Abigail Moor (7 page)

The girl was ill-dressed for such a journey. The coach bumped and
jarred as its driver made the best time he could in the worsening
conditions. Joshua had seated himself next to the girl and wrapped
his coat around both of them. Without objection she nestled into
his warmth, looking relieved to be almost hiding under it.

“Who are you
running from, miss?”

“Me? No you got
it wrong. I’m going to see me aunt. She lives in the big city.
I...”

Joshua pulled
away. “Lie to me girl and you can pay your way, have a thorough
soaking and then you will truly be on your own again.”

“Please! Don’t
let them put me in the debtor’s gaol. I only asked the driver to
take me as far as my coin would go and I’d have walked the rest.
Just so long as he don’t find me again.” She held onto his coat
tightly.

“You finger my
wallet and I’ll toss you off here without bothering the driver to
stop.” He wrapped her back into the dry and relative warmth of the
greatcoat.

“You’re not
slow are you, mister, despite being soft like?” She looked up at
him with eyes that seemed too wide for her small face.

She needed a
good feed, he knew that. “No, I’m no fool, nor am I soft. So tell
me who you are running from and why?” His head was angled down so
that between the rim of his hat and his high collar they managed to
have a guarded and somewhat sheltered conversation from the lashing
of rain on his back. Both held the rail tightly.

“His name is
Drab. He took me in as a child from the orphanage at Whitby. He
made me work for him and his wife in their inn but as I started to
grow he had other ideas. They both did. They wanted me to do more
than wait tables to earn them money. So I’ve run away. But he’ll
follow me. He’ll come maybe as far as York cos he has contacts and
business there.”

“It’s a common
enough fate... What is your name, girl?”

“Molly, Molly I
don’t know what, as me dad wasn’t named,” she whispered.

“Well, Molly
‘Idon’tknowwhat’, you will travel to York and we will try and find
a safe haven for you before I travel on further.” Joshua held tight
as the lightning struck and Molly clung like a limpet to him.

“You is a
gentleman, sir,” she said.

He laughed and
silently cursed the cold and damp as his leg ached the more for
it.

The stagecoach travelled as fast as the driver could safely take
it. A part of Abigail could not help but find the whole journey as
exciting as it was frightening. She had never experienced such
things before. The storm worried Martha who gripped the seat and
appeared to Abigail to be deep in thought or prayer. Martha had
often told Abigail tales of ghosts and demons - hob goblins that
inhabited the cliffs along the infamous jagged northeast coast, but
she had never thought for one moment Martha actually believed in
any of them; they were, Abigail had considered them to be, just
silly tales based on folklore told to entertain her. Now Abigail
could see that, although they had not frightened her, they did have
a hold on Martha and she actually believed them.

Dawn slowly
broke but, with the thick cloud and heavy rain it was indeed a
dismal affair. The moors were drab, or invisible, lost in the mist
and spray as the stagecoach journeyed on and passed fields and
villages. Then the sky cleared for a short while just enough for
her to see the great towers of a gothic cathedral in the distance
across the vale as they approached the city.

She nudged
Martha and smiled at her, trying to snap her back into the more
relaxed composure that she was used to seeing. Martha seemed
unwilling to lift her mood. Abigail truly realised for the first
time that it was not just her life being irrevocably changed,
Martha’s had been thrown into turmoil also. Having seen her with
her hidden friend, Ezekiel, Abigail had an uneasy feeling that
there was a sad side to Martha’s life that she had never been aware
of, seeing her only as busy, happy and efficient Martha her
personal maid. It made her feel uncomfortable and strange, but she
could not understand why it should have such an ominous affect upon
her own spirits.

As they
approached the York’s city walls, houses with tall brick facades
and sash windows with fashionable fanlights lined their way. They
passed a convent and Abigail wondered if she should hide from the
world in there, but decided it was not for her. Later the screams
from the dreaded asylum drifted by as the doors were momentarily
opened to let in a new admission. It was more daunting to Abigail
than anything she had ever seen before in her life. The thought of
Martha being sent to such a place to work, horrified her and she
cringed at the gravity of their predicament. There, she had heard,
lunatics were housed pitifully. Once in, there was little chance of
being released. Martha recoiled on the seat and Abigail held her
hand firmly. They would never put her Martha in there as a worker
or inmate – never! Frederick was a powerful man and, sadly, a
dangerous enemy.

