Abigail Moor (14 page)

“I would have
thought that I would be allowed to refresh myself first. I am most
fatigued by the horrendous journey. I do not enjoy carriages or
horses,” the lady snapped back ungratefully.

“Yes, yes of
course, milady. Whenever you wish it, it shall be ready.” A door
was opened and the lady and her two maids passed through the lounge
unaware of Abigail’s presence.

“Martha, did
you…” Abigail turned to see Martha re-emerging from where she had
bent down beneath the table.

“What are you
doing, Martha?” Abigail watched her face re-appear, ruddy from
being bent low underneath the table.

Martha looked
sheepishly back at her as she seated herself at the table and held
up a spoon. “I dropped it on the floor,” she said as an
explanation.

Abigail looked
at her suspiciously. “Well try not to be so clumsy. Did you see who
that was?”

“Who what was,
miss?” Martha looked blankly around the inn, and then back at
Abigail and shrugged.

“Your food,
ma’am.” The waiter placed their plates down in front of them and
Martha was instantly all enthusiasm for it, her eyes focussed
wholly on what she was doing. “I was gettin’ so hungry that I was
startin’ to think I’d faint for lack of victuals.”

Joshua was
watching both women carefully, but Molly only had eyes for the
food.

“Sorry, Miss
Abigail. I told you, me and Whitby have a past and it made me
clumsy like.”

“What absolute
nonsense. You really are full of superstitious humbug. You missed
that lady who arrived; she was the one at Miss Blossom’s shop
before we left York. She has come here too,” Abigail informed
her.

“Small world,
isn’t it? Still we won’t be mixin’ in the same circles as that one,
so no good getting all friendly with her.” Martha ate with
enthusiasm.

“I don’t think
anyone can get too ‘friendly’ with one such as her. She is far too
grand.” Abigail thought about her for a moment; she was a woman who
knew her place, aloof and above all others, unlike Abigail who was
all adrift.

Joshua nodded
his agreement, but was sitting slowly eating his food as if lost to
thoughts of his own.

It was not long before Joshua and Abigail were left alone. She felt
a little strange - nervous perhaps, that she should be being
chaperoned by a Captain in such a public place, but tried hard not
to show it.

“How do you
know Lady Fenton-Grange, Mrs Moor? May I suggest that you train
Martha into using the correct form of address in public for she
seems to want to call you by your Christian name above all
else.”

Abigail felt
very defensive of Martha, as she felt he was criticising her
unfairly. “It must seem strange to you, but Martha has always been
with me and I suppose she still views me as a child.”

“Almost as her
own sometimes, which may be comforting, but in the outside world it
is a familiarity which will appear strange and will therefore
attract comment or attention, neither of which you seek.”

“You are quite
correct. I will remind her. No, I do not know the lady, but our
paths crossed and she seemed to think she had met me before. She’s
beautiful, isn’t she?” Abigail commented innocently.

“In a worldly
sense, yes, I would agree, but not in a way that I would find
naturally appealing.”

“How do you
differentiate?”

“Easily, she
has an external beauty whilst inner beauty shines through from a
person’s core.” He was looking at her in a very curious way, as if
studying her features.

She blushed
slightly. “What will you do now?”

“I should like
to ask you for help with young Molly. She is escaping the clutches
of a brute and needs a family in which to grow safely.”

“I am in
restricted circumstances,” Abigail admitted.

“Perhaps I
could be of service to you, to ease your circumstances.”

“Sir, I am
estranged from my father and home.”

He looked at
her thoughtfully. “Is there a way I could help you?”

Abigail
hesitated, tempted to tell this man her secrets, but was too scared
of Frederick to take such a risk. “I am not sure what you mean,
Captain?”

“You can
confide in me, please do not doubt my integrity. I can keep a
confidence, but sense you are greatly troubled by some event.”

“Widows are,”
Abigail spoke softly looking down as she could not meet his
gaze.

“As you wish,
‘Mrs Moor’.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “I
have little else to do than to help damsels in distress and
besides, I love a good mystery, and you ‘Mrs Moor’, may, I feel,
provide me with an excellent one.”

