Abigail Moor (19 page)

“I’d nothing,
no man, no bairns, the only roof I could hide under was this’un and
it had a brood of its own to cope with. The only way I could
protect both was to stay with Abigail, as he ordered me, and let
Grace live her life out in relative comfort and ignorance in the
small town of Ebton. Fenton-Grange swore to Edmund that he had been
warmed by drink and that his sister had flirted with him
mercilessly. He had succumbed to her as Adam to Eve. Both men had
vested interests in their ‘business’ so it was agreed no more would
be said on the matter. She was taken from Dower House with the
least fuss, provided with a servant called Able and a nurse until
she was strong.” Martha put a hand on Molly’s shoulder.

“What would
have happened to her if his lordship had just taken the babe?”
Molly asked.

“God only
knows, but a woman with no means and in a weakened state doesn’t
survive long, as well you know, Molly. Each year she has been paid
an adequate allowance, but Edmund told her most severely never to
darken his doorstep again, and she never did, not knowing that the
reason was because he had stolen her child to replace his own. It
was of his blood and he convinced himself he was being charitable.
You see, he reasoned that Grace had acted slovenly and selfishly
when she could have been cosily wed, so, making it all her own
fault. Funny, isn’t it, how people can work things round to suit
themselves. Only the boy, Frederick, was a jealous little brat, who
hated her on sight. He covered it well enough from his father, and
Abigail was like her ma. She never realised until his lordship fell
ill and Frederick moved back to claim his inheritance. Even he did
not know that, in fact, he was hating his own cousin.” Martha
looked down on the face of Molly. “Compared to you, lass, they’ve
all been blessed, to what your life has been, eh girl?” Martha
stroked the girl’s head. “But I still did my friend a grievous
wrong, even if the right of it was well beyond my power to
influence.”

“You saw them
both safe. What more could she or anyone have expected of yer?
Never mind, Ma, we’ve got each other now. I reckon we’ve both got a
bit of livin’ to do.” Molly hugged her tightly.

Martha patted
the girl’s back. She’d always wanted a girl of her own. Could it be
possible that she had found one, someone who could be as her own
family? She stopped thinking for a moment and sniffed the air.

“Now, don’t you
go getting’ all maudlin’ again, Ma,” Molly said, and looked at her
worried face.

“No, lass, I’m
not, but I can smell burning.” Martha opened the bedchamber door,
but the smoke was already filling up the stairs. They slammed the
door shut and opened the window opposite.

“Bloody ‘ell,
Ma. We’ll have to climb down onto the lower roof and shout for
help.” Molly was pulling Martha towards the window.

“I’ve got to
help Biddy,” Martha shouted.

“Then get
yersel’ out that window whilst we still can,” Molly shouted at her
and pushed her over to it.

“You go first,
rouse us some help. It’ll take me longer to get down. I ain’t
nimble anymore. Oh, poor Biddy, what’s to be done?” Martha almost
shoved Molly out of the opening.

Before Molly
left she turned back to Martha. “Promise me you’ll come too, Ma,
you’re all I have.”

“I promise,”
Martha replied, and the girl left as smoke started to seep into the
room.

Abigail awoke some hours later in a pretty little room with very
feminine trimmings surrounding her; the quilted cover that
enveloped her had such delicate tiny stitches that she thought the
person who had made it must have had great dedication to her task
and took great pride in her work. It must have been a labour of
love. Everything seemed to have been carefully made and matched and
the warm hues made her smile. It was as if the interior of the room
belonged to a far grander home than a humble cottage. She was
filled with such a peculiar sensation as she looked at the lady
sitting upright, reading a book in the chair next to her bed. It
was, she realised, an overwhelming sensation of love.

Grace smiled at
her and stroked her brow. Her eyes were filled with concern for
Abigail’s well being. “Do you feel better now?” Grace asked
gently.

“Yes, I’m sorry
for ... I can’t think what came over me. I am not given to such
fainting fits.” Abigail tried to sit up but her mother placed a
gentle hand on her arm.

“Please,
Abigail, stay a while. Rest here for a few moments.”

“I must tell
Joshua that I am well. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking of
me.” Abigail slid her arm from under the delicate hand and sat
up.

