Carisbrooke Abbey (22 page)

Maud laid aside her knitting.

Crossing to the mantelpiece, she lit the candles in the candelabras. Her old hands shook slightly as she did so.

Marcus watched her simple actions lovingly. Amidst so much that was changing, she was a familiar sight. He found it soothing to watch her, as he had watched her many times before, going about her simple routine. She lit the candles and blew out the taper, putting it back in its holder at the side of the mantelpiece. Then she bent down to tend to the fire. She took the poker from its place on the hearth and riddled the glowing coals, making them shift and spark. Then she returned the poker to its stand and took up the tongs. Carefully lifting a lump of coal out of the scuttle she placed it over the glowing coals, arranging another six lumps before deciding that it was enough. The red glow of the burning coals could still be seen, but the new ones placed on top of them were beginning to catch light, ensuring that the fire would not go out.

‘So now you know,’ she said. She straightened up again.

‘Yes. Now I know.’

He sat quietly, digesting all he had heard.

He was not Lord Carisbrooke’s son, and it had changed everything. But before he could allow himself to rejoice he must voice the one thought that still disturbed him. ‘If I am not Lord Carisbrooke’s son, then I am not entitled to my inheritance,’ he said. ‘I have no claim on the fortune, the title or the abbey.’

Maud resumed her seat.

‘You certainly have. The fortune was your grandmother’s, and not your grandfather’s. She had a right to leave it to whomever she wanted, and she chose to leave it to you.’

‘Then Laurence has no claim on it,’ said Marcus.

‘None at all. Besides, even if he did, he would not need it. Laurence has a fortune of his own.’

Marcus thought of the large fortune Laurence’s mother had left him, and was content on that score.

‘But the title ...  ‘ he said.

‘Laurence has never expressed any interest in it, indeed I have heard him describe titles as vulgar. And he would not want the abbey. He regards it as a decrepit pile,’ she said with a sigh.

Marcus nodded. He had heard Laurence make disparaging remarks about the abbey on many occasions.

Now that his questions had been answered, he sat quietly, thinking over everything he had heard. His mother’s sad story, his grandmother’s tragic tale, his own origins and the details surrounding Esmerelda’s birth.

As he pondered the revelations, he was at last able to give way to the joy he had felt growing inside him ever since he had discovered that he was not Lord Carisbrooke’s son. Burgeoning inside him was a happiness he had thought he would never be able to feel, as the full meaning of the revelations was made clear.

His face broke into a smile. He had a future ahead of him, one that was bright and full of promise. He could marry Hilary. He could take her into his arms and love her and cherish her for the rest of his life.

He stood up. ‘I have to go.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ said Maud with a smile.

‘I never thought it possible that I could be so happy! There seemed to be no way of escaping my terrible destiny, and now everything has changed.’

The door opened. Yvonne stood there.

‘May I come in?’

Maud said, ‘You are just in time. Marcus is leaving us.’

‘Ah. Then you have told him,’ Yvonne said to her sister.

‘Indeed I have.’

‘And about time, too.’ She turned to Marcus. ‘I have often felt Maud should tell you the truth, but she never saw the need. Until now.’

‘I could not let Marcus throw away his chance of happiness,’ said Maud.

‘No, indeed. I am so glad you are to marry, Marcus. A wife will remove the haunted look from your eyes. You have had much to bear.’

‘You will wait until morning?’ asked Maud.

Marcus glanced out of the window. Night had fallen, but he was eager to be on his way. ‘No. I have a long journey before me. I want to make a start.’

‘Then we will wish you God speed,’ said Maud. ‘And mind you bring Hilary to visit us,’ she added with a smile.

‘I will,’ he promised her. ‘Just as soon as I’ve made her my wife.’

Marcus had never accomplished the return journey from Lyme so quickly. He spared neither his coachman nor his horses, and a few days after leaving Maud’s home he was entering his own neighbourhood once again.

‘The Hampson farmhouse,’ he called out of the window to his coachman. ‘And stop when you get there.’

The coach pulled up in front of the neat farmhouse. Marcus opened the door before it had fully stopped and, without waiting for the step to be let down, he leapt out. His impatience had been growing throughout the journey, and now that he was within reach of Hilary it knew no bounds. Striding up the path, the hem of his greatcoat flying, he rapped at the door.

