by Val Wood
Christina looked radiant and ushered her into the sitting room, asking one of the maids to take her mother’s luggage upstairs. ‘Mr and Mrs Esmond are staying at the Beverley Arms,’ she said. ‘Charles asked them to as we shall be full up here when everyone arrives. Besides,’ she said with a giggle, ‘Mrs Esmond would have reorganized the whole wedding if she’d been here.’
‘She means well, I expect,’ Jenny said nervously.
‘Oh, she does!’ Christina agreed. ‘But Charles and I have hatched a plan.’
Jenny felt a tinge of relief; from Christina’s demeanour and chatter, whatever she wanted to tell her wasn’t anything she had learnt about Christy.
‘We’re going to live at Lavender Cott!’ she said gleefully. ‘That’s where Charles is now. He’s arranging to have workmen in to paint and do repairs and get it ready for us.’
‘But I thought he was looking forward to living in Beverley?’ Jenny said. ‘For the horse racing and riding on ’Westwood?’
‘Well, so he was,’ Christina said a trifle ruefully. ‘But his mother is always here, so he’s told her that she can live in this house until she finds something else to suit her. It’s also rather large for us, for the moment,’ she added, lowering her eyes. ‘And Charles says that his mother won’t stay long, anyway, she’ll want to be off elsewhere, and so we can come back if we want to. It will be so lovely to go back to Lavender Cott,’ she said earnestly. ‘And I’ll be able to look after Papa’s grave. He won’t be lonely if I’m living nearby.’
Jenny felt a sudden surge of emotion. It was Stephen, in Christina’s eyes, who had always been her beloved father, not the unknown man who had sired her. ‘Yes, he’d be happy to know that you’re there,’ she murmured. ‘He loved you very much.’
Christina wiped away a sudden tear. ‘Yes, I know.’ Then she gave a watery smile. ‘But there’s something else, Mama. Something I want you to know, though Charles and I agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone else just yet.’
A warmth spread through Jenny as she waited for the news that she had already guessed. She smiled at Christina and raised her eyebrows. ‘Tell me then. Don’t keep me in suspense.’
‘I’m going to have a baby,’ Christina said softly. ‘And I’m going to have it at Lavender Cott. In the same place as I was born!’
Jenny again lay sleepless that night in the first floor guest bedroom. She should have been happy, and she was for Christina, but not for herself on the eve of her wedding. She cast her eyes round the dimly lit bedroom. It looked different from when she knew it, when she used to open the curtains, sweep the hearth or change the bed linen. Christina’s taste in furnishing was unlike Mrs Ingram’s. It was lighter, more colourful. Where did they go, she wondered, Mr and Mrs Ingram? Did they leave the district? Had Mrs Ingram been back to see who was living in her old home? Suppose she turned up at the church tomorrow and interrupted the proceedings, giving vent to her hatred of the woman she blamed for her son’s death?
Wearily Jenny rose from the bed and stood by the window. A full moon, its brightness shrouded by scurrying silver-tipped clouds, showed pockets of mist in the garden below and tinged the trees in New Walk with soft fingers of light.
She took a deep breath. Her heart was hammering and she sat on the edge of the bed. I can’t go through with it! But what am I to do? It wouldn’t be fair to Billy to leave him standing at the altar. That would be so humiliating for him, and he’s a good man, a lovely, kind, faithful man who deserves someone better than me. She got up again and paced the floor; she felt hot and then cold. I do love him. I love him for who he is and because he’s waited all these years for me. He’s been constant; convinced, I suppose, that one day I would come back to Beverley and we’d be together as man and wife. She gave a little smile. It never crossed his mind that I would ever have married anyone else, or stayed away so long.
She hugged her arms round herself and gave a sigh, then looked at the clock ticking on the side table. Half past one and I haven’t slept a wink. Another five hours before the maids go down, unless ’kitchen maid starts earlier as I used to do. She mentally reminisced. Raking ’kitchen range, filling it with coal and putting ’kettle over ’fire ready for Cook when she came down. She’d be fair spitting if it wasn’t on ’boil for her first cup of tea.