“Your young man
has left you in my good care as he has had some business with the
militia at Gorebeck which he needed to attend to urgently and has
taken the gig. He asked me to give you his deepest and sincerest
apologies and to convey a promise that he would return to you as
soon as he could.” Grace patted Abigail’s hand as she looked shaken
by the news.

Had Joshua been
so eager to rid himself of her that he could not wait for her to
regain consciousness? It was as if her thoughts had been read by
the older lady as she spoke.

“And I don’t
think you need worry about what the young man thinks of you, dear.
He looks totally besotted and I can well see why, but he appears to
be a man with a mission, so let him see to it in peace. I am sure
he will return to you as soon as he is able.” Her smile was warm
and reassuring.

“But we have
not known each other very long and things have happened in such a
relatively short time,” Abigail said, and both women smiled. They
had accepted each other and shared in the same joy.

“I know,
Abigail, love sometimes happens that way. Only others can
interfere, which is why I have asked Able to watch over him.” Grace
smiled reassuringly at her and Abigail realised her mother was both
a resourceful and an astute lady. She cleared her throat in a
nervous gesture.

“Able is my
dearest friend. I owe him my life and my happiness. He is a very
special person to me, Abigail. I hope you can accept him as that,
as I do.” She waited for Abigail’s response.

“How can I but
respect the man who has looked after you so well all these years.
Are you happy here, though, Mother? The people seem so distant and
cold,” Abigail added politely. “Perhaps you could return to
Beckton. Father is very ill. I’m sure after all these years old
wounds heal. Perhaps you could help him. I think Joshua may have
gone there to find out what has been happening. He wouldn’t betray
us, though, I’m certain.” Abigail stared at her hopefully but she
saw hardness replace the gentleness in her eyes.

“How can my
wounds regarding Edmund have had time to heal when I have only just
learned of his predetermined deceit? I cannot do that, I lost your
lifetime – your childhood, seeing you grow into this fine woman –
all lost to us. I was thrown out of that place and I never wish to
return to it. How could I cast my eyes upon Edmund again? He hid
you from me; your whole life I have believed you to be dead. I have
lived with the guilt for the last twenty years, thinking I was not
strong enough to save you, that I was not there for you when you
needed me to be. No, I am sorry if he is unwell, I would not wish
ill upon him but I shall not make one step towards him. A reunion
is out of the question, and if that son of his wants the whole pile
to himself then let him have it. It has brought nothing but pain to
generations of Hammonds; why should it change now?” Grace patted
her hand. “I’m sorry to speak to you in such a way.”

Abigail held
her mother’s hand. “What are we expected to do then, just wait
here?”

“It’s what
women are supposed to do, isn’t it?” Grace answered pointedly, but
with a glint in her eye.

“So we sit and
wait?” Abigail asked with a sickening feeling of inadequacy lurking
within her.

“Of course
not!” Grace replied, and Abigail watched her stand up straight. She
was graceful but there was strength about her that Abigail sensed
and admired.

“Tonight we
sleep like babes. Tomorrow, we return to Whitby, and you can take
me to see your ‘maid’. It is time I said hello to Martha Napp once
more.” She opened the room door then glanced back at Abigail. “Stay
there. I shall fetch you something to eat, then we shall sleep as
mother and daughter, together at last.”

Abigail watched
her go and was overwhelmed by the sense of pride she felt. She had
prayed that she would not find the shell of a once proud woman, but
Grace was far from a shell. She was her own person, and Abigail had
made her feel complete, as she herself would have felt if only
Joshua were still there with them. What on earth would Martha say
when she turned up with her mother, Grace? She chuckled to herself
at the thought; they would soon find out. Then, she thought, let
Martha dare to tell them both another lie!

The flames licked the front of the bakery so that no one could
enter. Water was brought up from the harbour and pumped onto the
burning building. The laundry women helped as much as they could
and all effort went in to saving the houses next to the bakery,
lest the whole town burn.

