CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was considered too far for Felicity to travel, so soon after the birth of the twins, but a letter was sent to her telling her of Martin’s death and she insisted on attending. Abby and Adam therefore travelled down from Rochester to Appledore in a hired wagon and took Felicity with them to Devon.
The circumstances of Martin’s death had been reported to the appropriate authorities, but there was no question of charges being bought against Allan. No one doubted that it was an accident — it was obvious that Martin’s own hand held the hilt of his own knife and Jon confirmed that Allan was unarmed. Allan confessed to the quarrel and to the push that ended so disastrously, but if anyone believed the death to be more than a tragic accident, he or she kept silent.
Allan, as was to be expected, blamed himself for the tragedy and no amount of persuasion could convince him otherwise, but apportioning blame was a useless exercise, as Maria told him in an effort to reduce his terrible guilt. It was an accident. It was a tragedy, but it had happened and no amount of self-reproach would change the fact that Martin was dead. They must all come to terms with it, she told him. They must all live with the grief and help each other.
Hugo took it very badly. He broke down and wept and Maria could not comfort him. It was the final blow in a series of disappointments which had dogged him for the past few years. After the first passionate outburst he became very withdrawn and rarely spoke and Maria found herself having to be strong for both of them. It fell to her lot to make the funeral arrangements and invite the mourners.
Maggie and Melissa prepared the food so that, at least, was one problem less with which she had to deal. Piers came home from school and Beatrice and her husband rode over from Exeter leaving the children with their grandparents. The funeral had been set for ten o’clock in the morning, so that most of the visitors would be able to return home in daylight. As they stood at the graveside Maria thought sadly how frequently the Kendals were reunited by death. She recalled Luke’s funeral and that of Hannah. Luke had been buried here and Alison, and Simon. Of that line only Allan remained. She thought of Hugo and Simon and how close the cousins had been. Now Simon’s son had brought about the death of Hugo’s son and the thought of the Gillis curse flashed into her mind only to be rigorously rejected. She would not believe it.
As the coffin was lowered into the ground, it began to rain, adding to the misery of the mourners. Allan found himself next to Felicity and looked at her with passionate entreaty.
‘Will you ever forgive me? I have killed the man you loved.’
By way of answer she took his cold hand in hers and put it to her lips. Her tears fell warmly onto his hand and suddenly she put her arms round him and they clung together as the first spadeful of earth fell on to the coffin. Maria watched them through eyes blurred with tears and Hugo’s arm was around her shoulders as she, too, struggled for composure. Lorna and Piers, beside her, stared solemnly ahead, trying to withstand the concerted grief by which they were surrounded. Melissa stood with one arm round Nina, who held the youngest child in her arms. Little Della held Maggie’s hand and Thomas stood beside them, a tall frail old man who had been so near death himself not so long ago. Now he wondered why fate had spared him and taken a young man in his prime. It made no sense, he thought sadly.
‘ … and so we lay to rest a young man of tender years, one Martin Kendal, late of this parish, the beloved son of Hannah, deceased, and Hugo Kendal. His sojourn on this earth has been a short one and his departure sudden. But who are we, mere mortals, to question the will of God? He has seen fit in his infinite wisdom to take this young man from our midst and we must abide by his decision. We cannot rail against death but must endeavour to understand God’s holy will. Martin was beloved by us, he gladdened our hearts with his presence and we are made desolate by his death. As we shared our love for him so we share in the grief at his going away from us. But our griefs are for ourselves, not for Martin. His soul is on its way to Heaven and everlasting peace. Soon he will be eternally at rest and will be reunited with those of his family who went before him. He will rejoice in God’s boundless love. We who remain weep only for ourselves and our loss.’
The rain fell more heavily, hissing through the dark trees and into the sodden grass. It mingled with the tears on the faces of the mourners and Nina’s youngest child began to cry fretfully — a thin sad sound.
‘And so we take our farewell of this bright life. He loved us all in his own way as we loved him. We are none of us perfect but we live our lives as best we may in the image of Jesus Christ. Now the final blessing … ’
As they turned to go, Hugo put a hand to his chest as a sudden pain gripped him. He tried to speak to Maria but the pain increased and drew a tight band around his heart. He stumbled against Melissa and she turned. Hugo put out a hand to steady himself but stumbled again.
‘Hugo!’
Maria turned at the alarm in Melissa’s voice and saw her husband fall to his knees, both hands clutching his chest, his face screwed up in wordless agony and she flew to him.
‘Hugo! Dearest God! Hugo, what ails you? Speak to me if you can.’
All eyes had turned from the grave to Maria and thence to Hugo, who hugged his pain to him and could not utter a word. Maria knelt beside him.
‘’Tis his heart, I’m sure of it. Oh dear God! This cannot happen, Hugo, my dearest Hugo. ’Twill pass. Be patient. The pain will pass.’
Everyone crowded round trying to help.
