Carisbrooke Abbey (18 page)

If she had accepted Mr Ulverstone’s hand she could have been leaving in fine style, going to a new life of luxury and affluence in the heart of London’s most fashionable district. But she did not regret her decision. She could never have made Mr Ulverstone happy, and he could never have made her anything but grateful. And gratitude was no substitute for love.

As she watched, the luggage was loaded and Mr Ulverstone appeared. To Hilary’s surprise, he had Miss Palmer on one arm and Mrs Palmer on the other. But a moment’s reflection showed her that it was not so very surprising after all. There was still a threat of rain in the air and he had evidently offered to take them home. It was truly kind of him, as Miss Palmer would no doubt set her cap at him now that she had not been successful in her pursuit of Lord Carisbrooke, and he would have to tolerate her coquettry until he deposited her at her home.

Hilary’s thoughts turned once again to Marcus. It was not wise of her to stay in the same neighbourhood, but until he could arrange another position for her elsewhere, or she could discover one for herself, then she would have to do so.

The coach rolled away, just as the Hampsons’ trap came down the drive.

She slipped into her pelisse then settled her bonnet on her head. She tied the strings under her chin before pulling on her gloves.

There came a knock at the door.

Her heart jumped.

But I was only Lund, come to carry her portmanteau.

She followed him down the wide, shallow stairs, taking in the stately grandeur for the last time.

At the bottom of the stairs stood Marcus.

She was glad he had come to say goodbye. She had thought that, under the circumstances, he might think it wiser to avoid her, but he was there waiting for her.

Her eyes ran over him, committing every line of his face to memory.

He might not be handsome, but she could never have such profound feelings for anyone else. Every feature was etched with character. His charcoal eyes, his strong nose and his decided chin, all told of his uncompromising character and his enduring nature.

As she came to a halt three steps above him, so that they were face to face, she looked deeply into his eyes. She wished she could have healed his wounds and lightened his burden. Instead she feared she had made it heavier by showing him a glimpse of what he could not have.

But as he took her hand and kissed it, she knew it was not so.

‘I don’t regret a moment,’ he said to her, his voice low and husky.

She took comfort from his words. ‘Neither do I.’

Then, descending the final few steps she left the abbey behind her and went out to the waiting trap.

‘I’m bringing forward my visit to Lyme.’

It was the morning after Hilary had left the abbey, and Marcus was speaking to Mrs Lund. He was restless, and in low spirits. He had parted with the only woman he had ever loved, and the thought of it was driving him to distraction. He was tempted, every minute of the day, to ride over to the Hampsons and ask Hilary to spend what little time he had left with him. Moreover, he was afraid that if he did not go away at once, he would probably do it.

‘Very good, my lord,’ said Mrs Lund. ‘Will you be leaving straight away?’

‘Just as soon as I can pack my things.’ He turned penetrating eyes on her. ‘You will be able to manage whilst I am gone?’

‘Yes, my lord. Esmerelda won’t be any trouble now that Lund’s put a bolt on the outside of the cottage door. Even if she manages to pick the lock again, she won’t be able to get out.’

‘I hate treating her like this,’ he said with a  sigh. ‘Last time she escaped I had to get Lund to put bars on the windows and this time it’s a bolt on the outside of the door. I feel I’m making a prisoner of her, but it has to be done. She is becoming increasingly cunning, and increasingly violent. Are you sure you can manage her? I can hire a nurse to help you if you would like. I don’t want you to come to any harm.’

‘Esmerelda would never hurt me,’ said Mrs Lund. ‘She still has a hazy memory of coming into the kitchen when she was a little girl and helping me with the baking. She’d take a turn with the rolling pin and help to put the filling in the pies.

‘"There’s not enough pastry to make another one," I’d say, "but I don’t like to waste this bit that’s left. If only I’d someone to eat it for me, I could use it up in a jam tart." There’s many a tart she’s eaten to help me use up the pastry!’

Marcus smiled. Esmerelda might have descended into madness but she had a devoted nurse in Mrs Lund.

Then his smile faded.

‘I’ve taken every precaution I can think of, but I’m still concerned about her getting out again,’ he said.

‘She’ll be all right now the visitors have gone,’ said Mrs Lund. ‘It’s just having people in the abbey that unsettles her, particularly if they’re young ladies.’

Marcus nodded.

