Abigail Moor (2 page)

“Listen!” The
one word was forced out with a great deal of effort. “You are
naive. Frederick is jealous of you. It is a dangerous and
longstanding hurt he has carried with him for years, over the time
when he has lived away from our presence. It will have festered and
distorted his judgement of you. He would marry you off. I would not
see you go with anyone who was not a suitable match of which you
were in agreement. Mr Ignatius Blackman is a hard man, wealthy, and
gaining more money as his mills take up more land. He is not for
you. Child, you must go to my study.” His voice was heavy with
emotion and breaking as he spoke to her.

“Father…”

“Listen. Remove
the Bible from the shelf to the left of the windowsill. It is a
false book.”

Abigail looked
at him.

“Not the Bible
itself, my dear,” he added as he saw the shock on Abigail’s face.
“The Lord has been protecting some treasured secrets for me these
last few years. Take it, please. Go to York. Martha will keep you
safe, and then follow the instructions inside the letter addressed
to you.” He stopped to catch his breath and closed his eyes; his
face held a greyish tinge to the skin.

“Father, please
say I can fetch Reverend Hardiman. He will sort out this
misunderstanding. He can bridge the gaps between us and Frederick;
surely he would listen to him.” Abigail was trying to find the
correct responses to his comments, and hide the panic which was
replacing her previous feelings of hope when her brother had
returned so promptly.

“No! I’m in no
state for that, and Frederick is not to be seen as my enemy. He may
be yours, though, but he is still my son and my heir. I must try to
be strong so that I can put right the wrong I have done to my two
children, in so very different ways. He is angry with me, not evil,
Abigail. This is family business and nothing to do with anyone
else. Time is short; you need to see to your own safety first. Take
the money from my bottom drawer in that cabinet over there and go
tonight. Think not of me, but of yourself.” He fell silent once
more.

She kissed his
cheek and held his cold hand. “I cannot leave you, Father… not like
this…”

“Obey me this
once, child, for I shall not be able to watch over you if you stay
here. I gave you a chance to have a good life, but foolishly I did
not safeguard your future as well as I hid your past.”

As his
breathing became shallower, Abigail flushed with emotion. “Hid what
of my past? I don’t understand.”

“You must leave
whilst you can….” He did not open his eyes but Abigail saw the
moisture seep from his closed lids. “Look after yourself, Abigail,
unless you wish to obey your brother’s wishes.”

Abigail removed
the money from the drawer. She gasped at the amount she discovered.
“Father, there is so much more here than...”

“Take it all
with my blessing and be safe and happy again. Go to Mr Joseph
Ashton, of Scrimshaw, Bushy and Ashton in York, and arrange for him
to come here forthwith with a good and trusted doctor or physician,
as I would like to try to correct my mistake with legal
representation... with a person who has no blood relationship to
me. I will try to put my affairs in order. Do this, and leave
Frederick to me. I have created such bitterness in him. Now go, I
beg of you.”

Abigail
swallowed hard, hugged her father and kissed his cheek then left to
return the key to its hiding place fortunately before Simpson had
returned, and quietly entered her own bedchamber.

She wasted no
time in hiding the money and made straight for her father’s study.
It seemed strange entering the room without him being seated behind
his large desk or seated in his favourite chair by the fireside. It
was as if the room had no soul – just books and ledgers. She
reached up for the Bible as she had been instructed and hugging it
closely to her made her way across the hallway. She intended to
return unnoticed to her room so that Martha could pack a few
belongings for her. It made no sense to her. Why should she have to
leave her home, the lovely Beckton Manor in such a clandestine way?
However, her father was adamant and she was scared by Frederick’s
outbursts. Abigail took comfort thinking Martha would know what to
do, she always did.

“Abigail, my
dear, you are feeling better I see. Perhaps you will now join us
for our meal.” Frederick’s voice surprised her and she nearly
dropped the Bible on the main oak staircase.

“What do you
have there, that you would cling to so desperately?”

“I’m afraid I
still feel unwell, that is why I sought solace in Father’s Bible.”
Abigail looked around. “What do you mean, Frederick, by ‘us’?”

