Abigail Moor (4 page)

“I didn’t
think…sorry,” Abigail muttered, as Cook returned looking even more
flustered than she was before she left them. She gave Abigail a
huge hug, almost suffocating her with her ample bosom.

Martha looked
at her as she was released from Cook’s grip. “Look, Abigail… miss,
let me do the thinking and you just watch and learn. From this
moment on, you’re entering my world. It’s not nice and cosy, like
yours. It’s dirty and you’ve no experience of it. So stay quiet,
keep up and be prepared to learn a few hard facts.”

Abigail stared
blankly back at her. She had every inclination to tell Martha what
to do with ‘her world’ and head back to the solitary comfort of her
own room. But what had hurt her the most was that she spoke the
truth. Beyond Beckton Manor and the occasional visits to friends of
her father’s on their estates, she knew nought of the outside, nor
should she ever have needed to. It was not expected of her, but now
that naivety was equal to ignorance in Frederick’s eyes. She
controlled her indignation as she was well aware that life in Mr
Blackman’s world would be a far bleaker option. Abigail was trapped
between two harsh choices, so she ignored her servant’s
insubordination and turned her back to her.

“Bye, Mrs
Grimes.” She kissed the cook’s cheeks and the woman gave in to her
tears and ran sobbing to her own room.

Martha sighed
heavily. “We best be gone. This isn’t easy for any of us. But, Miss
Abigail,” Martha put out a hand to her, “you have to be
strong.”

Abigail looked
at the offered hand and thought for a second of rejecting it, but
changed her mind. She took it in hers, stared at Martha, eye to
eye, and said confidently, “I am.”

The coach travelled for a few miles at a laborious pace as it
traversed the rutted road. Joshua ignored the inane chatter of his
travel companions and instead focused on his plans for the future.
They distracted him from dwelling on the recent past.

The coach
lurched slightly as the driver shouted and then pulled over at the
side of the road. Joshua looked through the small window and saw a
young girl wrapped in a worn out shawl, shivering and wearing
scuffed boots, whilst clinging to a small cloth bundle. The captain
leaned too close to Joshua for his comfort and strained to see what
had caused the disruption to their journey.

“What is the
meaning of this? We’re nowhere near the city or at the inn
yet!”

“Perhaps we are
attacked! Is it highwaymen?” exclaimed the lady from the other side
of her husband to where Joshua was sitting.

The man of
fashion paled.

Joshua took the
initiative. “I’ll find out what the problem is. Please, let’s calm
ourselves and not overreact.” He opened the door and jumped down,
shutting it before the captain could decide to follow him out.

“Do we have a
problem, sir?” he shouted up to the driver.

“Please, I have
a coin, I only wish to sit atop.” The young girl’s lip was almost
quivering. She kept glancing back as if she was terrified she would
be seen. Joshua heard movement from inside the carriage.

The driver
looked at him. “I shouldn’t. I could lose me job.”

Joshua took
hold of her small makeshift sack and tossed it to the man. He then
lifted the girl so that she could put her foot on the plate and
scramble up alongside.

“If her coin is
not enough, I will pay her fare to York. Now go on quickly, at
least you shall have some company. We will find out what she is
running from later. Be on our way, man.”

The driver
tipped a finger to his forehead and seated the girl on the open
seats.

The door of the
carriage opened. Before the captain could interfere, Joshua stood
ready to climb back in. A small voice drifted down, “Thanks,
mister.”

Joshua smiled,
then winced as he put pressure on his leg; it was reminding him he
was not the man he had once been. His face did not betray his inner
turmoil; instead, he half smiled as he returned to his place
inside. He was trained to command men and fight alongside them,
leading them into perilous situations without showing fear, keeping
them strong, when their colleagues fell. Silently he returned to
his seat.

Who or what the
girl was, he had no idea, but he sensed her fear. He could smell it
a mile off. He was not seated properly before the coach lurched
forward, this time to continue their journey, and he closed his
eyes as he almost fell back onto the bench seat… now what had he
been dreaming about? Yes, making a new start, free of the past and
all baggage. Who, then, was the girl? Why had he just landed
himself with ‘some baggage’ – even if only temporarily.

