A Mother's Wish (28 page)

‘Effie, come away,’ Tom called nervously from the doorway. ‘The old bloke is clearly off his head.’

Seymour rubbed his hand across his brow. ‘Did you come here to torment me, Effie Grey?’

‘No, sir. This is the last place I would come to willingly, but Toby brought me here with my baby son and my brother Tom.’ She indicated Tom who was hopping from one foot to the other in a state of agitation.

‘Why come to this sad place? It’s fit only for ghosts and memories of the past.’

‘You’re right, Mr Westlake. There is something else and we need your help.’

‘My help? I can do nothing for anyone, least of all myself.’

‘I’m asking your permission to bury my father-in-law on your land. It’s a long story but he took sick and died.’

This bizarre statement had the desired effect. Seymour was suddenly alert and interested. ‘You want to bury a corpse on my land?’

Effie rose to her feet. ‘Yes, sir. As I said, it’s a long story.’

‘And one I want to hear,’ Seymour said eagerly. ‘Sit down and tell me this extraordinary tale.’ He waved his hand at Tom. ‘Boy, go to the kitchen and ask Nellie to bring up a tray of tea for Effie and a jug of ale for myself.’

‘Effie?’ Tom shuffled a few steps closer to her, eyeing Seymour as though he were a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. ‘I don’t want to leave you with him.’

‘It’s all right, Tom. I’ll be quite safe with Mr Westlake, and I’m going to tell him everything.’

‘Fetch the ale, boy,’ Seymour said impatiently. ‘My throat is dry as tinder and I’ve a craving for brandy, but there is none in the house.’

Tom left the room encouraged by a nod from Effie. She turned to Seymour with an attempt at a smile. ‘Ale is better for you, sir.’

‘My supplier ran into a spot of bother,’ Seymour said, tapping his finger on the side
of his nose. ‘Excise men, you know. But Nellie makes a tolerable drop of beer, and I’m told it’s better for my constitution, although it doesn’t blot out the painful memories like opium and a fine cognac.’

‘And it doesn’t addle your brain,’ Effie said, pulling up a footstool and sitting by his side. ‘You are not an old man, Mr Westlake, but you’re wasting your life away shut up in this room. You have so much more than most people and yet you wallow in self-pity. Do you think you are the only person in the world who has lost a loved one?’ She realised that she was pushing him to the limit, but she could not stop herself. All her pent-up feelings had bubbled to the surface and now her anger was directed at Seymour Westlake. ‘You were born into wealth and privilege but you’ve let it all go to ruin. There are people who would give anything to have what you have.’

‘I expect you’re right, but why are you so angry with me, Miss Grey? What has my sad life got to do with you anyway?’

‘It’s Mrs Grey,’ Effie said, forcing herself to keep calm. ‘I’m a widow and my husband died of consumption before our son was born. My little boy will never know his father, but you with all your money and education have abandoned your son.’ She stopped,
biting her lip, knowing that she had said too much. She waited for a tirade from Seymour but he was silent for a moment, staring at her thoughtfully.

He reached out and touched her hand. ‘Tell me your story, Scheherazade. I’m sober for once and I’m listening.’

Half an hour later, Effie returned to the kitchen feeling drained and exhausted after reliving her past in order to satisfy Seymour’s curiosity.

Toby and Tom were sitting at the table eating bread and cheese washed down with tankards of ale, and Nellie was seated by the range feeding Georgie with bread and milk.

‘There’s tea in the pot,’ Nellie said, eyeing Effie with a tilt of her head. ‘You took your time.’

‘Mr Westlake wanted to know all about us,’ Effie said tiredly. ‘He seems a lot better in himself now.’

Nellie spooned food into Georgie’s open mouth. ‘He’ll fall into his old ways again. Someone will come knocking on the door in the dead of night offering cheap brandy and opium, and the master will be off again on one of his wild flights of fancy.’

Effie helped herself to a cup of tea. ‘I don’t think you should sit back and do nothing
about it.’ She took a seat at the table next to Tom. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s really none of my business.’

‘You’re right there, missis. What the master does has nothing to do with you.’ Nellie set Georgie down on the floor as he clamoured to be with his mother and he toddled over to Effie.

‘That’s a bit harsh, Nellie old girl,’ Toby said mildly. ‘Effie’s speaking the plain truth.’

