White Water (24 page)

‘February the third, one thousand five hundred and seventy-six — ’

Maria marvelled that she had left the writing of the will to so late a date. Only a few months before her death.

As if reading her mind, Hessop looked up at her. ‘This will was originally drawn up in fifteen fifty-four and has been revised and amended several times since that date.’ She nodded and he continued:

‘In the name of God, Amen. I, Ruth Cummins, being still in my full wits and of sound memory do hereby amend my will to read as follows and to be witnessed by one Samuel Hessop and later to be read out by the same after my death. To my dearest Maria Kendal I bequeath with love my jewelled pin and the carved oaken coffer which stands beside my bed. Romney House is bequeathed to her already by my brother Harold and so with my death it passes into her possession. And for the love I bear her, I bequeath also fifty gold crowns that she may live the more joyfully by it and think of me kindly. To Matthew — ’

Maria saw Matt start in alarm and nodded to him reassuringly.

‘ — I bequeath my quill and ink pot and the small bible bound in red leather which I was given as a girl by my father, God rest his soul. To Matthew also the sum of five gold crowns to be spent — ’

Matt rose to his feet, his eyes like saucers. ‘Me?’ he gasped. ‘Five gold crowns for me? From the old lady?’ He was at once astonished and delighted and a broad grin spread over his face. He did not see Samuel Hesslop’s disapproving look, nor did he take note as the lawyer cleared his throat, indicating that he wanted to continue.

‘Five gold crowns, Maria!’ he cried. ‘And I thought she — ’ He shook his head, bewildered and the lawyer tried in vain to attract his attention. ‘I mean, she scolded me that many times — ’

‘She was fond of you, Matt,’ said Maria. ‘You know that.’

‘Well, I did hope so, but I were never certain sure. And she would call me Matthew and not Matt — ’

Maria smiled. ‘She still does, you see, even in her will!’

Felicity smiled at him. ‘I think she missed you, when you went back to Heron.’

‘Missed me? Did she truly miss me?’ He shook his head again. ‘But five gold crowns! I wish as I could thank her.’ He glanced hopefully upward but Samuel Hessop took advantage of the brief pause to continue reading and Matt sat down again, still marvelling at the old lady’s generosity.

‘And to Felicity Carr whom I love as a daughter, my bed and linen that she may have always a place to lay her head — ’ Felicity caught her breath and the tears welled up in her eyes, ‘and all my garments, that they may be cut and fit to size, and as well as this my silver-topped walking stick to be sold for whatever it will fetch, and twenty-five gold crowns towards her dowry that she may marry as well as is possible and in which estate I wish her lasting joy and comfort.’

Samuel Hessop paused and took a sip of wine while he waited for Felicity to compose herself. Matt still murmured excitedly over his five gold crowns and the lawyer gave him a reproving glance which went unheeded. At last he cleared his throat again. ‘To continue, if I may have everyone’s attention —
everyone’s
attention,’ he added and Matt was nudged into silence by the cook.

‘To the cook, Meg Forbes, I bequeath one gold crown and my silver hairbrush and comb also to be sold for whatever they will fetch, and to the gardener, though I believe him to be an idle fellow, one gold crown.’

Maria repressed a smile and the gardener blushed furiously.

‘She left me
five,
’ crowed Matt, leaning forward to enjoy the man’s discomfiture. ‘Five gold — ’

‘Sir!’ thundered Samuel Hessop, ‘May I remind you that the reading of a will is a solemn occasion and ask you to show your respects to the dead in more seemly behaviour!’ All eyes were suddenly on Matt and it was his turn to blush and the lawyer took several deep breaths in order to compose himself for the rest of the reading.