Molly was
staring at the back of the bakery and shouting hysterically,
“Martha! Martha!” Some fishermen caught hold of her and dragged her
away. The girl started screaming uncontrollably in her distress.
She couldn’t see what was happening. Tears stung her face as she
thought of her idyllic future crumbling, or burning to ashes,
before her eyes. Suddenly, a bag was flung over the yard wall and
Molly recognised it as Martha’s. She grabbed it quickly as a hardly
recognisable bundle of smoke-stained rags was carried out between
two burly men.

They put her
down on the ground and Martha animatedly coughed and cursed.

“Martha, you’re
alive!” Molly hugged her and the woman cursed even more at the turn
of events.

“Are yer hurt,
Ma?” Molly asked, trying to control herself and gulp back her
tears.

“Of course I’m
bloody hurt! I slipped off the roof and landed on those two ugly
brutes. Nearly broke me neck, I did. I told you my days of climbing
down anything are gone. Where’s that Biddy? I couldn’t get back
down the stairs. They’d folded before I could set foot on the
bloody things.”

“You mean you
actually tried? Oh, Ma, you could’ve died.” Molly hugged her
tightly.

“Well I didn’t
and I gave you me word, didn’t I? Now, gerroff me and stop fussing,
lass. I’ve got to find Biddy.” Martha sat up and rubbed her eyes,
trying to stare through the darkness of the night at the gathering
crowd.

“Dunno, Ma. No
one could get into the front. Everyone tried, but it was no good.”
Molly looked at the face of Martha as she waited for the reaction
to her words, their meaning slowly sinking in.

Martha stared
at her for a moment. “Oh, Molly, what have I done? I knew that bad
things would happen if I returned to this God forsaken place. I
tell you it’s cursed and me with it.” Martha grabbed Molly’s hand
and pulled herself upright. The girl picked up her bag.

“Take me around
the front, I need to be there when the flames die down and they
bring poor Biddy out.” Martha looked at Molly through watery eyes.
She saw the sheer relief in the girl’s face that she at least
lived, but the overwhelming guilt that Martha felt for Biddy
engulfed her whole being.

Molly nodded
and they walked around to the front. The fire had been turned and
the building could be saved, although the shop was gutted. The
flames needed to die out completely, though. No one would enter
until morning at the earliest.

They stood
there, staring as the crowd started to disperse.

“Where do we go
now?” Molly asked.

“An inn
tonight, then tomorrow, who knows?” Martha leaned her head against
Molly. “Oh lass, I’m so tired of it all. Just when summut goes
right, all hell breaks loose and all’s lost again.”

“Fine mess this
is!” declared a loud voice from behind them.

“I know, but
what can we do now?” Martha answered it, but Molly glanced back,
standing speechless with her mouth hanging wide open.

“Nowt, that’s
as plain as can be, but you’ve let the bloody place burn down.
Can’t a woman go and get herself a well earned drink without her
house being torched whilst she’s not there?” Martha and Molly
looked at Biddy as she swayed behind them and then sank to her
haunches as she held her head in her hands, still drunk but still
very much alive. “It’s a nightmare – I’ll wake up in a minute and
it’ll be all peace again.” She swayed back and fore holding her
head and muttering to herself, occasionally taking a swig from a
bottle in her hand.

They laughed
with relief and cried at the same time, but all Biddy could do was
moan, repeating one phrase, “Bloody hell! Bloody hell! Bloody…” She
rolled back too far and lost her balance, falling onto the wet
ground, where she stayed staring up at the stars.

Molly and
Martha had tears of joy overflowing, but as it started to rain
heavily, dousing the embers still further, they struggled to get
the large figure of Biddy upright.

“Come on,
woman. Tonight you go to an inn. We’ll sort out the mess
tomorrow.”

They manoeuvred
her to her feet and hooked arms with her.

“It’ll be
alright, you’ll see, Biddy,” Molly said brightly to her. “See
you’ve got us.”

Biddy’s ruddy
face swung around and faced young Molly. It swayed like her body.
“Bloody hell!” she repeated.

“Look, I have
some coin. We’ll use it to find lodging tonight. God knows what
tomorrow will bring,” Martha offered.

Early the next morning Abigail found Grace by a small leather
travel case. She heard Abigail enter the room and welcomed her
warmly. Abigail had dressed but not had time to arrange her hair,
which looked decidedly in need of a brush.