She shivered. And then there was Christy. He would come in, sneak in more like, wanting a piece of cake or a cup of chocolate. How we all spoiled him. Gave in to his demands. He could be so demanding sometimes and he always got his own way. Well – she took a short gasping breath – not every time. Just that one time when he didn’t. She put her head down and wept, her shoulders shaking. I shouldn’t – shouldn’t have come back here. It’s all too painful and I can’t go on. God forgive me. Billy forgive me, but I can’t do this to you.
She started to dress, her hands shaking violently as she tried to fasten buttons and lace up her boots. She reached for her travelling cloak which was hanging behind the door and put it on, pulling the hood over her head, and then quietly opened the door onto the corridor. The only sound was the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall downstairs. That was a new sound to the house. Charles had brought the clock with him from his family home. She crept silently downstairs and into the hall, glancing towards the darkened servants’ stairs.
The door to the library was partly open and she pushed it wider with her foot and gave a nervous glance inside. Charles had made this room his own and lined the walls with bookshelves, which were already overflowing with books. Comfortable old chairs and Charles’s new desk replaced Mr Ingram’s desk and leather chair, and as she gazed, the moon’s light filtering in through the window showed a different room from the one she remembered. But does Christy’s shade still sit here in his father’s chair? She stood rooted to the spot just as she had all those years ago when Mr Ingram had prised the gun from her fingers.
There was nothing of Christy’s clamorous spirit, no sign of his merriment or laughter, nothing of his burning intensity which had almost consumed her. Her eyes searched the shadowed room. ‘Do you know, Christy?’ she whispered. ‘Do you know that the child we created, the child you wanted to destroy, is herself expecting a child?’ She listened but heard only a faint echo of his words. Did you say your prayers, Jenny kitchen-maid? ‘I’ve prayed since, Christy,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Time and time again. Asking for forgiveness. Just as we did on that morning.’ There was no answering response, only her own remorse hammering in her head.
She backed away and closed the door on the past. Now I must look to the future, Billy’s as well as mine, and make amends.
The bolt on the front door creaked slightly as she pulled it back and she stood stock-still, listening; then she turned the iron key and grasping the knob opened the door, stepped outside and closed it behind her. It was quite dark, the moon hidden again behind the cloud, and she was glad of it as she scurried down the path, keeping within the shelter of the laurel hedge, and into the road.
The road surface was rough and she trod carefully so as not to trip or cockle over. The chestnut trees had shed a few crisp leaves which crackled beneath her boots, but their branches hid her from any wide-awake eyes which might be looking out from the windows of the few houses, or, worse, any prison guards who might be taking a night-time stroll in the grounds of the Sessions House across on the other side.
She gathered her cloak about her as she hurried towards the North Bar, through the narrow passageway into the cobbled North Bar Within, past St Mary’s where she was due to make her vows the next day, past the shops, the chemist and the glover, and into Saturday Market, breathing a relieved sigh that there were no rowdy revellers departing the many inns and beer houses in the town. Most had closed their doors, although some still had a light in their windows.
Billy will be there, above the shop. She looked up at the dark window above the butcher’s. That’s where he’s living, until— I’ll throw a pebble up at the glass. But he’ll be asleep; the thought came suddenly
to her. Everyone is, except for me. She glanced across to the Market Cross, or that drunken fellow muttering beneath the columns. But maybe Billy can’t sleep either, maybe he’s thinking of tomorrow.
There was no light above the shop and she remembered that the room at the front was his living room. He’ll sleep at the back, she thought, and after a moment’s hesitation hurried down the dark passageway between the butcher’s and the seed merchant next door. There wasn’t a light there either, but she threw a pebble at the window anyway and waited a moment before throwing another one. Still nothing, no face at the window, no lighted candle or lamp from within.
She shuddered, feeling cold and anxious. Is he out enjoying his last night of freedom with his friends? Will he be with Harry and Mrs Johnson? Harry was to stand as Billy’s groomsman at the ceremony tomorrow. She took a sudden breath. Will he be at the house? The house he bought for me and has never lived in! Instinctively she knew that that was where he would be, and her cloak swirled as she turned swiftly and cut into Lairgate, down the long stretch of Newbegin and across in the direction of Union Road.