Standing in the fresh sea air, Abigail and Joshua waited a few
moments admiring the beauty of the busy Esk harbour with its
abundant life as they waited for Martha and Molly to reappear. Each
kept to safe conversation about the busy port.

“You look all
flushed, Miss Abigail,” Martha exclaimed quietly as she bent over
averting her eyes from that of her young mistress. She picked up
their bag.

Joshua glanced
at Abigail as Martha had used ‘Miss Abigail’ again to address her,
then withdrew with Molly to the other side of the harbour road. The
girl looked perplexed, unsure in some way, but he placed her hand
in his and returned.

“It’s the sea
air, Martha, Abigail commented as she watched them. “And please
remember that I am now Mrs Moor. You must stop addressing me in
such a familiar manner unless we are alone.” Abigail heard Martha
gasp slightly, but ignored it as she watched Joshua’s tall figure
approach.

“There is
something you should know, Martha. I have agreed to help young
Molly.” Abigail made the decision that she would help the girl in
order to gain Joshua’s approval.

“How can you
help anyone when you can’t even help yourself… Mrs Moor?” Martha
snapped. “I’m thinking it’s not the air that’s affecting you but
someone’s handsome face and dark locks.” Martha stared accusingly
at her.

“Martha you
speak out of turn, again,” Abigail rebuked.

“No, lass, I
speak out of experience.” Martha grinned back at her, brimming with
confidence.

Abigail knew
the woman was quite right in her assumption. She could not help
herself, but let a little smile turn her lips upwards at the
corners.

“Did you find
some accommodation, Martha?” he asked.

“Aye, for us
but, listen up, we can’t take on waifs and strays.”

Molly looked
downcast.

Martha added,
“Beyond this scrap, and there is no room for thee.”

“That won’t be
necessary, I won’t be staying. I shall pay you for the girl’s
upkeep until she is found suitable work.”

Abigail found
she felt instantly saddened by his statement that he was going to
be leaving them so soon. And was going to dismiss the gesture as
unnecessary but Martha accepted his offer saying how they too had
their problems. Abigail looked away, embarrassed, but swallowed her
pride.

“Come on, we
need to go down here.” Martha led the way along a sweeping cobbled
road. This in turn brought them out onto a narrow pathway between
two buildings. The alley bent right then left and narrowed. Abigail
didn’t like it at all. It was dark, and confining. The doors to
ramshackle homes led directly onto it. She couldn’t help herself
imagining one opening and being bodily dragged inside never to be
seen again. She had always lived in spacious rooms, wide corridors,
and a green rolling estate. The world seemed narrower and
inhibiting here. Gratefully, Abigail stepped out onto another
broader cobbled street, filled with more people bustling around
busy with their livelihoods.

Abigail looked
at the tall inn ahead of them and the coach yard next to it. The
building was narrow – narrower than the Phoenix Inn had been in
York. The two low beamed windows were separated by a green door.
“Won’t it be rather noisy here?” Abigail asked, somewhat
apprehensively.

“Lass, we
haven’t taken rooms at a hotel! We have to make your money last.
No, we go down here.”

Abigail looked
anxiously at Joshua who placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder
leading her forward. His continual presence convinced her that all
would be well. It was a familiar gesture, but it was fleeting and
made her realise he was everything Frederick was not.

“Take this as a
temporary residence. What better place could there be for you to
stay warm and within your means?” he asked.

Martha cut
across the street, turning left and walking down toward the noisy
harbour, but then slipped through into another snicket between the
buildings to a small yard. To the right was a high wall that was
the other side of the inn and to the left a long low building with
smoke billowing from a chimney stack that was part of the building
facing them. It appeared to be the back of a bakers’ shop and the
low building was the bakery itself. The smell of fresh bread made
Abigail feel quite homesick for Mrs Giles’s tasty delicacies at the
manor house. Across the road from them was the laundry.

“We have a room
up there above the bakers’. Cosy or what, eh? Martha has done real
good this time, hasn’t she?” Martha hesitated a moment, but if it
was for a few words of praise it was a moment lost. Abigail just
stared at the ramshackle buildings, so the woman continued, “I
didn’t think this place would still be running, but Biddy is still
going strong and her bakes and bread are the best in the whole of
Yorkshire.”

