The Honeyfield Bequest

by Anna Jacobs

  Mr Seaton looked powerful and confident in these surroundings, Kathleen thought with a shiver. What if he changed his mind and tried to take her children away from her? Or tried to discredit her and them, and rely on his younger son to provide him with an heir? Would she be able to stop him?

  She was interested to see her mother-in-law at last. Mrs Seaton was richly dressed in black silk but with a sour expression on her face rather than grief. She appeared to be weeping into a handkerchief as she walked slowly along on her husband’s arm, but if Kathleen was any judge, there wouldn’t be any tears to moisten the delicate linen and lace square with which she was dabbing her eyes.

  Rhoda nudged her suddenly. ‘That’s Mr Seaton’s nephew Godfrey just starting up the aisle. He and his father-in-law will have done this funeral, I’m sure.’

  Godfrey Seaton was so like Ernest in spite of being older that Kathleen gasped in shock.

  Rhoda guessed what had upset her and leant closer to whisper, ‘I’m sorry. I should have warned you how like him Ernest was.’

  ‘He too was a sickly child, like my poor Ernest. That seems to run in the family, though your Christopher shows no sign of it. Godfrey and Mr Seaton might detest one another but they also have one thing in common and you should always remember that: it doesn’t do to cross either of them.’

  Kathleen watched the bereaved parents incline their heads towards the coffin on its elaborate bier, then take their places in the front pew. Godfrey didn’t even nod towards the bier but followed the usher’s pointing hand to sit down in the second pew next to Alex Seaton. Strangely, Ernest’s brother moved as far away from his relative as he could and didn’t even look in his direction after the first glance.

  A group of people filed in and took their places at the rear. They looked like servants and one or two nodded a greeting to Rhoda.

  Kathleen stiffened as she saw her father lead another group in: the employees from the carter’s yard. To her dismay his eyes seemed to settle on her almost immediately but though he stared from across the aisle for several moments, he didn’t make any gesture of recognition or greeting.

  She knew he’d been warned not to contact her by Mr Seaton, but did he not even care enough to nod? Apparently not. Oh, she was stupid to care still. Her father had never shown much affection to his children.

  When no more guests had arrived for a while, the music changed to a sad, slow tune that Kathleen didn’t recognise, and the minister came out to the front.

  The service seemed to take a long time. She was unused to the way things were done in Church of England funerals, so Rhoda had to prompt her to sit and stand.

  She listened to the eulogy given by Ernest’s father, which seemed to be endowing his son with virtues the young man hadn’t possessed.

  Well, you didn’t say bad things about the dear departed, did you? You tried to remember their good points. Ernest had been kind and loving, a besotted father to his two little children. That’s what she would remember about her husband.

  Throughout the service Mr Seaton looked angry rather than grieving. Kathleen could see him quite clearly if she looked diagonally towards the front, because there were gaps between the sparsely filled pews of well-to-do mourners.

  At length the service ended and the pall-bearers came to lift up the coffin and carry it out to the churchyard. The family followed them and as they passed, Mr Seaton glanced sideways and gave Rhoda a brief nod, then gave the servants and employees another nod.

  Mrs Seaton, draped in rustling black silk, was making play with her handkerchief again and though she had nodded to friends near the front, she ignored the servants and employees completely.

  Kathleen and Rhoda were among the last to leave the church and make their way to the rear of the group standing round the open grave. This group didn’t include the servants but it did include two or three of the employees from Seaton’s. Her father was one and he was standing directly opposite her on the other side of the group.

  Kathleen lowered her gaze hastily, but she could sense that he was staring at her. She and Rhoda lingered till the words of committal had been spoken and the main mourners had thrown handfuls of dirt on the coffin and left.

  Rhoda grasped Kathleen’s arm. ‘We’ll wait till they’ve all left, shall we?’

  When the two women were the only mourners standing beside the gaping hole, Rhoda signalled to the gravediggers to wait and moved forward. She bent to pick up a handful of the damp earth and gestured to her companion to do the same.

  Kathleen let her own handful of dirt fall slowly on to the highly polished coffin with its elaborate brass furniture and murmured a simple prayer for her husband, then tossed in the remaining earth and turned in obedience to Rhoda’s tug.

  It was over.

  Chapter Ten

  As the two women walked out of the churchyard, a figure stepped out from behind a tree, barring their way.

  For a moment he stared at her. ‘You’re a widow now, Kathleen. You’ll need your own family’s help again one day, I’m sure, given the circumstances.’

  He didn’t wait for an answer but strode away, weaving in and out of the graves.

  Rain hissed down in a sudden downpour.

  ‘Are you all right, dear? You’ve gone white.’

  She looked at Rhoda. ‘I think my father realises I’m in danger from Cousin Godfrey and will be planning how to profit from what he sees as my good fortune.’

  ‘Mr Seaton won’t let him.’

  ‘And what will happen when Mr Seaton dies?’

  ‘He’ll leave you well protected.’

  ‘Will he even know that my father is planning something?’

  ‘Of course he will. He told me once that he’s keeping an eye on your father. He’s instructed him not to come near you.’