It seemed a lifetime before Hannah answered it, though it was only  a few minutes.

‘I’m here to see Miss Wentworth,’ he growled as he strode into the house. ‘Be so good as to bring her to me.’

‘Yes, your lordship,’ said Hannah, clearly overawed by the sheer size of him, and by the knowledge that she had an earl in the house. ‘Only she’s —’

‘Who is it Hannah?’ came Mrs Hampson’s voice as she came into the kitchen, eager to greet her guest. ‘I - oh!’

She appeared to be dumbfounded at the sight of Lord Carisbrooke in her kitchen!

For once the worthy woman was speechless.

‘My lord!’ she gasped at last.

‘I have come to see Miss Wentworth,’ he said, trying to conceal his impatience and belatedly remembering to ask about Mrs Hampson’s health, the health of her husband and children, and of her new baby.

‘Never better, thank you, your lordship, the whole family, and the baby is thriving. We are so grateful to Hilary. She’s been such a help.’

‘Bring her to me, if you please,’ he said, tapping his hand against the side of his leg.

‘Of course, your lordship. Hannah, run out and get Miss Wentworth.’

‘Out?’ Marcus queried.

‘She’s taken the children into the woods,’ Mrs Hampson explained. ‘They were getting rather fractious, though never better children drew breath, I do assure your lordship, and she took them out for a nature walk. They’re to collect leaves,’ she explained helpfully.

Marcus almost exploded. Here he was, ready to sweep Hilary into his arms, and she was not to be found!

He was almost tempted to stride into the woods after her, but he would not be able to give way to his feelings once he found her if she was indeed with the children. He could hardly sweep her into his arms and cover her mouth, her face and her hair with his kisses, whilst the little girls looked on.

‘How long has she been gone?’ he growled.

‘Not long,’ said Mrs Hampson.

He cursed under his breath. If she had not been gone long, then she would not be back for some time.

A moment’s reflection showed him that perhaps this was no bad thing. He was not expected at the abbey, for he had travelled so quickly that he had not thought to send word ahead, and the fires would be banked down. When he was away the Lunds retreated to the kitchen and the fires in the main rooms were kept very low to prevent a deep chill from penetrating the stone walls, but nothing more. If he had found Hilary at home he would have carried her back to the abbey at once but she would have found a cold set of rooms and no dinner waiting for her. If he went on ahead these evils could be cured.

‘Bring me paper, if you please, ‘ he said to Hannah, ‘and a quill.’

‘Won’t you come into the parlour?’ asked Mrs Hampson.

‘Yes. Thank you.’ He gave an apologetic growl. ‘I should not be giving your servant orders.’

‘Pray don’t mention it. I’m sure Hannah doesn’t mind any more than I do,’ said Mrs Hampson, agog to know what he wanted to write.

‘Oo no,’ said Hannah.

‘You are very good,’ he said with a bow.

Mrs Hampson led him through to the parlour, where she supplied him with a quill and paper.

He sat down at the table, dwarfing it with his immense size.

‘Do you have sealing wax?’ he asked.

‘No, my lord, there’s not a stick in the house,’ said Mrs Hampson.

Marcus nodded. He had not expected it. Still, it meant he must keep his note to Hilary brief, for he knew that Mrs Hampson would not be able to resist looking at the message.

My dear Miss Wentworth
, he wrote,
Pray join me at the abbey as soon as you are able to do so
.

He signed it with a simple C.

‘Give this to Miss Wentworth as soon as she returns, if you please,’ he said.

‘Yes, my lord. Very good, my lord. Will you stay for tea?’

‘That is very kind of you, but I’m afraid I cannot stay,’ he said. ‘I must return to the abbey.’

‘I’ll see Hilary gets this just as soon as she gets in.’

‘Thank you.’

Pausing only to compliment her on the neatness of her house, and the orderliness of her farmyard, Marcus strode out to the waiting carriage and was once more on his way.

How long would it be before he could reasonably expect Hilary? he wondered, glancing at his fob watch. It was two o’clock now. Perhaps by three ....