A stout figure
appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. Abigail shivered
involuntarily. He smiled broadly at her and bowed low.

“Let me
introduce my good friend and business associate, Mr Ignatius
Blackman.”

Abigail could
not find the words to express her revulsion of the man as a
possible marriage match.

“It is with
great pleasure that I make your acquaintance, Miss Hammond, and
equal sadness because we have not met under happier circumstances
than your poor father’s ill health.”

Abigail looked
directly at the man’s chubby features. There was something about
his eyes that made her feel ill at ease, no matter what honeyed
words slipped off his tongue.

“I thank you
for your concern, sir. If you will excuse me, I have much to ask
our Lord. I am sure Father will return to full health once
more.”

“Of course, but
it is right that you should believe that. Anything less would never
do.” Frederick gestured with his hand to her to return upstairs and
she breathed deeply, relieved that she was dismissed. “Then, when
you have finished your devotions, you can thank the good Lord that
this very day your prayers have been answered,” he added.

“How so?”
Abigail turned around to face him. She did not want to understand
what Frederick was inferring.

“I have found
you the perfect suitor, and he is most anxious to meet you
properly. He is a man of maturity, means and ambition, indeed a man
after my own heart.” He looked at the man next to him. “I give you
Mr Ignatius Blackman. You will make us both very happy - your
future is secure, as I promised Father it would be.” Both men
grinned broadly at her openly shocked expression.

Abigail felt as
though she was frozen in time. Her feet were rooted to the stair on
which she stood as she looked from her brother’s deep brown eyes to
Mr Blackman’s balding head.

“I could not
possibly even think of such a thing when my father lies ill abed,”
Abigail protested, forcing herself to break free of the abominable
situation she had been faced with.

“Oh, but you
can. You see, you would make a dying man very happy to know that
you have married so well. It will be a small ceremony in the family
chapel of course, and soon, very soon, because of Father’s
declining health. All is arranged, my dear Abigail. Do not worry
yourself, for everything has been planned for you in great
detail.”

With no reply
possible she silently ran back up the stairs as the two men
returned to the drawing room obviously in high spirits.

Placing a chair
against the bedchamber door, she carefully rested the Bible on the
bed cover. She wanted to know what was hidden inside the book, but
she had to act quickly. Frederick had always held his strength and
position over her. Now she realised what a foul game he played.
This time it would be at a high cost to her - her home and her
father would have to be her sacrifice. To save him from Frederick’s
clutches she had to carry out his instructions, and swiftly. But
how could she without being discovered? She opened her dressing
room door and to her horror saw that her travelling clothes and her
best boots had been removed; so, too, had her small valise and her
luggage.

Shocked, she
stepped backwards. Well, if he had pre-empted her intentions then
she would have to travel as a servant! Abigail had the money her
father had given her. When she arrived at York she would go to a
ladies’ outfitter and purchase new attire. Fleetingly the thought
of spending money for herself appealed to her. She quickly hid the
money on her person and held the Bible closely to her. Some of the
pages were still whole, but there was a hollow in the middle where
three sealed letters had been carefully folded in place.

Abigail quickly
shut it not knowing if it had been a sin to cut the Bible in such a
way. Surely not, she reasoned. After all, her father was a noble
and a God-fearing man. She shook her head dismissing the notion
that the current illness that had befallen him had something to do
with the act of sacrilege. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders
and rang the servants’ bell.

A knock was
heard at the door shortly afterwards.

“Who is it?”
Abigail tried to keep her voice low and level, aware that Simpson,
Frederick’s manservant, was still on duty outside her father’s
bedroom.

“It’s Martha,
Miss Hammond, with your tray.” Martha’s voice was more polite than
her usually familiar manner, which told Abigail straight away that
Simpson was watching her.

Abigail allowed
Martha to step inside. She placed the tray down on a table and
lifted off the linen napkin that covered it.

“Martha, he has
removed my travel clothes and….”

“No, miss, I
did. We have to leave here tonight.” Martha’s already ruddy cheeks
were flushed with emotion.