  ‘It didn’t stop my father speaking to me today.’ Suddenly her future seemed full of potential dangers. Not for the first time, she wished she could whisk her children away from Monks Barton and never come back again.

  But how to get away without leaving a trail?

  And anyway, Christopher had a right to his family inheritance, not so that he could become a carter but so that he could train for a profession, a lawyer perhaps. She might not have been able to make her simple dreams come true, but she hoped to give her children far better chances in life. It was worth staying in Monks Barton for that.

  The elderly usher was again waiting for them at the entrance to the churchyard. ‘I’ll escort you to your carriage, Mrs Newman.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Balham. It’s waiting for us at the inn.’

  He didn’t speak as he walked beside them and helped them into the carriage, then he closed the door and stepped back, raising one hand in farewell.

  But he waited for them to leave before he moved back towards the church.

  Neither woman had any doubt that Mr Seaton had told him to make sure they left.

  Kathleen didn’t try to chat and nor did Rhoda. The only sounds on the journey back were those of the falling rain pattering on the carriage roof and the soft, tuneful whistling of their driver.

  After a while Kathleen wondered whether he was whistling hymns out of respect for the sadness of the day or because he was religious.

  Just before they got to the village Rhoda said, ‘I know you long for independence, Kathleen, and I can understand why, but is it possible for any of us ever to be completely independent? We all need help from others from time to time. As you were helped by Ernest.’

  Kathleen felt ashamed that she’d needed that reminder. Oh dear, life was such a tangle of needs and obligations at times.

  She was glad when they got home. The first thing she did was hurry through the back garden to Mrs Dalton’s house to pick up the children. She’d missed them so much.

  But she slept badly that night, worrying about her father now as well as Ernest’s family.

  And Rhoda had been right. Godfrey might resemble Ernest but his expression was very different. If ever a
man looked evil, he did.

  It was three days before Mr Seaton came to see Kathleen. He didn’t give her any warning of his visit, just turned up one afternoon in a hired carriage, not his own vehicle.

  Continuing to be secretive, Kathleen thought, as she watched him make his way to the front door, scarf hiding the lower half of his face and hat pulled down over his eyes.

  This was the sort of struggle for power that she’d read about in Miss Corelli’s novels, which she couldn’t put down once she started reading. The Sorrows of Satan was still her favourite and she’d bought herself a copy after she got married, the first of ten books she now owned and could read any time she wished.

  She’d found out about Miss Corelli’s books in the newspaper originally, with a critic condemning the author as a writer of ‘popular rubbish’. He’d made it sound as if there was something wrong with a writer being popular, as if you could only become popular by writing rubbish. The idea that only unpopular books had any value still puzzled her.

  She realised she was standing daydreaming and Mr Seaton was knocking at her door for a second time, so hurried downstairs to let him in.

  ‘Go and fetch Rhoda!’ he ordered. ‘I’ll keep an eye on the children.’

  But as usual Rhoda had heard a vehicle turn into the street and peeped out to see it stop outside Kathleen’s house, so had thrown a shawl round her shoulders and come hurrying along to join them.

  The children were clinging to Kathleen, nervous of the big, loud man they saw only occasionally.

  Rhoda picked up Elizabeth and let her sit on her knee and play with her doll.

  Mr Seaton studied the child, head on one side. ‘She’s a pretty little thing. Takes after her mother, not her father, luckily.’

  That was a left-handed compliment if she’d ever heard one, Kathleen thought. ‘Excuse me a moment, Mr Seaton. Christopher, dear, why don’t you bring in your toy farm and play with it behind the sofa?’

  As the child trotted off to fetch the box, Mr Seaton couldn’t hide the pride in his eyes. ‘He’s a fine lad, and has a look of his Uncle Alex, thank goodness. Anyway, we’d better get down to business now. I’ve come to explain the new arrangements I’m making for your keep.’

  And to check on me, she thought, or you’d have sent word that you’d be coming.

  ‘Since Ernest isn’t here to support you, I’ll do it. But as he won’t be here to eat your food, either, you’ll need less housekeeping money than he gave you.’

  He looked round slowly as if assessing every single item in the room. ‘I shall continue to pay the rent on this cottage, because it’s a sound little place and I won’t have my grandchildren housed like paupers. I’m not happy to see you wearing black. You shouldn’t wear mourning from now on if you want me to go on supporting you. It’ll give you away. But don’t wear fancy clothes. I still expect you to dress modestly.’

  She felt angry at this restriction, and she’d never in her life worn fancy clothes. But if there was one thing she knew how to do after the last few years of taking care in his presence, it was hold her tongue.

  He turned to the older woman. ‘You can supervise the purchase of some suitable clothes for her, Rhoda. Not mourning.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to do that, Mr Seaton.’

  He turned back to his daughter-in-law but was distracted by his grandson’s game with the little wooden animals. He watched Christopher carefully and listened to him chatting to the toys as he moved them around.

  ‘The lad speaks well for his age.’

  ‘They both do, because I talk to them a lot.’

