Abigail Moor (17 page)

He wrapped his
arms around her again and held her close. “Tonight we share the
bed. You sleep under the covers and I shall sleep fully clothed
atop them. Then I might be able to sleep and will not do your
honour any more damage, for, Abigail, I no longer trust
myself.”

Frederick opened the door to his father’s bedchamber. He walked
briskly across to the bed and saw the sunken features of what had
once been a strong, determined and ambitious man. He looked pitiful
and broken by life.

“Wake up,
Father, I think you have something to tell me.” Frederick waited a
few seconds but Lord Hammond slept on. Without compassion he shook
the slumbering man’s shoulder, even though the skeleton could be
felt through his father’s nightshift. “Oh, we are in a bad way,
aren’t we?” Frederick muttered as his father moaned.

“Father!”
Frederick shouted, “Father! I wish to speak with you. Tell me, what
was in your Bible? The one that Abigail took with her. Where did
she go?” He was not getting any response, so changed his approach.
He knelt beside the bed and placed a hand over his father’s.
“Listen to me, Father. I am racked with concern. Can’t you see that
I am worried about her? Her reputation will lie in ruins if word of
this should become public gossip. Please, tell me where it is you
sent her; she may be in mortal danger.” Frederick tried to sound
desperate and genuine as he thought it was the only way he would
reach his father’s laudanum drugged mind. However, all attempts
failed. “What am I paying the physician for? Damn it, he’s the best
man in York and still you waste away! If you die on me I’ll have
his reputation for his bungling ineptitude!”

Frederick
turned around and kicked out in a fit of temper. He knocked the
bedside table over with his hand as he stormed out of the room,
slamming the door shut behind him. He did not see his father’s eyes
open, the strain that left the man’s expression, or the final smile
that crossed his face knowing he could slip away in peace because
Abigail had escaped Frederick’s selfish and embittered grip.

Martha awoke, whilst Molly slumbered on three quarters of the bed.
Martha deliberately rolled off the edge that she had been gradually
pushed towards through the night and dressed herself quickly. She
grabbed her bonnet and muff. Her hand reached for the door handle
as she glanced back at the sleeping figure of her new friend. The
lass looked like she had fallen from hell and landed in a feather
bed of heaven. Martha went down the rickety stairs and straight
into the bakery. Two girls had already been baking through the
early hours of the morning. The shop was ready for opening and
Biddy was just coming in through the doorway with her shawl wrapped
tightly around her against the strong morning wind.

Martha was
tying her bonnet in place upon her head.

“Now, just you
stay where you are, Martha.” Biddy stood directly in front of
her.

“I’ve got to
find her. She’s been gone a whole night, Biddy! He could’ve … he
could’ve…” Martha swallowed as she was trying to control herself
but she almost shook with her distress.

“What do you
think he’s done? Tupped her? Murdered her? Or escaped with her?”
Biddy asked, without any sound of tangible emotion in her voice at
all.

Martha was
disgusted with her sister-in-law’s response to her plight. “Don’t
you talk about Miss Abigail in that way. She’s a lady!”

“Oh, stop your
blithering, woman. She wouldn’t be the first ‘lady’ to fall for a
handsome soldier now would she?” Biddy linked Martha’s arm and
walked her back into her little parlour away from the ears of the
two girls who worked away diligently.

“Fall?” Martha
queried quietly.

Once the door
was closed and they were out of earshot Biddy whispered, “Do you
want those two gossiping all round Whitby? Think, woman, before you
go letting off your mouth. She’s on her way out of town right now
as we speak. Happy as a lark she was when I saw her come to sit
next to her gentleman friend.”

“Calmly?”
Martha asked.

“Yes, I had to
look twice meself. If I was twenty still - well maybe thirty years
younger, I’d have tupped him for sure.” The woman laughed
loudly.

“Biddy!” Martha
snapped.

“Oh, where’s
your humour, woman? She doesn’t deserve you, you know. Your
gentleman seems a good sort like your little friend said. Let it
be, Martha. She’s made her bed and knows where you are if she needs
you. There’s no way I can get you safely to Ebton so stay here and
wait till the bairn comes home. It’s what we women do, remember -
wait. Besides, he could be the making or the breaking of her.
Time’ll tell.”

