Abigail Moor (9 page)

You have
brought me many years of joy at a time when I grieved for my dear
Georgiana, who left me earlier than I could have ever imagined. I
found you one terrible night, All Souls Eve, not a night to be
caught out in a storm, by Whitby Abbey. However, it was a place I
returned to from time to time as Georgiana and I used to visit the
church and Abbey. God has His plans for us and our paths were
destined to cross. You looked pathetic and half starved but even
then you had a natural beauty about you and a will to survive. You
still have that will and I beseech you to use every ounce of it to
carry you through this difficult time.

I hope by the
time you read this you will have a husband of your own by your side
and little ones running around you, as you did with me. I have been
greedy and jealous of your time, dear Abigail, and should have let
you ‘come out’ sooner. Forgive me my selfishness and enjoy each
moment of your life as you live it.

I understand
your mother was a good lady who succumbed to the charms of a
manipulative man. Do not blame her as love is a powerful emotion,
it can build or destroy. Love is undoubtedly the greatest gift
anyone can have and you have a heart that has given me something I
thought was lost to me forever – unreserved love.

Abigail, think
not of what we have lost in our separation but of what we shared in
life. Shed no tears. I pray we meet once more in heaven.

Your loving father,

Lord Edmund
Horatio Hammond.

Abigail swallowed, choking back the tears that were threatening to
overwhelm her tired eyes.

“This still
does not tell me who I am. My mother was a good, yet fallen, woman.
Who was my real father, other than a manipulator and deserter of
innocence? So who am I, Martha? You know, I can sense it, you still
do not tell me the truth. How did I come to be there that night?
Were you with me then? Tell me for I have the right to know.
Please?” Abigail was standing over her maid. Martha did not
straighten up. She would not even look up at her.

“Abigail, I was
visiting friends in the town. It was late and no one wants to be
out when it’s nightfall on that night, believe me. It was quiet,
except for the noise of the waves as they broke against the
harbour, cliff and shore. Whitby has a perpetual motion to it.
Silence never really exists, but a scream rang out, then I heard a
baby cry. At first I thought it was the screech of a sea bird, but
then I heard it again clear as day – or night. He, Lord Hammond,
found you dropped by the crumbling walls. Not been there long or
the bitter cold of the night would have finished you for sure. The
footman was ordered to knock on doors, but no one knew who you
were. You needed nursing and I came with you. It was to be a short
visit whilst Lord Hammond decided what was to be done with you.
Yet, here I am.” She patted Abigail’s shoulder. “Now freshen
yourself up and eat something because we must leave this tavern
within the hour.”

“So you have no
knowledge as to my parentage?” Abigail stared at Martha, who was
busying herself with the bags.

“Now isn’t that
what I’ve just been saying to you?” Martha moved things around
within them as if preoccupied with what she was doing.

Abigail thought
of calling her a liar there and then, but decided the time was not
right. Martha was not telling her the truth, or not all of it
anyway. She wondered why, because it was not like her to lie - to
stubbornly refuse, yes, but not to lie.

Abigail put her
letter safely away. She would decide what to do next. “Wouldn’t
this prove he is my father?”

“No, it was
written long since and there is no witness or seal. It could have
been copied. I doubt it would stand on its own.”

If Martha
thought she was going to be in total control from now on then
Abigail was going to show her how wrong she was. “I need a black
pelisse, a mourning coat and hat. I’ve decided that whilst I attend
Mr Ashton you will find me suitable attire for when we leave this
city. I shall be a widow of an army captain seeking a new start in
life with her maidservant.”

“Will you
indeed!” Martha forgot her charade of rummaging and closed the bag.
“And when did you decide this?”

“Just now,
while you were telling me your ‘story’.” Abigail tilted her head
high and stared at Martha, but the maid opened her mouth as if to
speak then changed her mind and nodded as if it was a reasonable
idea.

“And what would
you be called?” Martha asked. “And can I be me or do I have to
become a Betsy or someone else?”