Abigail followed Martha across the yard between the kitchen
entrance and the stables. The frosty cobbled ground was slippery
and both women ended up stumbling as they approached the stable
block. Martha stopped just inside the large stone building’s solid
oak doors. She put her fingers to her mouth and looked at Abigail,
who was just about to speak to her. If there was to be no carriage
and no noise why should they come to the stables? It made no sense
to Abigail.

She dutifully
silenced her thoughts, not voicing one of them and watched as
Martha made her way along the uneven flagged stone floor; each arch
in turn housed a separate stall. As they passed Charming, Abigail’s
own horse, she stopped for a moment. She wanted to saddle him up
and take him with her, but how could she? His presence would only
add to her burden. He couldn’t carry both her and Martha, and their
luggage. She turned around to ask Martha what they were doing
there, but her maidservant had disappeared from her vision.

Abigail moved
slowly forward peering into each stall until she reached the last
one. She looked inside it, only to be faced with an irate looking
Martha, who pressed her finger to her lips once more, after waving
it in annoyance at her mistress’s slow progress.

She pointed to
the drab coloured wagon with its large scarlet coloured wheels and
loose canvas cover. The wagon filled up most of the stall, spacious
as it was.

“They’ll hear
that move for sure.” Abigail’s voice was no more than a whisper, as
she spoke into Martha’s left ear. “Who’s going to hitch up the
horse to it?”

“Not inside it,
behind it,” Martha said, winking at her and grinned.

Abigail
followed Martha as she scurried along the side of the stall and
felt the wooden panel at the back. Releasing a catch the panel
moved. Martha used a tinderbox that had been left in the wagon to
light an oil lamp. “Follow me,” she said, still grinning at
Abigail’s obvious surprise.

Abigail
followed, wondering what else existed in her home that she was
totally unaware of. She soon found herself in a narrow stone room
with some stacked kegs. Martha closed the panel behind them.

“Abigail, we
have to climb down some steep stairs.” Martha gestured toward an
opening in the earthen wall.

“To where?”
Abigail asked, intrigued.

“You’ll see
soon enough.”

Martha led the
way to the corner of the room where stone stairs took them
downwards. Abigail did soon see, for the stairs led them down to a
large natural cavern.

“What is this
place?” Abigail asked.

The passage
around them broadened out and Abigail could see they were in a sort
of cave. Father had warned her about the woods, often telling her
tales of ghosts and goblins that could fool a child and imprison
them in the underground caverns. She’d laughed at his stories but
he had always insisted that the land there was dangerous as there
were holes deeper than any man could ever imagine.

“That’s
beautiful,” Abigail said as the light rebounded off the wall of the
cave.

Martha
shrugged. “That’s as maybe, but we’ve no business down here so the
sooner we is out of here, the healthier it will be for us. Come on
now.” She continued to climb up the stairs that had been built into
the side of the natural cavity. Abigail could see daylight ahead of
them.

“We follow the
steps up here, which will bring us out onto the edge of the moor
near the road. From there we can walk the mile to the Old Cruck
Inn. We shall catch the late coach to York.”

Martha blew out
the lamp and left it on a ledge for the next person to enter the
tunnel to find. Abigail was amazed that these comings and goings
had been happening on her own estate without her knowledge for
years. Martha climbed the last few steps to walk out onto a wooded
path from between two huge boulders. Both women were breathing
deeply as the ascent had been long and steep, but now in the cold
open air with the silvery moonlight glistening off the dale, they
could look back down on the manor beneath the escarpment.

Abigail stared
at the hidden entrance and tried to commit it to her memory. She
had no way of knowing if she would ever return to this place, but
something told her she should always remember her way back
home.

“There is no
going back, Miss Abigail. What is done is done. Childhood has come
to an abrupt end right here and now.” The truth in Martha’s words
was harsh, but she looked upon Abigail kindly.