Martha looked
at her and all the unshed tears of the years without her man,
deprived of her husband and then her other love, Ezekiel, flowed
out and she collapsed in Biddy’s ample arms. Martha was comforted
for once, like the child.

The door opened
slowly as Molly’s sleepy figure emerged. She stretched and yawned
then saw the state of Martha, and Biddy hugging her. “Bloody hell,
what’s happening now?” the girl asked, and was greeted by the full
force of one of Biddy’s ‘looks’. Molly shrank back, then smiled and
said, “I’ll get us all a nice warm drink, eh, that’s it!” She
closed the door behind her, quickly retreating to the safety of the
bakery.

With the moors on their left and the rugged cliff tops and bays to
the right, Abigail and Joshua set off on what looked to be little
more than a well used track. This was the road to Ebton.

“This isn’t as
good as the York road, is it?” Abigail commented, as she looked
around at a group of motley looking sheep that were idly ambling
across their way ahead.

“This is a
remote part of the country, and I have chosen to take a route,
which is not the main coach route, but we should be able to travel
some way along it unseen and undisturbed.”

Molly ran out of the back of the bakery. Martha had cajoled Molly
into going with her when they had to fetch some fresh vegetables
for Biddy.

“I thought I
was waiting for Christmas to come, lass,” Martha said, and shook
her head as Molly finally left the warmth of the bakery.

“I was just…”
Molly started to explain.

“Aye, helping
yourself to some off-cuts no doubt. Take care young’un, children
have been hung for less,” Martha said anxiously, then linked her
arm with the girl’s as they walked down the narrow back alley
together.

“Biddy’s fine,
I will help her out you know. I’m not hanging around here for
charity, I’ll keep on ‘til sundown if needs be. After all, I’m used
to working the night hours, aren’t I?” The humour left her voice
and Martha stopped her in her tracks and was about to rebuke her
for dwelling on the past, when Molly smiled brightly and added,
“She’s all bark and no bite, that Biddy.”

“Lass, there’s
no flies on you, is there?” Martha laughed at the carefree nature
of the youngster who had become so much a part of her life in such
a short time. It was as though two lonely souls had somehow found
each other.

“I should think
not... I washed, you know.” Molly pretended to be indignant.

“I know, I’ve
been sleeping with you and I’m mighty glad that you did.” Martha’s
smile dropped as it so frequently did these days as she became
pensive once more. She should have been sharing the room with Miss
Abigail.

“She’ll be
fine. He’s a good man, a real gentleman. He’ll keep her safe, you
see if he doesn’t, Ma.” Molly squeezed Martha’s shoulder as they
walked along.

“Do yer like
‘im, Molly?” Martha asked quietly.

Molly’s usual
joviality left her as she turned to Martha and said honestly,
“What’s the good of someone like me liking someone like him? He’s
quality merchandise and I’m poor goods, Ma.” Molly shrugged her
shoulders and looked at the ground.

“Oh, lass. He
may not be right for you, but don’t run yersel’ down like that. I
tell you straight, you is pretty as a picture - when yer wash up,
and brush that wild hair of yours. There’s many a man would be glad
of a good woman like you.” She stopped and made Molly look straight
at her. “There’s no fault in bein’ a victim of life, except for
accepting that that’s all there is when you’ve been given a better
chance. You live your life and keep that chin up in the air, you
hear me?”

Molly flung
both arms around Martha and squeezed her tightly. “You’re
marvellous, Ma, I love yer!” She placed a smacker of a kiss on
Martha’s cheek and bounced off down the street leaving Martha both
stunned and speechless.

She couldn’t
ever remember Abigail doing that with so much feeling in the whole
of her life. This girl loved her for who and what she was without
looking down, up or sideways at her position.

“Come on, Ma,”
Molly shouted back to her.

Martha smiled
broadly and caught up with Molly, linking arms again as they
happily went about their business.

“That’s the
hotel where they stayed last night.”