Her breath caught in her throat as she hurried, conscious of the passing time as she heard the chime of two o’clock as she ran. If he’s not there! If he’s not there! What will I do? She tripped once, hurting her foot and having to stop a moment until the searing pain subsided, then she made haste once again, turning at last into the lane of terraced houses where she could make her home if she so wished.
‘He’s still up,’ she gasped, her heart hammering. He hasn’t gone to bed. Through the window, which was only half covered by the blind, was flickering firelight and as she approached, craning her neck to see within, she saw Billy. He was sitting by the fire, leaning towards it with his elbows on his knees, gazing into the flames.
Jenny glanced around. The windows of the other houses were shrouded in darkness; an owl hooted and a dog barked in response, but there was no other sound in the silent lane. She pulled her hood further over her face and crept towards the door, searching for the bell pull, but finding none gave a soft tap on the wood. She stepped to the side of the doorway to look through the window, but Billy was still sitting there, unaware of her. She tapped on the glass and saw him lift his head. She knocked again on the door, louder this time, and saw him rise from his chair and come to the window.
She kept her back to the street and let Billy see her face, and saw the consternation on his, then he disappeared from her view until he appeared at the door, unfastening the chain, drawing back the bolt and turning the key.
‘Jenny! What’s up? Come in.’ He sounded anxious. ‘Has something happened?’
She stood in the hallway. ‘Will you close ’blind before I come in, Billy? Anybody can see right in.’
He didn’t question why but only nodded and went into the sitting room, then came out again. He put out his hand to draw her into the room. ‘There’ll be nobody about at this time of night. It’s a quiet neighbourhood. And no-one would recognize you dressed like that.’ He gazed at her. ‘You haven’t changed your mind, Jenny?’
‘No.’ She hesitated for only a second. ‘No. But I’m offering you ’chance to change yours.’
‘I won’t,’ he said decisively and took hold of her hands again and led her towards the fire. ‘Here, warm yourself. You’re cold.’
‘I’m not. I’m warm. I’ve run. I went to Saturday Market. To the shop,’ she said needlessly. ‘I thought you’d be there.’
‘I would have been, but I decided to come here and light a fire, and get it ready for tomorrow. Then it got late and I’ve just been sitting, thinking.’
Jenny gazed at him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and she saw the dark wispy curls just below his collarbone. His hair was tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it. He looked boyish and appealing and a sudden sob shook her as she thought of what she was losing.
‘What is it, Jenny?’ he said softly. ‘What’s troubling you?’
‘I had to come, Billy,’ she began, her voice uncertain. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you before. That day when we went into Hull, I was going to tell you then, but we went to see my ma and da, and there didn’t seem to be another opportunity and suddenly –’ She glanced around the room; on a small table there were fresh flowers, roses and lilies, in a vase. All this could have been mine. ‘Suddenly’, she continued, ‘our wedding day was approaching and I seemed to be bowled along in all ’preparation without trying to put a stop to it.’ He bought this house for me, she thought. It would have been my very own, to do with what I wished; to put up my own curtains, choose my own chairs and know that they were mine, and hadn’t ever belonged to anyone else.
‘Why would you put a stop to it?’ Billy’s quiet voice seemed to come from far away. ‘What reason? Unless you don’t love me or don’t want to spend ’rest of your life with me. I won’t ever let you down, Jenny,’ he appealed. ‘I’ve loved you since you were a young girl. I’m not going to stop now.’
She sank down into a chair and stared into the embers of the fire. ‘It’s because I love you,’ she said slowly and huskily. ‘It’s because I now know that I love you, that I have to tell you.’
His face creased into a smile. ‘I’ve waited and waited to hear you say that, Jenny. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, just to hear those words from your own lips.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘And it doesn’t matter what else you tell me, it won’t make any difference.’ He knelt beside her. ‘So tell me. Tell me what brought you out in ’middle of ’night. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow when as man and wife we can disclose our secrets to each other?’