Abigail thought
of the long cold walk to The Cruck Inn and the country that
surrounded them. “Mrs Moor.” Abigail thoughtfully folded up her
father’s letter and placed it carefully back within the pages of
his Bible. “I shall be Mrs Abigail Moor and you may as well be who
you are. No one pays attention to maids anyhow and, besides, at
least you have the comfort of knowing who you really are.”

“Well it’s as
good as idea as any I suppose,” Martha answered without rising to
Abigail’s jibe at her. “Best remember, though, liars need to have
good memories.”

“Yes, I
couldn’t agree more. And when we journey to Whitby we will test
yours, as you can tell me your story all over again.” Abigail
brushed out her hair and was surprised that Martha did not retort.
A fact that, to Abigail, proved she was correct.

“Why Whitby?”
Martha asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to travel away from any place
that is connected with your past?”

“I wish to see
the sea,” Abigail answered dryly and tweaked her bonnet.

“Abigail, you
must trust me now more than you ever have. I’ve never let you down,
ever.” Martha looked quite solemn.

Abigail smiled
at her. “Nor shall you now, but you have to trust me too. I meant
it when I said I am no child, I do not wish to be treated like one.
Not anymore. There are things we must discuss but, here we have no
time and Father needs us to act quickly on his behalf. So let us
see to our business and be on our way. Then we shall speak of this
again when it is the correct time.” Abigail kissed Martha’s cheek.
“Whatever the truth of it, Martha, you have been there throughout
my life and for that I give you my love and thanks.”

“Aye, lass, I
know, but some things are best left unsaid. No good stirring up
what cannot be undone. Settle your sights on your future and not on
the bygone times.” Martha smiled at her.

“Yes, as soon
as you’ve told me what it is that I should leave undone. Then I
will settle. Until then I shall never find peace. We now need to
try and rest, but we will go to Father’s representative first thing
the ‘morrow, Martha.”

After what seemed like too little sleep Abigail and Martha made
their way to the solicitor’s as Abigail had been instructed. The
women looked nervously around them as neither wanted to be on the
open street any longer than they needed to be. Abigail felt as if
everywhere they went they might be spotted or watched. They waited
by the black door for a moment, hoping Mr Ashton would be willing
to meet them without an appointment. They were about to see her
father’s lawyer and friend. With each passing minute Abigail felt
the urgency to leave the city as soon as possible grow. She was
only too aware how the next few hours would be crucial if they were
to get away.

“Martha, I am
grateful for how you handled things at both of the inns but, here,
let me do the talking this time.” Abigail looked at her maid and
saw a fleeting smile play across her lips.

“Oh, have I got
me orders wrong, Miss Abigail, as I thought I was to go and leave
you on your own whilst I found your mourning attire?” Martha raised
an eyebrow at her mistress.

“I think it
would look better if I have a servant with me. I could hardly have
made the journey with no chaperone, could I?” Abigail explained.
The truth was she was extremely nervous and did not want to be on
her own. Martha would be watching her back and Abigail thought that
was an excellent idea and a comfort to know. Besides, she was
acting very boldly by turning up unannounced and on such important
business. It was hardly her place, but necessity called for her to
act, and therefore act her part out she would. She swallowed and
raised her chin slightly so as not to look at all lacking in
confidence. Martha, she decided, was a poor enough chaperone.

“Funny enough,
lass, I’d figured that much out for meself. Now, whilst you’re in
here do you want me to stay close like, just in case he decides to
contact young Mr Hammond?” Martha tilted her head on the side and
raised both eyebrows, with an air of sarcasm.

“Very well,
Martha, I didn’t heed your words last time and I’m sorry for that,
but there is no reason to adopt that attitude with me here! Is
there? Please remember your position and do not call me ‘lass’
again.” Abigail’s rebuke was in a lowered voice, but it lost none
of its impact. “Stay with me. Hopefully, this will not take long
then we can leave the city before noon.”

“Good, lass…
Miss Hammond, I mean. You’re learning quick, always have done. As
soon as…”

The large door
was opened by a gentleman dressed from head to toe in black, the
whiteness of his cravat the only contrast. He stared at Martha,
before looking at Abigail. “Can I help you, Miss…?” He pursed his
lips into a narrow smile.