‘He hugs his heart,’ cried Maria. ‘We must get him back to Heron. Bring one of the wagons, quickly. Hugo, can you speak to me? My dearest, they are gone to fetch the wagon. You will soon be home, safe in your own bed. Is the pain still bad? Oh Hugo! I cannot bear it.’
Allan knelt beside her. ‘He will live, Mama. I know he will. Do not weep for him. So many tears!’
The wagon was driven up to the church yard gate and gentle and willing hands lifted Hugo from the wet grass and carried him to the comparative comfort of the wagon, which at least had a canvas hood over it to keep off the rain. As soon as he was settled with Maria and Allan beside him they led the procession back to Heron. Hugo had relaxed slightly and was able to speak to them. The pain had eased a little, he told them, and they must not concern themselves unduly. It was a cramp, nothing more. Maria did not believe him for a second and had already despatched Matt to fetch the physician.
Back at the house, Hugo was put to bed and Maria sat by his side, refusing to leave him.
‘They can all manage without me,’ she declared. ‘There is a good fire and plenty to eat and drink. They will be well cared for and I shall stay with you, Hugo, until the physician tells me I can safely leave you. Oh my dearest, it has been such a terrible day — such a terrible year! But don’t give up, Hugo. You must not give up the fight. We are so fortunate to have each other — but I talk too much and will tire you. No, you close your eyes and rest. I will sit here beside you and wild horses shall not drag me away.’ Minnie came in with hot milk for Hugo and mulled wine for Maria. She helped her out of her wet clothes and into a dry gown. Maria asked her if all was well downstairs and Minnie said it was going splendidly. Folk were drying themselves out and everyone sent Hugo their best wishes for his recovery. Maria nodded absentmindedly and grumbled that the physician took so long.
‘Bring him up the moment he arrives,’ she told Minnie. ‘He may be wet through but no matter. He can dry out after he has seen Hugo. I want no delays, Minnie. Tis most urgent. And put another log on the fire. We must keep Hugo warm.’
Intuitively, she knew the seriousness of Hugo’s condition. A pain round his heart, cramping his chest! She had heard folk speak of such seizures and knew they could be fatal.
When Minnie had gone, she saw that Hugo’s eyes were fluttering. ‘Doze a little,’ she told him. ‘I dare say the pain has tired you. Close your eyes and sleep until the physician arrives.’
An hour passed and still he did not arrive. Hugo slept but M
aria fretted anxiously. Matt came back to report that the physician was not at home and he and Jon were sent out again to make what enquiries they could concerning his whereabouts. From downstairs came the sounds of the funeral supper — subdued voices, footsteps, the clatter of pewter, the scrape of furniture. Maria tried to concentrate her thoughts on Martin but Hugo’s condition filled her mind to the exclusion of anything else. Martin had gone and none of their prayers could bring him back. She prayed God that he would not take his father with him into the grave. Just before five Maria was herself dozing when a strangled cry from Hugo roused her. His face was once more contorted with pain and his arms were clamped round his chest.
‘Hugo! Sweet heaven! I’m here, my love. What can I do to help you? See, my arm is round you, I’ll hold you safe. Don’t be fearful. Your Maria is here. Is it so bad? Oh Hugo! What’s to be done?’
He tried to speak but could not. He gasped for air and Maria felt weak with a terrible dread. For all her brave words she knew she could not help him. Only the physician might do that and he was not found yet. She shouted for Minnie and stamped on the floor to make sure she would be heard above the babble of voices below them. Minnie ran into the room, breathless from the stairs.
‘Is it the master, ma’am?’
‘Aye and taken again with the same pain. I know of nothing we can do but send Melissa up — and Allan.’
‘Oh ma’am!’ Minnie burst into tears.
‘Don’t stand there bawling!’ cried Maria. ‘Send them to me at once!’
Within minutes Allan and Melissa had joined them and a moment later Abby hurried in and they all stood helplessly beside the bed. Hugo was still doubled up in agony and perspiration beaded his face. He made no sound except for an occasional groan which was forced from him. His eyes, dark with pain and fear, were on Maria. She looked up for a moment.
‘We must do something,’ she cried, ‘or he will surely die. Think, I beg you. Abby? Melissa? What shall we do to save him?’
Abby knelt on the floor opposite her. ‘We can only pray,’ she whispered. ‘If we all pray.’ Allan and Melissa knelt also and put their hands together. Abby saw Minnie hovering in the doorway.
‘Minnie. Go down. Tell the others what is happening. Beg them all pray for Hugo.’
Minnie sped off and they heard her voice above the clamour. Gradually the noise faded and there was a great quiet followed by the low murmur of voices. The door opened and Beatrice came in with Piers and Lorna and they knelt and began to pray. Maria gazed round at all the faces then turned back to Hugo. He had fallen back against the pillows, his face white and drawn, his jaw slack, his eyes rolling upwards. His mouth twitched soundlessly.