“I have not
been a child, Martha, for quite some time,” Abigail insisted.

“You are not
yet one and twenty, so let’s just say it’s your time to grow up
properly now.”

“Martha!”
Abigail said indignantly.

“We’ll walk a
mile or so to the Old Cruck Inn. They’ll give us shelter until the
coach is due, then we can talk more freely and in the comfort and
warmth of the inn.” Martha picked up the bags and set off down the
edge of the old road.

Abigail walked
alongside her, taking her bag out of the woman’s hand, firmly.
Martha seemed to give it up willingly this time.

“Does Father
know about the stables?” Abigail asked, feeling slightly silly that
she had not, yet she had played around the manor grounds her whole
life. Her thoughts made her stop in her tracks and think for a
moment. Played, was that really what she had been doing all her
life? She felt suddenly appalled that when she considered it, she
rode, walked, read her Bible, rarely travelled with her father,
painted, humoured her curiosity in the kitchens with Mrs Grimes,
unseen of course, by her father, as that was no place for her,
whilst the woman worked, but everything she ever did was merely to
keep herself entertained. What had she ever done of note, or
achieved in her own right? The answer she realised was practically
nothing.

She stared up
at the moon, then around her at the barren beauty of the moor and,
shivering, realised that this was the first time she had ever
stepped outside her gilded cage.

“What’s wrong,
Miss Abigail?” Martha asked her, panting slightly, ignoring the
question about Lord Hammond.

“You’re quite
correct, Martha. My whole life has been that of a pampered child. I
know nothing of the reality of life beyond the estate.” Abigail
felt a strange sensation - not fear, but what she could only
describe as excitement, the thrill of a challenge: freedom with all
its dangers and unexplored opportunities. She had an important
mission, a clear goal to achieve: to get to York and help her
father. But, also, she had to help herself and she felt as though
she could only do that if she unravelled the mystery of her own
past first… this she intended to do. Abigail had to find out who
her mother was, or what for that matter; she had the right to know.
However, Lord Hammond would always be to her her real father. She
had known no other.

“Well, it’s
better that you realise it now, Abigail. You have to follow my
lead. They will not give you the respect and love you have had at
the manor. There are more ‘Mr Fredericks’ in the world than people
like yourself, lass. Now, we must make all speed if we are to meet
the York coach. Don’t be frightened, Abigail. You’re not alone -
I’m here, and we’ll stay together.”

“I know, but in
a way I’m really not scared, except for what will happen to
Father.” She thought of his last words to her. “But, Martha, you
can tell me who my mother was as we walk along.”

“No, lass, that
I can’t,” Martha exclaimed.

“Why ever not?
You knew her – didn’t you?” Abigail looked down at Martha, but
realised the woman had no intention of meeting her gaze.

“Yes, I did.
But I can’t walk, carry this, and talk, not if we’re to reach the
coaching inn in time,” Martha explained.

“Sorry, I
didn’t think… but you will tell me soon, won’t you?”

“Oh yes, but
let me catch me breath now, lass. I’m not as young as you.”

Abigail patted
her maid’s shoulder, knowing that she was older, yet also stronger
and wiser than she was. When Martha decided the time was right, she
would tell her. Until then, Abigail realised that she would have to
be patient, wait and, strange as the idea was to her, it was she
who would have to learn to listen and obey.

The uneven
ground and bitterly cold night air made their progress slow. The
only light to guide them was by the glow of a crescent moon, the
stars and a cloudless sky. After half walking and almost running
what must have been over a mile, the light suddenly started to
leave them as thick menacing clouds moved across the sky, taking
their view away with it. Abigail realised Martha had quickened her
step. Her breath was heavier and she kept looking nervously up as
the world around them darkened.

“What is it,
Martha? Do you think it is going to rain?” Abigail asked, as she
increased her own pace to keep up with her companion.

“It might, but
that is going to be the least of our problems if what I fear is
right. It will be worse than a soakin’.” Martha was almost running,
her ample figure light of foot, but obviously short on breath.