Effie turned to him eagerly. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and see him, Toby? I think he’s lonely and maybe some young company would make him feel happier. Maybe you could persuade him to join us for supper?’

Toby rose to his feet. ‘You won’t catch me out like that, Effie. I see through your little game, and it won’t work. The man upstairs is not my father.’ He tapped Tom on the shoulder. ‘Come on, we’ve got work to do. The dead won’t bury themselves.’ He cast a questioning look at Effie. ‘I take it there were no objections.’

She shook her head. ‘No, he was very good about it after I had explained the circumstances.’

‘Right, then there’s no time to lose.’ Toby beckoned to Tom. ‘There’s a reasonably clear patch in the orchard, and the rain has stopped so we’ll start digging there. Come on, old chap, we’ve a lot of soil to shift.’

Tom drained his tankard of ale and grabbed a hunk of bread and cheese. ‘Ta, Nellie,’ he said, grinning. ‘You’re a toff.’ He hurried off in pursuit of Toby.

‘He’s a young limb if ever I saw one,’ Nellie said, chuckling. ‘He reminds me of my Sidney when he was a nipper. He had the cheek of the devil, but it landed him in trouble and now he’s in Australia for life, so maybe it ain’t a good comparison.’

Effie absorbed this remark in silence as she sipped her tea. It had not occurred to her until this moment that Tom’s lively and adventurous nature might lead him astray. She would have to watch him carefully in future and guide him along the winding path to manhood. She had two boys to nurture and raise to be good citizens. It was not going to be easy.

‘You ought to eat something,’ Nellie said severely. ‘You look peaky, although it’s hardly surprising after what you’ve been through. Why don’t you have a lie down? I’ll look after Georgie.’

There was nothing that Effie would have liked more than to sink into a soft feather bed and sleep for hours, but she resisted the temptation. Once again, Nellie’s obvious fondness for Georgie was making her apprehensive. Marsh House seemed to cast a spell over its
inhabitants, locking them in the past and never allowing them to move on. ‘Thank you,’ she said with an effort. ‘But I’d rather keep busy. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take Georgie and show him the goats and hens. I could do the milking if you haven’t already done it.’

‘I won’t say no to that, but you ain’t going nowhere until you’ve had a bite to eat.’

Outside in the yard Georgie chased the hens and sent them flapping and clucking in protest. The more they fluttered about the faster his little legs went, and his shouts of laughter brought a smile to Effie’s lips. Effie filled a rush basket with eggs and took them into the dairy, returning with a wooden pail and a milking stool. With Georgie trotting along beside her she went to the overgrown kitchen garden where the goats had demolished just about every plant in sight. She chased the nanny and caught her eventually, despite Georgie’s attempts to help which consisted of getting underfoot and taking a few tumbles, which he seemed to think were all part of the game as he struggled to his feet, unscathed and chuckling.

At midday the sun was high in the sky when Effie took bread, cheese and a flagon of ale to the spot where Toby, Tom and Jeffries were digging the grave. Tom had discarded his shirt and Toby was also stripped to the waist. Sweat
glistened on his muscular torso and his curly hair clung damply to his brow. He rested on the pick handle, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Effie,’ he said, smiling.

She tried not to look too pleased at the compliment, but she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks all the same. ‘I’ve brought you some food,’ she said, placing the basket in the shade of a gnarled apple tree.

‘Good, I’m starving.’ Tom flopped down on the grass and helped himself to bread and cheese.

‘Leave some for us old ’uns,’ Jeffries muttered. ‘Digging graves ain’t the work of a stable man.’

‘It’s not my line of work either,’ Toby said easily. ‘The clay is hard as iron.’ He took the flagon from Effie and drank deeply. He passed it to Jeffries. ‘If I’d known that Nellie could brew beer like that I’d have come more often.’

Effie peered into the shallow trench. ‘It’s not very deep. How long will it take you to finish it?’

‘We should get it done before sunset.’ Toby reached for his shirt which he had slung over a tree branch. He slipped it on. ‘Apologies for my state of undress, Mrs Grey, but it’s hot work.’

She knew that he was teasing her, but Effie
averted her eyes. Her feelings for Frank had awakened emotions and desires that she had thought were dead and buried with her late husband. It was a shock to realise that her young body responded to Toby in the same way, and she could not bring herself to look him in the face. ‘I’ll leave you to eat your meal,’ she murmured.

