Abigail Moor (21 page)

A hotel boy in
a smart jacket came up to Grace. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Grace’s
demeanour became all charm and elegance. “Yes, you can.” She
produced a coin. “Lady Fenton-Grange was kind enough to lend me her
carriage. Can you give the driver a message?” The boy seeing the
coin nodded eagerly. “Can you tell him the lady said that she has
finished with him and her maid for the day? They are to go back to
Dower House and return in the morning for her. Mind, not too early,
though.” The boy held out his hand for the coin. “Can you remember
that word for word?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,”
he said keenly.

“Repeat it,
word for word,” Grace insisted.

He did and the
coin was his. They sat at a window table and watched as the driver
received his orders, and the maid inside the coach complained
bitterly. However, the driver somewhat reluctantly pulled himself
up onto his seat and drove off.

Martha looked
at Grace who smiled broadly at Abigail. She admired the calm manner
in which her mother behaved. “Now what?” she asked.

“We have tea,”
Grace said, as she patiently watched all around her…

Lady Fenton-Grange appeared from the back room of the hotel and
walked boldly out to her carriage, shocked that it was not there.
She turned to re-enter the hotel and was faced with Abigail, who
smiled charmingly at her.

“You!” she
snapped. “Tell me, girl, where do I know you from?”

“You’ve met her
once, I believe… as a baby.” Grace’s voice made the lady turn her
head slowly towards her.

“You! You can’t
be… You didn’t survive, neither of you did.” She started to back
away and, before she realised where she was, she found herself in
the middle of the road, by the harbour side.

Martha rushed
forwards. “You be careful now, lady, you could trip.”

Lady
Fenton-Grange ran to the other side of the cobbled street. The
ground was slimy and slippery. Some people stared at her, as she
was known for her aloof appearance and her fancy coach. No one had
ever seen her look less than perfect, in dress and composure. But
now with mud spattered skirts from a passing wagon, hair buffeted
by the strong wind, she didn’t look quite so grand. The three women
crossed the road, but she did not want to be near them.

Grace spoke
first as the woman inched away from them. “This woman is the one
that you would have had murdered at birth, Lady Isabella.
Indirectly, granted, you would have sent her weak to the poor house
and no doubt they would have seen to her for you. I want you to see
what you did with your meddling. We are united at last and you have
nothing but your money and your drunken buffoon of a lord for
company. He raped me and how many others? Tell me, does he still
live or has he caught some disease from you?”

“Leave me
alone! I’ll call the dragoons!” she threatened, as Grace approached
her.

“I have no wish
to harm you, woman. I just wanted you to say sorry for the years of
hurt you caused us. Then your soul may not rot in hell’s fire for
eternity!” Her voice stressed the last few words.

Isabella took
one last step backwards to turn and run away, but her delicate shoe
slipped on the salty wet slabs and she tripped over a discarded
rope. Her beautiful silk and wool cloak and her skirts absorbed the
moist sand and mud, making it difficult for her to stand up
quickly. Isabella began screaming and kicking out like a child in
mid-fit. Martha slapped the woman’s face hard to bring her back to
her senses, whilst Abigail and Grace linked an arm under each of
hers and helped her to her feet. Her kid gloves were muddied and
ruined. She sobbed, which only served to ruin her makeup.

“Come, you are
not worth the bitterness of revenge. I forgive you, and leave your
judgement to God.” Grace looked at the other two. “We shall book
her a basic room until her coach returns for her in the
morning.”

“In the
morning!” Isabella shrieked, clearly distressed at the thought.

“Yes, you shall
have a night to yourself to contemplate your misdeeds.”

The lady was
for once at a loss for words.

Joshua and Able entered Whitby down the steep incline of Baxtergate
as Isabella was being led back, dumbfounded, into the hotel.

Abigail’s face
lit up as she saw him, and Grace smiled broadly at Able with
undisclosed joy that he too was safe.

Both men looked
exhausted by their journey. Joshua dismounted, his appearance
unclean and dishevelled. He came straight to Abigail’s side.

“I thought you
would stay safely in Ebton,” he said, and was obviously finding the
temptation to reach out and touch her very strong. “Abigail, I’m
afraid your... ‘Father’ died,” he said tenderly.

Grace squeezed
her hand and Abigail looked down but somehow she had come to terms
with his loss, as gradually her image of the man she had loved as
her father had been shattered. “My uncle, as it turns out,” she
said thoughtfully. “Now Frederick will have everything, as he
wanted it all along.”

“I’m afraid
not,” Joshua answered. “His joy will be short lived as some of his
and his father’s deeds have not been exactly legal. He shall be
arrested soon enough.”

“Abigail being
here is my doing, sir. We had unfinished business to attend to here
in Whitby,” Grace explained.

Joshua stared
at the lady who was propped up between them. She peered into
Joshua’s face.

“Well, look
what the tide’s brought in.” Molly was plainly pleased to see
Joshua again. Her skirt was covered with smudges from where she had
been helping Biddy find her money that had been hidden under the
floor in a secure box. Fortunately, the stone slab on top of it had
protected it from being burned too.