‘You’ve locked away all the knives?’ he asked.

‘I have,’ said Mrs Lund. ‘Even if she escapes again, and makes her way to the kitchen, she won’t be able to find anything sharp.’

‘Good.’

‘You’ll see,’ said Mrs Lund. ‘Now that the visitors have gone she’ll soon settle down again. I left her with Lund, happily playing with her dolls.’

Marcus nodded. Esmerelda was always more unpredictable when the abbey had guests.

‘Will you say goodbye to her?’ asked Mrs Lund.

Marcus pursed his lips. ‘No. The knowledge that I’m leaving might unsettle her. It will be better for her if she doesn’t know I’m going away.’

Mrs Lund nodded. ‘I think that’s best.’

‘Well, I mustn’t keep you. You will be wanting to get back to her. Send Lund to me, will you, when you have relieved him? I will need him to help me pack.’

Mrs Lund inclined her head and left the room.

Marcus watched her go. Then he turned his attention back to his own affairs.

His visit to Lyme was a regular occurrence, and had been so for five years. He went to visit his mother’s nurse, an elderly lady by the name of Miss Maud Simmons, who had retired there following his mother’s death. In appreciation of his thanks for her long service and her loyalty, Marcus had bought her a house in Lyme, and she now resided there with her widowed sister, Yvonne.

His visits usually took place in March, June, September and December, but he felt trapped in the abbey and bringing forward his winter visit would give him a good excuse to escape.

He had already given instructions in the stables that the coach was to be readied, and as soon as Lund had packed his trunk he was on his way.

Hilary’s first few days at the Hampsons’ farmhouse were thankfully busy ones, and she threw herself into her new life in an effort to dismiss Marcus from her mind.

When she had arrived at the farmhouse, she had been pleased to find that it was clean and welcoming, but without an active mistress it was beginning to show signs of disorder. The three lively children had been running wild, and Hannah, the maid, had been so busy chasing them round the house that her work was being left half done.

Now, four days after Hilary had arrived, some semblance of order had been restored.

‘Lift your leg, dear,’ she said to five-year-old Mary as she helped her step into her pantalettes.

‘Don’t want to,’ said Mary rebelliously, putting her thumb in her mouth.

 ‘Miss Wentworth,’ called nine-year-old Sara from across the bedroom. ‘I can’t find my sash.’

‘I’ll help you in a minute,’ said Hilary, praying for patience, before giving her attention back to Mary. ‘Come, now, Mary if you don’t hurry up, your mother will be wondering where we are.’

It was her custom to take the girls in to see their mother for a short time every morning and afternoon, but this simple activity required all her organisational ability.

‘Come, now, Mary, lift your leg,’ she said more sternly.

Mary sucked her thumb mutinously, but at last gave in.

Just as Hilary had pulled on the frilly pantalette and was about to tie the tapes, a loud shriek rent the air.

‘My sash!’

Hilary looked up to see Sara chasing eight-year-old Janet over the beds, whilst Janet clutched the scarlet sash.

‘Give it to me!’ shouted Sara.

Janet laughed impishly. Glancing over her shoulder to stick out her tongue at her sister she failed to see the stool in her path and fell over it with a crash. There was a stunned silence, and then she began to wail.

Hilary sighed. The girls had been unsettled by the new baby’s arrival and were difficult to control.

Gradually she restored order. She dried Janet’s eyes, tied Sara’s sash and fastened Mary’s pantalette then, having succeeded in making all three girls presentable, she took them in to see their mother.

  Mrs Hampson, lying in after the birth of her latest child, was dressed in a white cotton nightdress, with a woollen shawl around her shoulders and a frilled cap on her head. The birth had been easy and she was feeling quite well, so that she was delighted to see the children.

The three girls lost no time in scrambling on to her bed, making loud complaints against each other. Once they had been alternately soothed and chastised, their high spirits gradually subsided, and they wandered over to the crib, where they amused themselves by arguing over their baby sister.

‘I think I’ll get up tomorrow,’ said Mrs Hampson, turning her eyes from her children and giving her attention to Hilary.

‘But surely the doctor said —’

‘You can’t go listening to what Doctor Harris says,’ said Mrs Hampson blithely, ‘these doctors don’t know anything. I’m perfectly well. Besides, there’s nothing to do in bed.’

‘Perhaps, for a short while ... ‘ began Hilary.