  ‘It shows. Now, I’ll give you half the wages Ernest was taking home each week to cover your housekeeping. If you need anything extra for the children, Rhoda will write to me about it. Put R. N. on the back of the envelope, Rhoda, so that I’ll know it’s from you and open it in private.’

  Kathleen saw he was waiting for her to speak and forced herself to say thank you, but thought he was being rather mean, not to mention controlling.

  ‘I’ll send you the money by postal order once a month and I’ll come to see the children when I can. They’ll get more interesting as they grow older, and I particularly want to keep an eye on them once they start their schooling.’

  The words escaped before she could hold them back. ‘I find them extremely interesting now.’

  ‘You’re the mother, so naturally you do. I’m a busy man and child-rearing is women’s work. Not that you don’t look after them well, and the house, too, I’ll grant you that. I came without warning on purpose and I can see that you keep everything clean and tidy.’

  As if she hadn’t guessed that!

  He got up to leave, so she went out with him. But he stopped before he opened the front door. ‘I want to emphasise that you are not to have anything to do with Godfrey Seaton and are never to let him into this house. He mustn’t find out that Ernest has left legitimate children.’

  ‘I would never do anything that endangered my children, Mr Seaton, and you should know that by now.’

  He stared her, then gave a little nod.

  ‘What about my father? How much does he know about the situation?’

  ‘Not much. I told him to stay away from you if he valued his job. Have you heard from him or seen any sign of him?’

  She didn’t like to tell him about the encounter in the churchyard in case it cost her father his job. Better that he kept his job and remained under the watchful eye of Mr Seaton. ‘My father has never come here, thank goodness.’

  ‘Not a loving daughter, are you?’

  ‘No. He didn’t have much to do with us children, though he thumped us if we angered him. But he always put bread on the table and a roof over our heads.’

  ‘Aye well, he’s wonderful with the horses but he’s hard on the men, lashes out with his fists without thinking. I’ve had to speak to him about that a couple of times.’

  He heaved himself up into the carriage and it set off as soon as he’d closed its door.

  She went back inside with a lot to think about.

  After a restless night, she came to the conclusion yet again that her children would best be served by staying here, which meant strict compliance with Mr Seaton’s rules.

  She’d think about their future when they were older. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted a harsh man like Mr Seaton shaping their attitudes to the world. He’d failed to bring out the best in both his sons, or to understand them and their needs. She wanted so much more than that for her children.

  Without the need to pay rent, she could still save steadily on the sort of money he’d be allowing her, even if it wasn’t as much as before. She’d stop the woman doing the heavy cleaning and that would save a few shillings a week.

  She felt as though the next few years would be a time for laying foundations in her children’s lives.

  She didn’t know why she was so sure, but she was: nothing bad was likely to happen for years. This would be a growing time.

  And later … well, some of the people involved in her life might not even be alive then.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nathan did well at school but he didn’t have a special friend and he continued to enjoy his own company more than other boys seemed to.

  That was a good thing in the long school holidays, because his father didn’t like the disruption of going away to the seaside, so they stayed at home and his father went into work most days anyway, ‘just for an hour or two to check that everything’s all right’.

  Luckily they had a big old house with plenty of room for a boy to stay out of sight, especially if he played quietly. The attic was Nathan’s favourite place. It was full of what his father called rubbish but Nathan thought of as treasures. He’d recently come across a pile of old Strand magazines, as well as boxes of books.

  He started reading the magazines when looking for something to do during a long week of summer rain. All his friends were away and his mother had a summer cold, so she was staying in
bed.

  The magazines contained stories about a fictional detective called Sherlock Holmes and Nathan enjoyed them very much indeed. It seemed to him that Mr Holmes also found out things that other people didn’t. Only he used the power of his mind to analyse situations, not a weird gift that still led Nathan to lost objects, whether he wanted to find them or not.

  He came to the conclusion that it would be exciting to be a detective but he doubted his father would agree, or even his more tolerant mother. Well, his father thought adding up rows of figures was interesting!

  As his boyhood drew to a close Nathan thought a lot about the world and his place in it and formed his own conclusions. He didn’t see why it was a bad thing to help people find things they’d lost and one day he would stop pretending about that.

  In the meantime he occasionally helped someone out, but only if he could make it look like sheer chance or luck that he’d found what they were searching for.

  Once he met a young woman in the street who had dropped a locket her sweetheart had given her and was almost hysterical with grief. Nathan managed to persuade her to walk back the way she’d come and they easily ‘found’ the locket.

  What was wrong in doing that? he wondered afterwards. Nothing that he could understand. It was a turning point for him.

  It made him feel good to see how happy the people were to retrieve their possessions. He’d go on helping people, he decided, even if it was only in small ways.

  He had other unusual reactions to the world, too, besides his ability to find missing objects. Sometimes, when he went into an old building, cold shivers would run down his spine and he’d know that something bad had once happened there. He didn’t actually see ghosts but he sensed their presence. Oh yes he did, whatever his father said about them not existing.

  There was, Nathan was sure, a great deal more to the world than what people could see, something beyond the everyday human experience. Well, the Christian religion insisted on that, didn’t it? Other religions did too, so it wasn’t necessarily wrong or evil.