Beyond the
stone and crumbling city walls lay their future. Through the old
medieval gates she could see the timbered buildings of an older
style which, to Abigail, as the coach slowed to a halt, were as
murky as the narrow roads, fouled as they were by horse, cattle,
sheep and man alike. She prayed for their safety and good health as
the stagecoach stopped outside an inn and the door opened. They
alighted into a strange world. ‘Oh Lord,’ she said her silent words
within her own mind, ‘make our way simple, safe and clear.’

Rain continued
to pour down and Abigail was grateful for the step and the wooden
board that the innkeeper of the tavern placed on the mud splattered
ground as she climbed down. Above them, the phoenix painted on the
inn board swung in the strong wind, unnoticed as the anxious
travellers made for the shelter of the tavern; however, to Abigail
it gave comfort for it seemed to be a sign that all would be well.
She would rise from the embers a stronger person. Stepping inside
the tall narrow building was a strange experience for Abigail. This
narrow wood-panelled inn looked almost grim, but at least the high
ceiling and stairs were far grander than the simple low beamed
ceiling of The Cruck Inn on the moor road.

The morning was
young, and light struggled to break through the bleak sky outside.
Inside the Phoenix Inn, Abigail looked around her, breathing in the
stale air. Flames flickered in their lamps and a young serving girl
bobbed a curtsey in front of her.

“Would you like
some food, ma’am…miss?” she asked, and pointed to a table behind
her.

Cold pie,
cheese and bread had been arranged on pewter platters ready for the
tired travellers to purchase. Martha stepped forward before Abigail
could answer and enquired after a room in which her mistress may
refresh herself.

Abigail’s
attention had returned to her fellow passengers alighting from the
stagecoach. She looked for the gentleman in the caped coat who had
so kindly climbed atop the carriage in order that she and Martha
could travel inside together. Abigail saw him climb down a step,
resting his foot on the wheel then jump the rest of the way to the
ground. He was strong, yet as he landed his balance went slightly
as his leg gave way under him. He propped himself against the coach
to prevent himself falling. She was filled with guilt at the state
of his appearance. He must be ill or injured in some way – perhaps
lame even.

She ignored the
plump man of fashion and the pompous officer of the militia as they
passed her by – her existence equally ignored by them. Their eyes
were firmly fixed on the food and ale.

When the wet
gentleman entered the tavern, his greatcoat dripping with the icy
rain, Abigail was filled with feelings of gratitude to him.

“Sir… would you
allow me to purchase a repast for you as a thank you for your
kindness.” Abigail smiled at the surprised expression that crossed
his face as she spoke to him.

He removed his
hat carefully so as not to drip water onto her pelisse. A raggedy
figure who had alighted also entered the inn behind him. In the
dimness of the tavern’s light the gentleman’s deep brown eyes
looked back at her with what Abigail thought were curiosity and a
glint of humour. She could not help but admire his handsome face
surrounded by unruly dark hair.

“You are most
kind, miss, but that shall not be necessary. It was a pleasure to
get some…” he glanced at the window with its small leaded panes,
which were being lashed by streaks of heavy rain, “… fresh air. The
coach’s interior was becoming quite stuffy.” He stared somewhat
pointedly towards their travelling companions who were gorging
themselves on the cold fare by the open fire.

“Then at least
let me repay the difference of your journey’s fare. It is not right
you should be inconvenienced as well as out of pocket,” Abigail
persisted.

“Please think
nothing of it. It was the very least I could do.” He smile
pleasantly at her. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain
Joshua Rusk of the Rifles.”

Abigail did not
know how to reply to him as she had not expected him to refuse her
offers. She felt small standing next to him, and quite lost as she
realised her words had perhaps been forward and inappropriate.

The young girl
stood at the side of him. “Begging your pardon, sir… but I wanted
to say thank you for your kindness also.”

“There is no
need. Come let us eat something warm,” he looked at Abigail, “You
must excuse us, unless you would care to join us for a meal?”

“No, my maid is
making arrangements, sir. Thank you all the same.”