“Last night!”
Martha repeated. She could not help herself worry, sickened by the
thought of what they might have been doing, or what he could have
done to her. Her Abigail, no better than a, than a… Molly turned to
look at her and Martha felt ashamed, for hadn’t she just been
telling this girl to hold her head high. She couldn’t help herself
though, she had wanted so much more for her Abigail. It was only
right that she helped to give her the life her mother had had to
forego, to make up for what happened to her dear friend, Miss
Grace.

“Martha, snap
out of it, you look all maudlin’ again. Let’s get this veg and get
the hell out of here whilst we still can.” Molly led Martha down
the alley and out into a courtyard.

Both women
scurried off as fast as they could to the market, avoiding the main
street and nipping in and out of cut-throats, which Martha
suspected Molly was used to doing all over York. Martha was gasping
for breath by the time they returned to the bakery but Molly looked
as if she was enjoying every moment of their adventure.

“She’s well
puffed, Biddy. Had too many of your lovely pies,” Molly said, as
they entered the bakery together, laughing.

Frederick entered the room where his father had been seen by the
physician and declared dead.

The new Lord
Hammond stood by the large bed and stared down at the body. Tears
rolled down his face. “I was never enough for you, was I?” he said
to the motionless figure. “Well, I’m the lord now and the brat is
where she belongs – hiding in the gutter. Good bye, Father!”

He walked out
of the room without looking back.

Joshua took them on a road that by-passed the main workings of the
alum factories. There was a village there to house the
mine-workers. Abigail was again shocked at the state of both the
people and their homes.

“I don’t like
this place, Joshua, can we go faster?” Abigail was relieved when
they speeded up.

“It stinks,”
Joshua admitted.

“They should
have better conditions.” Guilt filled her as she realised that Lord
Hammond was half owner of an alum mine place and therefore
responsible for the state of it. It was so far removed from her own
life that it did not seem possible that two such different worlds
co-existed side by side; one providing luxury for the other. “It’s
a very lengthy process. The alum has to be mined, boiled and
separated from the mater liquor. It takes a very long time,”
Abigail said, and was pleased to see the impressed look on Joshua’s
face.

“Did your
father teach you this?” Joshua asked her.

“I asked him
what alum was and he explained the process to me,” Abigail
reflected. “I listened to him, you see.”

“Hold on
tightly.” Joshua picked up speed. With some urgency they made their
way across headland and round the bays until they approached the
fishing village of Ebton, nestled beyond a rugged headland in the
curve of a sweeping bay.

Abigail held on
tightly to Joshua’s arm as they made the descent into the bay.
Yorkshire cobles, the flat-bottomed fishing vessels, were lined up
on the soft sandy beach near the road. Abigail felt both great joy
at the prospect of finding her mother again and sadness at the
thought that Joshua would leave her here.

“Abigail, what
is your mother’s name? I shall make enquiries as to her whereabouts
at the store.” Joshua looked at her inquiringly; his eyes seemed to
have lost their sparkle. Abigail wondered if he too felt the same
mixed emotions as her.

“Grace,”
Abigail answered with enthusiasm.

“Grace what?”
Joshua asked, obviously humoured by her vague and inadequate
answer.

“I don’t know
that,” Abigail admitted quietly, as Joshua’s smile faded and he
looked upwards, shaking his head in dismay.

The old part of Ebton comprised of a group of fishermen’s cottages
nestled along the sandy bay, behind which the town was beginning to
grow. The headland framed what had once been only a village,
sweeping down with sand dunes covered by wild marram grass. Abigail
saw a windmill in the distance, and the spire of a Norman church.
More modern terraced houses were being built on the higher land at
the back of the town, and a wooded gill took the eye up towards the
coast road and to the moors beyond. It was wild, beautiful and as
moody as the German Sea. As they entered Ebton they were looked
upon with a wariness that made it obvious instantly that many
visitors still did not come to this place often. They passed by a
small inn. It looked as though it was virtually built onto the
beach itself. Crab pots and nets adorned the stretches of beach in
between. This was a working town, but somewhere within it was,
Abigail hoped, her mother. She was filled with a sense of panic.
What if she turned out to be a fisherwoman? Would it matter to her?
Abigail knew it shouldn’t but her own life had been far removed
from such a place as this.