“What happened
here?” Joshua asked.

“The bakery
burned down.” Biddy looked thoughtful. “Oh well, time to do summut
else. Like have a drink!” She patted her box and headed for the
nearest inn.

“What am I
going to do with you?” Joshua looked at Molly, and grinned.

“You don’t have
to worry about that.” Martha looked at Molly. “I want to go back to
Ezekiel and he could do with all the help he can get at the inn. I
reckon we’d both be more than welcome there. First, though we have
to see Biddy right. We can’t leave her in this mess. Worse case
she’ll have to come too. She might enjoy living in an inn.” She
winked at Molly who smiled broadly.

Molly hugged
Martha and Abigail felt a tinge of guilt and jealousy, just for a
second, until her eyes focussed on Joshua again.

“What are you
going to do, sir?” Abigail asked with more than a hopeful glint in
her eye. However, Joshua looked troubled.

Martha turned
Molly round on the spot. “Come on, lass, that tea’ll be ruined.”
She was frogmarched into the hotel building before she could say
another word, leaving Joshua and Abigail standing outside. Grace
followed them.

Joshua smiled
at Abigail, but their eyes turned towards the abbey on the
cliff.

They walked
side by side up the steep bank, climbing the ninety-nine steps,
past St Mary’s church to the overgrown abbey stones.

There,
sheltered from the wind and in the seclusion of the once great
house of God, they embraced each other openly and honestly.

“So, Frederick
is to be arrested,” Abigail said flatly.

“He has lost
everything. He and Blackman have both been arrested. Your mother
may yet be able to return to the family estate, should she wish
to.”

He stroked her
cheek with his hand gently, and she nestled her face into his
warmth. She kissed his lips.

He did not
answer for some moments as eagerly their embrace grew in intensity
and need. It was Joshua who pulled away.

He looked
somewhat embarrassed. “I have nightmares, Abigail; I have scars
beyond those on my thigh. Now, I have become involved with you, but
you have a mother to discover and twenty years to catch up on.” He
hugged her close to him.

“You have
helped when help was needed and you have always acted with honour.”
She smiled impishly at him. “Let us spoil you. You need rest – let
us make sure you have it. Don’t rush back to war. Heal. There is no
shame in needing to heal.”

“Not always,”
he answered honestly, a flush of colour warming his cheeks.

“But consider
my own plight, sir. My own reputation lies in ruins.” She glanced
around them as she looked at the abbey; the irony was not lost on
her.

“Neither you
nor your reputation will be ruined; you have a home, a loving
mother and a respectable fiancé, should you consider accepting my
offer.” He held her face, cupped gently in his hand. “Marry me,
Miss Abigail, and let me make you my honourable wife and restore
your reputation to the full. However, give yourself time to
consider it fully. Can you cope with living in a world where you
are tied to a man who may always carry scars, both seen and
unseen?”

“I want to say
yes, but I hardly know anything about you.”

“We have all
the time in the world to find out. Help me to heal; I have a
property in London, you will not want for anything again, certainly
not love. Stay with your mother, I shall recover in Ebton. Able is
good company, and when the time is right then you can all come to
the city and see it for yourselves. I have no family left to me
other than distant cousins,” Joshua answered solemnly.

“I shall
willingly consider your offer to marry a gentleman of honour.” She
looked into his eyes as he held her close. “But he marries an
illegitimate bride. Can that be acceptable to you also?”

“Definitely,”
he said, and bent over kissing her passionately on her lips. She
responded in kind. Despite the cold air around them, he warmed her
heart and soul. Mustering her willpower, she turned her head away
and breathed deeply, almost tasting the fresh salty air.

“Then I
accept,” she replied. A broad smile of approval greeted her words
for a brief second, before their lips and bodies rejoined.
Abigail’s heart and head were at once in full agreement on what she
should do next. She had no more doubts as to who she was. Abigail
had released her past, embraced her present and held on tightly to
a very promising future. A new day had dawned.
####

About the author:

Valerie has had thirty titles published, both historical and
contemporary. Two of which have been shortlisted for awards by the
Romantic Novelists’ Association. She is a previous winner of
Writing Magazine’s, ‘Annual Ghost Story Competition’. This
illustrates her love of writing under the genres of ‘Romantic
Adventure’ or darker ‘History Mystery’.

Valerie is an
experienced creative writing tutor of manuscript appraisals for the
RNA or independently. She also works as an online tutor for the
London School of Journalism and Writing Magazine.

As well as
being an author herself she enjoys being a reviewer of books for
the Historical Novel Society and is also member of the Crime
Writers Association and the Society of Authors.

Follow Valerie Holmes on Twitter:
@ValerieHolmesUK

Other books by Valerie Holmes

Moving On

Awards:
Moving On was shortlisted for the Love Story of the
Year 2011 by the Romantic Novelist Association.

Stolen Treasure

AWARDS