Abigail liked
the aroma of food and the warmth the building exuded. She patted
Martha’s shoulder in a rare moment of appreciation of her maid. It
was the first time the woman had really looked relaxed since
returning to Whitby and Abigail hoped it was a good sign that
things would be happier here, if not easy. “You have done very
well, Martha. Is Biddy the owner?”

“Yes, I works
Monday to Saturday and has Sundays off, as I’m family,” Martha said
proudly. “Biddy’s me sister-in–law, always did get on, we did, then
lost touch when I had to leave so sudden like. Captain, you and
Molly wait here, as I need to talk to Biddy about the lass.”

She
side-glanced at Abigail then quickly picked up the bag and made her
way up the rickety stairs as if she’d said something wrong again.
Abigail followed on.

“When do I
work, Martha?” Abigail asked, but was greeted by a derisory
look.

“You get
yourself’ settled in, lass. You have a lot of changes to make
first. Then we’ll see how things go on.” Martha opened the door to
a room. It was certainly warm and the strange uneven wooden floor
gave it character. The walls were plain plaster and had little
adornment. A large pewter plate hung on a chimney breast and a
besom was propped up in the corner. A few scattered clip rugs were
thrown haphazardly on the floor which gave the place a more homely
feel. The four-poster bed, laden with old quilted blankets over its
feathered mattress was placed against the west wall facing the
window that looked out over the ramshackle tiled roofs. Two chairs,
a small table and a set of drawers were the only other
furniture.

“This is very…
pleasant, Martha, it will do. So where is your room?” Abigail asked
as she flopped onto the bed.

“Miss, this is
my room!” Martha looked at Abigail, as if she should have
realised.

“Yes, of
course.”

“This is ‘our’
room – we share, Mrs Moor, no doubt with the young lass too.”
Martha stared at her and Abigail realised she should have expected
it. For a moment she had forgotten that her new world had just
begun in earnest; she would have to sleep with her maid and a girl
she hardly knew. “This, miss, is a palace compared to what most put
up with…”

“Yes,” Abigail
laughed, “but it was worth asking you, just to see the look of
dismay on your face. Forgive me for teasing you.” Abigail smiled
and placed a hand on the bed. “Now, I’ll sleep at this side of the
bed and you can sleep there. And the girl will be on a low cot over
there. We shall fix one for her. I hope you do not snore too
loudly.”

Martha shook
her head as if not sure she should believe her jest, but Abigail
did not care for she was looking to the window, staring out at a
strange land, where a tumultuous sea replaced green fields, and
narrow brick houses with pantiled roofs replaced the open spaces of
land. She braced herself because she had to adapt to it, and
quickly. Then, as her eyes settled on the ruined abbey overlooking
them on the high horizon, she felt a jolt as this was the place
where her story began and it would be there that Martha would take
her back to explain the events of nearly twenty-one years ago to
the day.

“Afterwards,
when you have introduced me to your ‘Biddy’ we should take the
fresh sea air together and you can show me where it was that I was
found.” Abigail looked pointedly at Martha.

“You can take
what air you wish, miss, but I’ve had enough fresh sea air to last
me till Christmas; besides, I have news to catch up on with me
family, what’s left of it...”

“At least you
have one,” Abigail interjected.

Martha placed
her fists squarely on her hips and continued unperturbed, “...and
things to do.” Martha did not wait for her reply. “Now I’m going.
Join us when you’re ready.”

She left and
Abigail stared at the door momentarily, seething that her maid
should dismiss her so. But then her vision settled on Martha’s
small bag and Abigail wondered…

Abigail stared at the bag. It was not hers and she should not look
within it but then no one was doing or behaving as they should any
more. Things were changing all the time and she had to become more
independent. She opened the door slightly and stared down the
rickety wooden stairs. Abigail tiptoed down half a dozen or so and
peered through the top murky square of a window and into the
bakery. She saw Martha drinking from a tankard and eating
something. She was deep in conversation with a large-framed woman
who was relating her news with great animation and enthusiasm.
That, Abigail realised, was ‘Biddy’.