Abigail Moor (15 page)

Satisfied that
neither woman looked as though they were about to leave for the
foreseeable future, she returned to the room and dropped the latch
quietly. She carefully opened the strap on Martha’s bag and lifted
her few garments out, carefully placing them on the rug at the side
in the exact same order in which she removed them. She had, to
Abigail’s surprise, a few guineas in a purse. Abigail wondered if
they came from her father or her friend at the inn. Either way,
Martha had never mentioned to her that she had any money of her
own.

A small prayer
book was wrapped in a silk handkerchief. The embroidered monogram
in the corner had been removed, but when Abigail lifted it to the
light she thought she could make out the shape of an I or a J. She
could not be sure. The prayer book within had been inscribed, ‘To
my dear and trustworthy friend. My only true one. Grace”.

Abigail
swallowed and stroked it fondly. Would Martha ever share this
treasure with her, Grace’s own daughter? Time would tell. She
placed it back in the silk, folding it in its original creases so
it may look undisturbed once more. Abigail wiped her eye with her
finger and removed the last garment. There appeared only to be the
bottom of the bag. Abigail could not help but feel downhearted as,
although she did not know what she was searching for, she had felt
something more than a sentimental token may have rested within it.
She felt around inside but there were no hidden compartments or
pockets so she carefully replaced each item in turn. Once the bag
was refastened she turned to the chair where Martha had dropped her
old muff, one of Abigail’s cast offs, and her bonnet. Abigail
picked them up and threw them onto the bed, then flopped down onto
the chair. She was thinking of joining the two women down in the
bakery when she saw something that looked like parchment poking out
of the fur.

“Of course!”
Abigail exclaimed quietly, and ran over to it. She saw her father’s
handwriting on the outside. It simply said, ‘To Napp’.

Abigail opened
it with some trepidation. It seemed very terse - not Martha or Mrs
Napp, just ‘Napp’. Abigail read on. Her father’s handwriting was
unsteady, the ink and paper much fresher than the other two letters
that had been within the Bible.

You must make
sure Abigail has no knowledge of her parentage at whatever cost to
you this takes. Your services have been well rewarded over the
years. For all my sins she is the one thing in my life that I am
proud of. Keep her away from LFG and Abigail’s father. She must
have no knowledge that her mother still lives in Ebton, keep it
that way. Collect your coin from Ezekiel.

Abigail stared
blankly at it for a moment not able to move. Keep her from LFG -
for all his sins? What sins? Her mother lives? Where is Ebton? Who
is her real father? If Martha will not tell her then her own mother
surely would. Her mother was alive! Abigail’s heart lifted with
joy. Now all she had to do was find her. She sat down on the bed
and breathed deeply. Abigail heard movement downstairs and folded
the note quickly, placing it back in the lining within the muff.
She dropped them back on the chair with the bonnet and then flung
herself back on the bed, closing her eyes as if resting when Martha
re-entered the room.

“Abigail, wake
yourself up a bit, lass. We have folk waiting, come and meet Biddy.
No use hiding in here.”

Without opening
her eyes Abigail answered, “I’ll be down shortly.”

Martha seemed
to hesitate. “You all right, miss?”

“Yes, just
thinking. I’ll be down in a few moments,” Abigail repeated, waiting
until she heard the door close before she moved. Placing her bonnet
back on her head, her muff on her wrist and her money within her
pocket, she collected her thoughts and her bag. It was time for her
to make a move – but on her own.

Abigail watched Molly, Joshua, Martha and Biddy all seated around a
small stove, chatting.

Joshua put his
hand in his pocket and retrieved some coins. “Could I possibly
leave this for Molly’s care?” he asked the baker.

Biddy leant
forwards. Her manner was brusque but not unkind. “You may. Don’t
bring anymore, though.”

He smiled and
nodded.

Abigail
remembered the elegant and haughty Lady Fenton-Grange. L.F.G.
Apparently the woman did know her – there was a connection, but
what was it? She remembered Martha’s disappearance from the shop in
York and then the way she had ducked under the table, out of sight,
in the hotel here.

“Where does she
sleep?” Biddy asked.