He looked at
the girl at his side, whose wide frightened eyes looked curiously
like a rabbit’s, and took her small pink hand and slipped it into
his. “Come, Molly, we shall eat and then find your home.”

“Miss…” Martha
bustled up to her giving the stranger a wary look. “A room is ready
for you now.”

He bowed
slightly to her before walking over to the innkeeper. Abigail saw
him down a tankard of ale and purchase some food and take the young
girl over to a quiet corner of the inn.

Martha gave
Abigail’s arm a nudge. “Talking to strange men in taverns, lass!
Whatever next?”

“You talked
with one not so long ago as I recall, Martha,” Abigail snapped back
at her. She faced Martha. “In fact you threw yourself into his arms
and kissed him as I recall.”

Martha’s colour
flushed. “That was quite different. We is old friends,” Martha
answered in a vexed manner.

Abigail felt
tired, and her Martha looked it too. Both, Abigail realised, were
somewhat daunted by the turn of events in their lives and, if she
was honest with herself, she was very scared. The latter was a
feeling she was fighting hard against. Abigail’s change of
circumstance, environment and seemingly lowered position in life,
felt like a burden that was extremely heavy to bear. However, it
was now her life so she would make of it what she could until they
could safely return to Beckton Manor and see her father again. That
might well be about to change. Martha carried their bags into the
small dark room and Abigail shut the door firmly behind her and
glared at her maid.

Joshua removed his sodden coat. Molly clung to her small bag; her
skirt, fortunately, was only damp due to Joshua’s shelter. She
looked cold and scared, though. He put a drink and a plate of stew
in front of her like he himself had. “Eat, Molly, and then we will
talk.”

Large blue
eyes, with heavy tired lids looked at him. She nodded and ate, all
the time looking at the door as if a monster might appear through
it at any moment. Once finished, he sat back on the settle and
studied her. “Do you know anyone in York?”

She shook her
head.

“Do you have
any more money?”

She shook her
head.

He looked at
her worn clothes, her battered ill-fitting boots, and leaned
forwards.

“What did you
expect to do in York, Molly?” She had left herself open to a
desperate fate in order to escape a life which, although far from
ideal, would have given her food and shelter.

“I thought I’d
get a job in a big house. Maybe work in a kitchen where there’s a
warm fire and plenty of food. Then I’d work so hard that after a
while I’d be made up from scullery to kitchen maid and then to a
housemaid and then an upstairs maid and one day I’d...” Her face
had become animated; a sparkle lit her tired eyes until she looked
at him and stopped talking for a moment. Molly shrugged, replaced
the spoon on an empty plate and hugged her small bundle to her,
then looked down.

“Then..?”
Joshua asked, curious where her ambitions would end.

“I know I dream
too much. I always have. I get beaten for daydreaming yet I still
do it. They says I don’t accept God’s given place for me. Instead I
fight against me nature and me lot,” she shrugged again, “I’m
sorry.” Her shoulders sagged.

“Don’t
apologise for wanting to improve your ‘lot’ through hard work. I am
sure God approves of workers over shirkers. So tell me what comes
after you become a housemaid?”

“I fall in love
with the butler and he marries me.” She blushed.

“Your dream,
Molly, would have become a nightmare by nightfall today if you had
not stumbled into my path. Stay here, I will book a room and we
shall sort your situation out tomorrow when I am rested.” He went
to stand up. His leg was stiff. When Joshua placed his hand on the
table to ease his weight up, she touched it lightly. “Mister, I’m
grateful to you... but, I don’t want to... I’ll find somewhere,
don’t bother, please.” Her voice was shaky.

He looked at
this flimsy looking young woman and tried not to look appalled at
the idea of what she thought he was offering her. She seemed
fragile and he had no wish to insult or scare her further. “Molly,
you are little more than a child. I am booking a room so that we
can both get warm, sleep and be rested for the morrow. If we are
lucky you shall have a servant’s cot brought in, for your own
comfort, not for any other reason. If you leave here now, or worse,
stay in an inn on your own, you will end up as a whore and no doubt
a thief. I will not hurt or abuse you in anyway. I wish to be warm,
dry and rested, for the last part of my journey was far from
comfortable.”