“I should like
to speak to Mr Ashton, please.” Abigail adopted as formal an air as
she could.

“Do you have an
appointment, Miss..?” he asked as he stared once more at
Martha.

Abigail held
her head high, looked affably at the man and answered, “I am afraid
not, but I have a letter to deliver to him - by hand.”

“I can take
it,” he said, and offered his hand to receive the letter.

“I have been
entrusted to deliver it in person.”

“Please enter.”
He opened the door wide. “Who is this person?” He glanced at
Martha, as he addressed Abigail. The woman flushed and shot him a
less than gracious look in return.

“This,” Abigail
gestured with her a gloved in an almost dismissive manner, “is my
companion and personal maid. Miss Napp will stay with me, as is her
place in life.” Abigail’s tone was firm, but pleasant, and so he
escorted them into a mahogany panelled waiting room. Abigail
squeezed Martha’s shoulder and shot her a warning look. Here there
were no ‘Ezekiels’; this was the world of her father – a
gentleman’s world.

“If you wait
here, I shall see if Mr Ashton is able to see you today. Who should
I say is delivering the letter and from whom is it sent?” He looked
from one to the other as if sizing them up.

“I am the
daughter of Lord Edmund Hammond and the letter is from him,
directly.” Abigail held the letter firmly within her fur muff.

“May I offer my
apologies to you, Miss Hammond? I was unaware that Lord Hammond had
a daughter.” He bowed to her in an overly dramatic fashion and
left.

Abigail’s face
flushed deeply. She wondered if he were apologising sincerely for
his own ignorance or if he was belittling her in some way. Either
way, she felt most uncomfortable and hated the feeling. Other than
by her own father, she was beginning to wonder if she was viewed in
the outside world merely as a ‘bastard’ child. Was that how
Frederick had let polite society know of her? As the ‘runt’ her
father had taken in, like one would a dog. Martha placed a
comforting hand upon hers as if she had read Abigail’s
thoughts.

“The sooner I
become Mrs Moor the better, Martha.”

“Aye, la…Miss
Abigail… Miss Hammond. The world’s no place for a woman on her
own,” Martha agreed.

“Well, it’s not
fair. Why should I not be able to live my life as I choose as
Frederick has chosen to do his?”

“That’s as
maybe, but the world just ain’t made that way. The laws are made by
men and for men and they’ll never change ‘em.”

“Then it’s time
we made them, Martha.” Abigail was quickly beginning to resent
everything she had accepted as normal up until such a short time
ago. She had never before doubted the way the world was run; she
had never had cause to.

“Now, you
concentrate on what we’re about here before you go changing the
world, Miss Hammond.” Martha chuckled, but Abigail stared at the
wooded panels and realised her life would never be the same
again.

Abigail did not appreciate being left for nearly half an hour,
waiting anxiously, each minute lengthening more than the one which
had just passed by. The long case clock ticked each slow moment
off. And with each, Abigail became more restless and daunted by her
task. The smell of the polished leather seating hung heavily in the
air reminding her of the stagecoach journey. She realised how tired
she was as she thought again about the intriguing gentleman who had
so generously given up his seat to her, the chivalrous Captain
Joshua Rusk.

When the door
finally opened again, Abigail automatically stood up. A stocky
figure of a man dressed in a fashionable style of a coat cut at the
waist, which would have been better suited to a man of greater
height and straighter posture, greeted her.

“My dear, Miss
Hammond, whatever brings you all this way and on your own too.
Where is your dear brother, Mr Frederick? He must surely know of
your whereabouts, does he not? Has he not already left to be with
you and your poor father? I do hope his health improves, I heard he
was quite weak. Come with me please, excuse my manners, I shall
send for refreshments then we shall talk.”

Mr Ashton led
Abigail, guiding her gently by her elbow towards the room next
door. He had not given her a chance to answer any of the deluge of
questions he had poured out in her direction.

“Martha, do not
stand there day-dreaming. Come now, pay attention!” Abigail ordered
her distracted maidservant.