Abigail paused
realising she must have been very busy and upset by the day’s
events. This had been her home, too, her lifelong home. Her anger
at Frederick grew, replacing fear with a determination to succeed
and thwart his vile intentions. Martha looked both sad and annoyed.
She too was being forced to leave as Abigail herself was, and both
seemed to deeply resent it.

“What do you
know, Martha? How do you know it? Have you spoken to Father?”
Abigail’s mind was filled with unanswered questions. Namely, who
was she if not the person she had been raised to believe she was? A
long forgotten query arose: Who had her true mother been? She had
been rebuked for asking this question as a child. Over time the
desire to know had simply faded away to be replaced by
acceptance.

Abigail sipped
the green tea that Martha had prepared for her; she was in great
need of the warm liquid as it soothed her dry throat.

“I took in his
tray. He spoke to me…earnestly. There are things I need to tell you
about, but not here. Not now! We have to get you away to a safe
place. It may not be easy,” Martha glanced at the door, “You are
watched.” Martha removed the Bible from the bed where Abigail had
rested it. She turned back the sheets.

“What are you
doing, Martha? I am not a child and this is no time to go to bed!”
Abigail spoke sharply and was surprised by the very terse reply she
received.

“It is
precisely the time to go to bed! You are upset, weak - a female,
the anxiety has given you a head that aches; it could develop into
an ague if you do not rest. Climb in, my dear.”

Abigail was
about to put up a fight when she heard voices. Frederick was
addressing his man in the corridor. Worse, his footsteps could be
heard coming towards her bedchamber.

Martha pointed
to the bed. “Remember when you would climb out of your window as a
child? Anything to get to Cook’s delicacies when there was a
function at the manor and you had been sent to bed.”

“Of course,
Martha, but…”

“Tonight, I’ll
be in the kitchens.” Her voice was hardly audible, but Abigail
nodded agreement. Questions could wait till later.

Abigail climbed
into the bed between the sheets and let her hair fall freely about
her shoulders as if she was retiring. Martha put the lace bonnet
upon Abigail’s head, as she had done so many times before and sat
on the side of the bed holding the Bible on her lap.

Abigail looked
at it, eyes wide, when the door opened. She had no time to warn
Martha, but prayed that the letters inside it were not discovered
before she and Martha had escaped.

“Miss Abigail
is feeling unwell, Mr Hammond. Her head…it aches badly.” Martha
tried to sound humble, but Abigail knew that her maid would love to
take a hand to Frederick as she had cuffed him once as a boy. The
boy, now the man, had never forgotten the experience and he was
showing that he had never forgiven her either. He could not wait to
seek his revenge on the both of them.

“How very
predictable, Abigail. Your world has changed, so you’ve taken to
your bed. Well, I shall tell you this,” he paused for a moment and
grabbed the Bible from Martha’s hand. Abigail let out a small gasp
as he unceremoniously flipped it onto the tray. “That book will not
protect you, nor your ‘ex’ maid.” He glared at Martha as she went
over to the tray.

With the maid’s
back to him Abigail could see that Martha was busily covering the
Bible with the napkin, carefully slipping one of the concealed
letters back within its pages.

“Ex-maid?”
Abigail repeated, to take his attention away from Martha as she
left the room with the tray.

“Yes, you shall
be part of a new household. We have found her a more suitable
position - in the asylum, helping those moderately less fortunate
than herself. Mr Blackman is one of their generous benefactors. You
shall have a more able and suitable maid, befitting your new
lifestyle as a ‘lady’ of position in York.”

“The asylum!
When… will this happen?” Abigail’s heart was quickening its pace at
the sickening plans Frederick was revealing to her.

“Soon, my dear
Abigail… oh so soon.”

Joshua Rusk left the inn with bleary eyes and a tired body. He
stretched to his full height and stared at a cobalt sky before he
reboarded the coach. Joshua still faced a long journey to London
but better to go than stay here any longer, he reasoned. He ached
and rubbed his injured leg. The bullet had gone, removed by a hand
with skill rather than a battlefield butcher. The scar and the
aches remained, but he would be fit again - soon.