‘If there be anything remaining after these bequests, I charge that it be used to buy bread for the deserving poor — ’ Samuel Hessop glanced up. ‘She has underlined the word “deserving”,’ he told them, ‘the deserving poor of the parish of Appledore so long as they shall utter up a prayer for the safe passage of my soul to Heaven. My blessing and love be with those I leave behind and I pray you remember me oftimes with affection and do beseech my Heavenly Maker that he will pardon my transgressions and hereto I command my soul into His keeping.’ He laid down the will and glanced around the assembled company. ‘Are there any questions regarding this document?’ he asked. No one answered and Maria stood up.

‘I think ’tis all very clear. Ruth has remembered us all with great clarity and doubtless we appreciate her various bequests. She had faults, as we all have, but there is not one of us here who will not remember her frequently and with love or respect.’

There was a murmur of agreement and the lawyer gave a polite nod to show his approval of the timely sentiments.

‘The bequests will be delivered as soon as practicable,’ Maria told them. ‘If anyone has a problem regarding the will after Samuel Hessop has left us, I pray you come to me straitly. And now may I ask that we all raise our glasses and drink to the memory of our mutual and very dear friend, Ruth Cummins.’

They pushed back the benches, stood up and joined her in the toast. Matt’s bequest had gone to his head. He drunk his wine in one gulp and cried, ‘And I say let’s have a cheer for the old lady!’

And Samuel Hessop quietly gave up on the whole proceedings.

*

Maria stayed a few days longer then returned home with Matt to acquaint Hugo of all that had happened. He had already received Felicity’s letter so he knew that Ruth was dead. Maria was undecided how best to deal with her own part of the legacy and wanted to talk it over with Hugo. She left Martin at Romney House on the understanding that if he had no further message from her, he was to ride back to Heron in time for the wedding, at which he would act as chief bride-knight. Romney House seemed very empty without her and Felicity spent the rest of the day mending the linen, deep in her own thoughts. Martin, for want of something better to do, spent what remained of
his
day in critical inspection of the garden. Ruth’s unkind comment on the gardener had not been forgotten and Martin wanted the man to know he had a new master to reckon with. The two of them toured the rambling garden and Martin tried his best to convey a knowledge of gardening which he did not possess. He enquired about the pruning of the plum trees and suggested they purchase a new plum tree and maybe also a pear. He found fault with the herb garden, pointing out the numerous weeds, and ordered that the holly hedge, nearly seven feet high, be lowered to five and a half. Some of the rose bushes were dead and should be replaced as soon as possible. Lastly, the small pond, containing nothing but rank water and dead leaves, should be restored and stocked with gold fish. When Martin went back to the house for supper he left the man scowling moodily.

That evening, after supper, Martin and Felicity stood by the water and stared at the spot where Mark Wynne had met his end.

‘You are always here,’ she said suddenly to Martin, ‘when I need someone. You were here when Mark Wynne came back and when the mistress died. Your presence is very reassuring. I wanted you to know that.’

‘That pleases me greatly,’ he said, surprised by her remark. ‘I should not like to think of you alone and in distress.’

‘I want to thank you,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know how.’

‘There’s no need for thanks.’

They watched a moorhen working its way through the rushes.

‘Once there were three of them,’ she told him, ‘but one night a fox came. It killed five of the chickens and two of the moorhens. One chicken it took away, the rest were left with their poor heads half-bitten off. ’Twas a dreadful sight. I didn’t understand why the fox killed all the others, if not for sport.’

‘Nature can be very cruel.’

‘Aye. Mark Wynne spoke once of a cock fight. The birds wore spurs and they clawed and pecked each other until one of them dropped dead with fatigue and the other was declared the winner. It made me sick to hear of it.’

‘Your heart is too soft,’ he said and his voice, in the growing dark, caressed her.

A deep happiness filled her and she closed her eyes. If only she could die, now, with Martin beside her she would be content. She would consider her short life well spent and would envy no one!

Vaguely, he was aware of her emotions.

‘So,’ he said, to change the subject, ‘you now have a dowry! How does that feel?’

‘Incredible!’ she laughed shakily. ‘Now all I need is a husband!’

‘They will find a good man for you, you’ll see.’ He wanted to look at her face but knew what he would see there.