“With Martha,”
Abigail said boldly, as she stepped forwards. Her answer and sudden
appearance caused all heads to turn towards her.

“I am glad to
make your acquaintance, Biddy, and thank you for accommodating us
at such short notice. However…” she glanced at Joshua who held her
gaze, “I will not be staying here,” turning quickly to Biddy she
added, “... comfortable as your room is. I too will be travelling
on, to Ebton for a few days or so. I have family there.” She stared
defiantly down at Martha. “Someone I am eager to be reunited
with.”

Martha let out
a gasp in shock, her composure suddenly very shaky. “Miss…Mrs
M...”

“There is
nothing more to say on the matter, Martha. I have made my own
decision.” Abigail glared at Martha. “Sir, if you would be so kind
as to escort me to Ebton. Martha, I shall leave you with your
family, whilst I visit mine. Sir, will you be good enough to act as
my companion?”

“I …” Joshua
started to speak. He looked a little lost for words but Abigail
gave him the most appealing look she could manage and saw a faint
smile appear on his lips. “I would be honoured,” he added.

“Miss…” Martha
began.

“Mrs, Martha,
it may not have been for long, but I would have thought you could
remember a change of title!” Abigail’s words came out sharper than
she intended, but they had an instant effect. Martha’s cheeks
turned a burning red, deeper than those of the baker woman.

“You can’t do
this. It’s sheer folly!” Martha had stepped in front of Abigail,
but the taller young woman merely stared beyond her.

“My bag is
packed, sir,” Abigail pointed to it, “If you would be so kind…”

“Of course.”
Joshua collected it, opening the bakers’ door as two customers
entered.

Abigail tilted
her head down to stare into the livid eyes of Martha Napp and said
in a quiet voice, “You lied to me, again. I read my father’s note
to you. I can do this, Martha, just you watch me!”

“You little
fool!” Martha snapped at her in a barely audible whisper.

Without another
word she left, following Joshua down the busy street and wondering
if she had totally given leave of her senses.

Lord Hammond stared out of his large bay window. His room was
central to the house. He was snugly wrapped in warm blankets with a
silver tray at his side resting on an inlaid walnut table. He could
see the vast expanse of his estate. Lord Hammond had rebuilt the
place from the ruin his father’s gambling debts had left it in. He
was proud of what he had achieved, yet, the methods he had resorted
to in order to keep the family estate together he was not
particularly proud of. He smiled to himself, though. His heir and
son owned a firm of lawyers too. Life, he mused, was strange in the
way irony crept in and wove its way throughout it.

There was a
knock on the door and Frederick entered, smiling broadly. “Father,
I was informed that you were sufficiently recovered to arise. I am
pleased your strength is returning.”

“Frederick, it
is a truly pleasant sight to see you smile. What has put you in
such good spirits?” Lord Hammond asked as he weakly put his hand
out to lift the Wedgewood cup that was upon the silver tray at the
side of him. His hand wavered and he nearly spilt the sweet tea.
Eventually, he managed to take one sip before he placed it back
down onto the tray.

“Your sister
would have helped me, Frederick,” he said simply as a rebuke, as
the younger man watched him struggle.

“I presume you
mean, Abigail.” Frederick stared at his father, who shrugged, tired
by his continual bickering over Abigail’s position within the
household. “Possibly she would have, or her wretched maid, but she
is not here, neither of them are here, Father, but I am. They have
fled, like thieves in the night. You will not regain strength if
you do not use your arm yourself,” Frederick replied bluntly.

“So you do wish
me to recover then, Frederick? I wondered for a while there if my
demise would please you.” He stared at the calculative eyes of his
son. So like those of his late wife Georgiana, who had been so
eager to marry him and his estate. It was such a shame that the
baby had died too. Then their own daughter, ‘Abigail’, that he
should have had, would have been legally and morally Frederick’s
sister; unlike the pitiful baby that replaced her with the aid of
the Napp woman.

“Of course I
do, Father. I don’t fear Abigail. I have sent her future husband to
find her and fetch her back here. She will be married, very soon. I
would like you to see that.”