The coach passed through the abbey gates.

His eyes swept over the weed-infested drive and the tangled shrubbery beyond. All this will soon be changed, he thought. Now that he had a future, he was eager to restore the abbey to its former glory, making it a suitable abode for his future wife - and, God willing, his future children.

 The coach rolled to a halt outside the door.

He jumped out, and strode up the steps, pulling the bell rope so hard it nearly broke.

He waited impatiently for Lund to open the door ... and waited ... and waited ....

Perhaps Lund, not expecting him, was in the attic, or otherwise out of hearing of the bell.

He turned the iron ring in the hope that the door was not barred and had a feeling of satisfaction as it opened. Good.

He went in.

As he had suspected, the fire in the hall had been allowed to die down, so that it was little more than glowing embers.

He crossed the hall and went into the drawing-room. There was still no sign of Lund. He was just about to pull the bell rope that hung beside the fireplace when his eyes stopped, arrested by an unusual sight. The secret door to the side of it was ajar.

Why was the secret passage open? And who had opened it?

Lund?

Possibly. But why should he do so?

Mrs Lund?

She used the passage from time to time as a short cut through the abbey, it was true, but she would have closed the door behind her.

Esmerelda ... ?

His heart misgave him. If Esmerelda had escaped again ...

Even as he thought it, he strode towards the passage.

If Esmerelda had escaped, that would explain Lund’s absence, for the trusted servant would be looking for her. But how could she have done so? The windows of the cottage were barred, and the door bolted.

Nevertheless, someone had opened the secret door.

Pausing only to take up a candelabra and light the candles from the glowing embers of the fire, Marcus went into the secret passage. It had been a favourite playground of Esmerelda’s when they had been children. It enclosed a secret room which had been used for hiding priests in bygone days, and which, in the days of their childhood, had housed a table and chairs. They had spent many happy hours there, running into the secret passage in the drawing-room and climbing the secret stair to emerge into the small bedroom behind the tapestry, or taking fruit and tarts into the secret room and having an impromptu picnic. If she had escaped, led on by hazy memories, Esmerelda might well have run in there to play.

‘Esmerelda!’ called Marcus, holding the candelabra aloft as he went further into the passageway. ‘Esmerel—’

His voice stopped in shock.

His heart lurched.

And then there was a sickening thud.

Hilary’s afternoon was passing pleasantly. The wet spell having given way to a period of dry, settled weather, she had decided to take the children outside for a few hours so that they could run about in the fresh air. Her idea was being rewarded by their improved behaviour. Away from the confines of the farmhouse the children no longer argued with each other, but were content to run about and play. After they had run off their surplus energy, Hilary had set them the task of finding as many different kinds of leaves as they could. They ran hither and thither, picking up the brown, yellow and orange leaves that carpeted the woodland floor.

Hilary sat on a fallen log, enjoying the scene. The sky was blue and the branches of the trees formed a delicate tracery against it. The sun was surprisingly strong for the time of year, and was warming her cheek. If not for the fact that she was missing Marcus she would have been happy.

Where was he now? she wondered. Was he in Lyme, walking by the sea? Or talking to his mother’s old nurse? Was he happier, now that he was away from the abbey? She hoped so. But for her, there had been no alleviation of her low spirits. She felt her parting from Marcus as deeply as she had done when she had left the abbey. She felt as though she had lost the vital spark of herself. It was as though she was a sleepwalker, and try as she might, she could not shake off the low spirits that had assailed her since parting from Marcus.

Her thoughts were broken into by Sara, who brought her some leaves to identify. Giving her attention to the little girl, she told her what all the leaves were, identifying the last two as horse chestnuts.

‘But they’re not the same,’ protested Sara, holding them up. ‘This one has five bits and this one has only three.’

‘That’s because this one is damaged,’ explained Hilary.

She helped Janet identify the leaves she had found, then turned her attention to Mary, who had fallen over a tree root when chasing a squirrel, and had grazed her knee.

At last, tired but happy, and clutching their collections of leaves, Hilary took the children back to the farmhouse, knowing they would sleep well that night.

As they approached the house, the door flew open and Mrs Hampson was revealed.