‘That’s just what I think. I’ll get up tomorrow morning. It’s one thing Hannah bringing me all the news, it’s another being up and hearing it for myself. Did you know, Lord Carisbrooke’s left the abbey?’

Hilary was startled. ‘No. I didn’t.’

‘Oh, yes. Hannah had it from her mother, who had it from Mrs Potter, whose youngest, Duncan, is a stable boy at the abbey,’ Mrs Hampson said. ‘But never mind, he won’t be gone for long. If he promised to find you a position, then he’ll find you one, you mark my words.’

Hilary had told Mrs Hampson of Lord Carisbrooke’s exertions on her behalf which had soothed the kindly, if garrulous, woman’s fears.

‘He’s never gone for very long,’ continued Mrs Hampson. ‘He goes to Lyme to visit his mother’s old nurse. There’s many in the village as says strange things about the abbey, but they read too many novels, that’s what my Peter says, and I’m sure he must be right, for some of the things they say about the abbey are more like the things in a book, strange noises and mad people and secret passages and ghosts. They used to dare each other to go up to the abbey and spend a night in the grounds. Reading too much Mrs Radcliffe, that’s what my Peter thinks. Do you like Mrs Radcliffe?’ she asked, going off on a sudden tangent.

‘Indeed I do,’ said Hilary, grateful to be able to turn the conversation away from Marcus. ‘I am reading the
Mysteries of Udolpho
at the moment.’

‘‘Isn’t it horrid?’ said Mrs Hampson with round eyes. ‘I keep trying to give it to Sara, but she won’t take an interest.’

She looked at Sara and sighed.

Hilary suppressed a smile as she privately reflected that nine-year-old Sara was rather too young for the
Mysteries of Udolpho
!

‘She was a lovely woman, Lady Carisbrooke’s nurse,’ said Mrs Hampson. ‘We used to see her in church. Nothing high and mighty about her, even though she was so well thought of by the family. Lord Carisbrooke goes to see her as regular as clockwork, four times a year. Now that shows how well he thinks of her. She was a comfort to his mother, poor lady, losing her husband and then having her daughter so ill. Did you see Lady Esmerelda at the abbey?’ asked Mrs Hampson.

‘I ... ‘ Hilary was not sure what to say.

‘Such a bright thing she used to be, before she got brought so low. We used to see her at church all the time, and she used to go to neighbourhood parties. But all that had to stop, of course, when she got so ill. Consumption, I think it is, or some other such thing. We never see her now. She’s confined to the abbey, poor young lady.’

So this was the reason Marcus had given for his sister’s withdrawal from local life, Hilary reflected. And indeed, it was partly the truth, for she was indeed ill.

She remembered the way in which Mrs Pettifer had reacted when she had said that Esmerelda was a guest at the rectory. From Mrs Pettifer’s startled glance, and from the way Mrs Pettifer had helped her to find another position, Hilary guessed that the rector’s wife suspected the real nature of Esmerelda’s illness, even if no one else did.

At that moment, Janet pulled Mary’s hair and Mrs Hampson’s attention was distracted, so that fortunately Hilary was not called upon to say any more about Esmerelda.

‘I’ll take the children up to the schoolroom,’ said Hilary.

‘Oh, yes, do,’ said Mrs Hampson, laying back against her pillows. ‘I’m ever so tired all of a sudden. But bring them to see me again this afternoon.’

The girls set up a wail, but at last Hilary managed to manoeuvre them out of the room and take them up to the attic, where she settled them down to work. As their protests gave way to the sound of chalk on slates, she found her thoughts wandering. They were not with the Hampson girls in the low room with its cosy cream paintwork and its bright rug on the floor. They were with Marcus.

Marcus looked down at Lyme from his vantage point on top of the cliffs. He had ordered his coachman to stop in a fit of restlessness and had climbed out, walking to the edge of the cliffs in order to survey the scene. It was bleak, and yet its familiarity and pleasant memories soothed his troubled spirit.

  Below him, the grey sea was choppy. It was dotted with boats riding the waves, which were being whipped into white peaks by the wind. His eyes moved inland, coming to rest on the Cobb. A few hardy souls were walking along its length. There was a solitary gentleman on the upper Cobb, and on the lower Cobb there were two gentlemen supporting their wives as they hurried along, the ladies holding on to their bonnets to prevent them from blowing away.