“You are
serious that you would have her marry a man like Ignatius Blackman?
He has not asked me for her hand.” Lord Hammond became
agitated.

“You know him,
Father. You have had ‘business’ dealings with him for years. He is
Ignatius Blackman Esquire, a man of means and ambition.” Frederick
smiled as his father almost fell from his chair, whilst trying to
stand – to reach him, to plead with him on Abigail’s behalf.

“You don’t know
what he is like. He is a heartless rogue. Call him back, do you
hear me? He shall not have my Abigail. I will never consent to it.
The man’s a… a…”

Watching
helplessly, his heir left the room and he cursed his every
footstep, and his own foolishness for leaving his final
arrangements too late.

“I think we need to talk, Miss or Mrs Moor. Either here, in a quiet
corner somewhere private or on our journey north; the choice is
entirely yours – but talk we will.” Joshua was standing next to her
as she fidgeted nervously with her glove.

Abigail glanced
around the busy streets; fleetingly, she looked into the direction
of Biddy’s Bakery nervously, before staring back at him. “I think
we would have more time and privacy on our way to Ebton. Don’t you
think that would be best?”

“No, Mrs Moor,
you need a ‘safe haven’ whilst I make enquiries about transport.
Then we will discuss your situation and tomorrow we will travel
further north, for I need to rest my leg between journeys.” He
looked slightly embarrassed by this admission. “Are you sure you
wish to damage your reputation further, in this manner?”

Joshua looked
directly at her, his head framed by the narrow brim of his
straight-sided hat, making him appear even taller - or was it that
she was just feeling quite small again.

“Sir, I have
run away from home, from a forced marriage and discovered myself to
be of ignoble birth. How much more damage can I do than that?” She
lifted her chin so that she could meet his gaze and as he had
stooped slightly to speak so confidentially to her, their faces
were no more than a couple of inches away from each other’s. She
could breathe in his musk.

“The fact that
you have asked such a question shows you have no idea of the
outside world, Abigail. I thought it was Molly who I needed to help
the most but it is, I see, you who is in far greater danger because
that girl has seen more in her young life than you have been privy
to.” He grimaced as his leg ached. “I must disagree with your
plans, Abigail. I am done with travelling today. We shall find
transport and be on our way tomorrow. Tonight we must rest. Let’s
go back to the hotel up there and find rooms.”

Joshua was
right. Abigail had to admit she had acted out of an irrational
desire to find her mother, coupled with the shock that Martha had
hidden the truth from her - again. All those years they could have
been together, her and Grace - her blood mother, yet Martha and her
father had lied to her denying her the truth and the choice, why?
The woman had kept so much from her over the years. Abigail would
rather take her chances on her own, with Joshua that is, than with
a constant deceiver.

As if he sensed
she was having an inner dilemma, he said softly, “Don’t worry, I
will keep you safe, but you must trust me.”

Joshua led her
to a respectable hotel on the banks of the estuary. It was busy as
a coach had just arrived. “Wait here by the door and I will see
what I can book for us.”

Abigail was
extremely nervous. She followed Joshua to the counter. “Have you
any rooms free?” he asked.

“Might have
just the one,” the man said without looking up.

Joshua
hesitated but there was another traveller making his way to the
counter. Abigail tapped Joshua’s shoulder. He glanced down at
her.

“Take it.”

Joshua nodded.
“I’ll take it.”

“I need a
room,” the traveller said.

“You best try
The Angel over the bridge. My last one just went to the gent and
his Mrs.”

The traveller
turned around and stormed straight back out.

Joshua took the
key. “Come, my dear, our room awaits.” He picked up both bags and
limped up the narrow stairs.

It was only as
the door was shut behind her and she was staring at a solitary bed
that she realised the implications of what she had done. She now
understood the seriousness and what he had referred to previously
as her naivety. Abigail swallowed; well she had done it now. The
picture of Ignatius Blackman came to her and her sense of regret
left as she watched Joshua remove his hat and coat, and sat back on
the bed, resting on the pillows as he supported his leg on the
mattress. Abigail realised that he was handsome but alone too.