‘Bring us some more ale, Effie,’ Tom urged, holding the empty flagon upside down to emphasise his need. ‘Digging in this heat is thirsty work.’

‘I think you’ve had enough of that strong brew. You can fill it with water from the pump and wash some of that dust off you at the same time.’ Effie tried to sound severe but Tom had a way of making her laugh. In his tipsy state, with dirt smeared all over his skinny torso and a wide grin on his face, he had even brought a smile to Jeffries’ lugubrious features.

Toby was openly amused. ‘Do as your sister says. I don’t want you falling into the grave dead drunk. If you do, Jeffries and I might decide to bury you instead.’

Tom looked as though he would like to argue, but he stuck his tongue out instead, and retreated hastily in the direction of the stable yard, swinging the flagon at his side and whistling a defiant tune.

‘That boy will either end up a rich man or a jailbird,’ Toby said, chuckling. ‘He needs a firm hand.’

‘I can manage him,’ Effie said firmly. ‘I won’t allow Tom or Georgie to fall foul of the law.’

‘The boys need a father. It’s hard for a young chap to grow up without a man’s influence.’

Effie shot him a glance beneath her lashes and she realised to her surprise that, for once, he was deadly serious. ‘You did,’ she said softly.

‘And look at me now. I’m a case in point, aren’t I, Jeffries? You’ve known me since I was a nipper; what d’you think?’

Jeffries swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese. ‘You’re a chip off the old block, master. I’ll say no more.’

Toby frowned. ‘You knew my father, but you won’t speak to me of him. Why?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out, if you’ve a mind to know the truth,’ Jeffries said mysteriously. He leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. ‘I’m going to have forty winks. I can’t work on a full belly. Give me half an hour and I’ll be ready to start again.’

‘You do know,’ Effie said gently. ‘You know, but you won’t admit it, and neither will he. When are you two going to face the truth?’

Toby’s expression was not encouraging.
He met her questioning look with a blank stare. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Effie. You’re making up fantasies in your head, and I want you to stop. That wreck of a man in the house is nothing to me, and I am nothing to him.’ He threw off his shirt and seized the pickaxe, attacking the ground with renewed vigour.

Effie walked slowly back to the house, her tired mind in turmoil. Perhaps she had it all wrong. Maybe she just wanted a happy outcome for Toby and the master of the house who was scarred both physically and mentally by a long lost love.

The grave was dug by sunset. Effie’s concern that Owen’s father was to be buried in unconsecrated ground without the benefit of a clergyman to say prayers for his soul was overridden by the need to inter his corpse before putrefaction set in. Champion had been harnessed to the farm cart and Tom led the horse to the edge of the orchard with Effie holding Georgie’s hand, followed at a respectful distance by the others. The air was pleasantly cool and filled with birdsong. The tangled branches of the apple trees were heavy with unripe fruit, and the grass around their roots was cropped to velvet smoothness by the sheep that roamed freely. The sky to the west was streaked with livid gashes of purple,
orange and scarlet and overhead was an infinite arc of pale turquoise. As Toby and Jeffries lowered Jacob’s body into the dark maw of the grave, Effie looked upwards, hoping that his soul was reunited with those whom he loved the most. She could not grieve for a man who had shown her little kindness in life, but she could give him the respect due to a father-in-law. She looked round at the bent heads and solemn faces and she was lost for words. Toby met her eyes with a questioning glance, but all she could do was shake her head.

The silence was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, and glancing over her shoulder Effie was both startled and amazed to see Seymour Westlake striding towards them. His long robes flowed out behind him and his head was bare. There was something majestic and almost biblical about him; he might, she thought, have been Moses about to part the Red Sea. He stopped at the foot of the grave and in his hand he held a leatherbound Bible.

‘Would you like me to say a few words, Effie?’

She nodded her head. ‘Thank you, Mr Westlake.’

In a well-modulated voice, Seymour read a passage from the Bible, followed by a simple prayer. There was a moment of silence when
he finished speaking, and it seemed to Effie that even the birds had stopped singing in deference to the occasion. A murmur from Georgie brought her to her senses and she tossed a handful of dry earth onto the body, which was bound tightly in a winding sheet. There could be no coffin for Jacob Grey, but at least he had had a burial ceremony of sorts. Georgie tugged at her hand and she picked him up, wondering at his resilience. He seemed perfectly happy and had taken everything in his stride so far; but how much a child of twenty months understood of the situation she had no way of knowing.