‘Will anyone wed me — for a mere twenty-five crowns?’

‘If you had nothing men would still desire you — would still want to wed you. You are an attractive young woman.’

‘Am I? Or are you being kind — sparing my feelings?’

‘I speak truly, Felicity. You have a quiet charm. Look at me and I shall convince you. Now let me see. You have beautiful eyes, a soft mouth, delicate cheek bones — ’

‘Oh no! I beg you!’

She tried to turn away, confused, but he pulled her back.

‘Let me finish!’ he said softly. ‘If you are nearly a woman and still don’t know that you are desirable, why then, no man has ever told you so and that’s a pity.’

‘Martin!’ she begged, but he only pulled her closer.

‘I
shall
finish and you
will
listen to me. Your hair is soft and smells sweet and fresh. You have a slim neck, creamy breasts — Ah, but I
have
seen them. When I came to your room that night.’

‘Oh!’ She was staring into his face, trying to read the thoughts behind his bantering words,

‘A neat waist … ’ He slid his hands lightly down her body, ‘And no doubt shapely legs to complete the picture. Are they shapely?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ she cried, half laughing at his earnestness.

‘If you don’t answer I shall be forced to see them for — ’

‘Aye! They are shapely — I think.’ He dropped to his knee and plucked at the hem of her gown. She jerked it from his fingers.

‘They
are
shapely. I confess it!’ she cried.

‘And no man has seen them?’

‘Don’t, I beg you!’ the exhilaration had left her.

Martin stood up. Her expression had changed and, subtly, her mood also.

‘Felicity?’

‘Don’t ask me!’

‘Was it Wynne?’

‘He didn’t touch me — not that way.’ She was suddenly terrified he would find her distasteful. That Mark Wynne’s hands had sullied her for ever.

‘How then? You must tell me.’

‘Why? Why must I speak of it? I want to forget it.’

‘I want to know,’ he insisted.

‘But I can’t bear the telling of it!’ she cried.

Aware of the panic in her voice he drew her into his arms. ‘Then I will make it easier for you,’ he whispered. ‘We will sit together in the old boat — No, lie together. You shall lie in my arms and I will keep you safe. ’Twill not seem so terrible, I promise you.’

Felicity wavered. The prospect of lying with Martin was a tempting one. It was more than she had ever dreamed of — but the price was high. She had no wish to relive the nightmare, of which she had never spoken … not even to Maria.

Martin took her prolonged silence to be an assent and pulled the boat in to the bank. He stepped in and helped her into it. The boat was old and creaked protestingly. There was a sheepskin and cushions in it for Maria and Felicity had sometimes used it to while away an hour. Felicity laughed softly. ‘I used to imagine Ruth as a young woman, sitting in this boat under the willows, but when I asked her she said ‘I never had time for such nonsense’. That made me very sad for her.

‘She was happy, I dare say, in her own way.’

They sat down carefully, trying not to rock the boat, watched by the curious moorhen. Martin arranged the sheepskin across her knees and smiled.

‘Tell it,’ he said softly and closed his eyes and she began, reluctantly, to speak of it.

Ruth had sent her into the fields one day in search of Wynne. He had not reported to the house for nearly five weeks and Ruth had no idea whether or not he had attended the sheep market and, if so, to what profit. She no longer had any clear knowledge of the make-up of the flock — the relative number of rams, wethers and ewes, the ratio of lambs to tegs or the number of sheep per square acre. She dimly understood the importance of such figures, for Harold had been at pains to explain it all, but he had told her, also, to ‘leave it all to Wynne — he’s an honest man’. Wynne’s reports on the flock had gradually become less detailed and as she grew older the occasional irrelevancies had puzzled her, but she had relied on Wynne’s reputation and concerned herself less and less with the management of the flock. All that she asked for was a monthly report and the profit of any transactions. These dwindled until at last she
did
begin to query his accounting and his reports then became even less regular. Sometimes five weeks passed, sometimes six, before he would put in an appearance.