She stroked his cheek and felt the day’s bristles beneath her fingers. He would need to use the blade in the morning. ‘Dear Billy,’ she whispered. ‘You deserve a good woman to love you.’
He caught hold of her hand and gently kissed her fingers, and she noticed his short, scrubbed-clean nails. ‘And tomorrow I shall have one,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve waited so long, and tomorrow, tomorrow …’
She steeled herself. It would be so easy to get swept up by emotion, to forget what it was she had come for.
‘Billy,’ she whispered. ‘I have to tell you.’ The words stuck in her throat but she had to say them. ‘I killed Christy.’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
‘You were acquitted,’ Billy said calmly. ‘The magistrates said there was no case to answer. It was an accident!’
‘I know what they said,’ she answered mechanically. ‘But they were mistaken. I killed him.’ She swallowed hard and her eyes glazed as she gazed somewhere beyond Billy’s shoulder. Somewhere into the past. ‘I pressed the trigger and shot him.’
He heaved a deep breath. ‘Tell me then. Tell me what happened.’
‘I was always attracted to him,’ she said in a low flat voice. ‘Right from ’start when I first met him that day when he came through ’kitchen door. He was always lively, merry, full of tricks and excitement. He was like a firefly darting about.’
‘Unstable,’ Billy groused. ‘There was summat not quite right in ’top attic. Harry and me allus said so. But yes, I could see that he mesmerized you. He was always seeking your attention, egging you on.’
‘Everybody was fond of him,’ she muttered. ‘Down in ’kitchen anyway. He could soft-soap any of them, and nobody minded. He seemed happiest when he was there with us, though Cook did once warn me that master and servant shouldn’t mix. But we did, and he used to meet you and Harry too.’ She lifted her eyes to his. ‘Even though he knew that his parents wouldn’t approve. They’re my friends, he used to say to me.’ Her words were indistinct, no more than a whisper. ‘But he couldn’t take you home and introduce you.’
Billy nodded and sighed. ‘No, at least that wasn’t his fault. That’s how society is. But he should have known better’, he said, with a trace of bitterness, ‘than to meet you, a young lass in her first job with no experience of life,
and butter you up so that you could feel some hope of how things might be. It’d never have worked, Jenny, not his sort and ours. It never does.’
‘Sometimes it does, Billy.’ She shook her head in denial, thinking of Stephen and Agnes, and then of Stephen and herself, even though acknowledging that they had been separated from society. ‘It depends on ’people involved. But you’re right; it wouldn’t have worked with Christy. He had his head in the clouds. He was full of dreams and ideas and visions, but no practicalities. I always thought,’ she said wearily, ‘I always thought that I’d be ’sensible one; that I’d look after him, rather than ’other way round. He’d no idea about money or how we’d live if he lost his inheritance.’
Billy got up and took a turn round the room, his hands thrust into his pockets. ‘So what happened?’ he asked, coming to an abrupt stop in front of her. ‘Would he have lost his inheritance if he’d married you?’
‘He told his parents there was a woman he wanted to marry.’ Her voice was strained as she recalled the past. ‘But he wouldn’t say who it was. He never named me. His father was very angry with him; he was worried about losing the house, I think, and they needed Christy’s help with money. He’d threatened them that he would run away with this woman and leave Beverley.’
‘His father was on ’verge of bankruptcy,’ Billy interrupted. ‘It was all over ’town.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Mr Ingram must have been desperate for he said he would have Christy declared of unsound mind and ’legacy rescinded. I don’t know if he could have done that, but it was then that Christy began to change.’ Jenny shivered and Billy took the poker and raked the fire, putting on more coal.
‘Just odd things at first,’ she said, ‘and I didn’t think about them much, not until later, not until— Well, he used to watch me all ’time to see what I was doing and where I was going, and he was always asking me to be careful and to listen to what ’other servants were saying. He said they were reporting back to his parents, which was nonsense, of course. They’d never have done that.’
