct himself properly.

Martha’s hopes were dashed the second she set foot in the dining room, where the meal had been laid the whole length of the table. It was instantly obvious that Bertie had already had more than a few glasses of ale and wine, and Martha gave the Master a worried look. He nodded imperceptibly, as if he was silently telling her that he understood, and for the next two hours they both kept a close eye on Bertie. As the time wore on, Bertie got steadily louder until eventually the Master had a word in Hal Tolley’s ear following which, Hal led
Bertie
from the house and back to his rooms above the stables. It had been a dark day indeed, saved only by the fact that Miss Melody was finally improving and was totally besotted with her new son. All they could do was pray that she might never discover that he was, in fact, Grace’s child.

12 January

I had thought that the worst must surely be behind us all now but I was wrong, for today Master Leonard gathered the staff together and informed us that as soon as his wife was well enough to travel, they intended to return to their country estate so that Miss Melody could be closer to her parents until the baby is a little older. This means, of course, that we will once again be at the mercy of Master Fenton . . . A dark shadow has fallen across our already grieving household.

‘Don’t you think he is just the
most
beautiful baby you have ever seen, Martha?’ Miss Melody asked as the girl straightened the bedcovers. Martha swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. ‘I’m sure that he has a look of his father about him,’ Miss Melody mused as she studied his face intently, but all Martha could see when she looked at him was her beloved sister.

Already she knew that her nephew would never want for anything, least of all love, but it did nothing to ease her heartache. And each time she saw Miss Melody cradling him to her and crooning at him, she had to look away.

Gathering up his dirty linen, Martha now asked, ‘Is there anythin’ I can get fer yer, Miss Melody?’

‘No, thank you, dear.’ Miss Melody smiled at her kindly. She had been told that both Grace and her infant had died at the birth and wished there was something she could do to ease poor Martha’s pain.

Martha now bobbed her knee and scuttled away, and her last sight as she closed the bedroom door was of Miss Melody rocking the baby as she sang him a lullaby.

Downstairs, the mood in the kitchen was sombre.