‘Dearest God,’ whispered Maria. ‘Look down in your infinite mercy and spare our beloved Hugo. Do not take him from us, I beseech you. We all love him. We all need him. He is a good man and does not deserve to die. Sweet Jesus, be merciful and spare him. Spare him a little longer to share our lives and comfort us. He is a good father, a loving husband — Oh, I cannot bear it if you let him die. What can I say to entreat you further. If I have sinned forgive me. Forgive us all our faults and do not take Hugo away from us — ’ Her voice trembled and she opened her eyes to look at her husband.
‘Maria! He is dying!’ It was Beatrice.
Piers closed his eyes, unable to watch and Lorna flung herself into Beatrice’s arms and the two sisters clung together tearfully. Allan put an arm round Maria but she had eyes only for Hugo. His eyes were now closed and she felt his hand go limp in her own.
‘Hugo!’ She screamed suddenly. ‘Hugo! Don’t leave me. Don’t! Don’t! I love you, Hugo. Do you hear me? I love you … I love you.’
But it was all over …
*
Hugo’s body was laid to rest beside the son who had so recently preceded him. The service was held early in the day and there was no funeral feast. This had been arranged so that the mourners, who had already extended their visit to Heron, might make a start home the same day with as much daylight ahead of them as possible. Only the Heron and Ladyford households remained and they went their separate ways. Adam, Abby and Felicity would return home the next day. The grief was too deep for comfort and intuitively it was accepted that the company of others would not ease the despair. Each person had to live through their own agony and come to terms with it in his or her own way. Everyone craved the blessed oblivion of sleep and most people at Heron retired to bed early that night. Felicity was exhausted and went up at nine o’clock, knowing that only Allan and Maria remained downstairs. At last she heard Maria’s footsteps and struggled to keep awake until Allan followed. She was concerned for him. He looked haggard and his eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep. Still he did not come upstairs and at last she slid out of bed and, pulling a wrap round her shoulders, went downstairs to the Hall. Allan was sitting by the fire, leaning forward, his face hidden in his hands. For a moment she stood watching him without speaking. The fire was low and the dogs had wriggled close to it, their noses reaching out for the last of the warmth. Felicity moved forward and set a small log among the glowing embers. The fire crackled and the dogs leapt back, glancing at her reproachfully.
Allan looked up at last but with no curiosity.
‘I thought you would be sleeping by now,’ he said. ‘You should have accepted Minnie’s offer of a sleeping draught.’
‘I have no need of a draught,’ she told him. ‘I am so weary I shall sleep once I know you are safe.’
‘Safe?’
‘From yourself, Allan.’ He shook his head but she continued. ‘Safe from your horrid thoughts. I’m fearful of what you will do and I cannot allow myself to sleep.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘You are fearful for me? After all I have done to you?’
She knelt in front of him, feeling the warmth from the fire on her back. Gently she took his hands in hers and looked into his handsome face, which was now ugly with unexpressed horror.
‘What have you done to me, Allan?’ she asked. ‘Don’t tell me you have killed Martin, for that is not how it was. Oh, I have heard what happened. Was the knife in your hand, Allan? Did you plunge it into his body? Answer me, Allan.’
A shuddering sigh racked him.
‘No,’ she went on. ‘It was an accident, a cruel trick of fate, the purest chance. You have nothing to blame yourself for except your temper and Martin provoked you beyond measure.’
‘My temper,’ he muttered dully. ‘Aye, my damnable, murderous temper.’
‘’Twas not your temper that killed him, Allan. Maybe ’twas your temper that sent him back across the yard, but ’twas fate made him fall upon his own knife the way he did. Listen to me, Allan. If I had thrust that door and he had fallen and was dead would you blame me? Or if it had been Maria, provoked beyond all bearing — would you call it murder?’
‘No. I could not.’
‘Then why deal more harshly with yourself? Can you not see, Allan, the reasoning is false?’
He glanced up and his face, in Felicity’s shadow, was grey and drawn. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you are determined to make a saint of a sinner. It cannot be done, but I thank you for trying. But go to your bed, I beseech you, and leave me with my thoughts.’
Felicity shook her head. ‘I will not go, Allan. You must believe that I will not leave this Hall until I am satisfied you will go to bed also. I will kneel here by the hearth all night if needs be! I will not let you drown in your sorrows.’ Again he shook his head and tears glinted in his eyes. ‘Maria also,’ he whispered. ‘It has killed Hugo — the only man she has ever loved.’
‘Hugo is dead but you did not kill him!’ Felicity clenched her hands fiercely round his to underline her words. ‘A terrible accident killed Martin and Hugo’s heart could not withstand the shock. Oh fate has been unkind. Most damnably unkind, I confess it. But an unkind fate that brings about two deaths — how are you to blame for an unkind fate? Dear Allan, forgive me if I bother you with my poor arguments. I
know you wish only that I go away and leave you to your griefs and yet I cannot. I too am grieving, remember, but my grief began many months ago. I lost Martin when I moved in with Dorothy. I know what grief can do — if you allow it. My life has not been easy, but we have to face griefs and setbacks and overcome them. We have to survive, Allan. Believe me. I do not talk idly. I am not at all brave but I have learned what passes for courage and you must do the same. It takes courage to live when ’tis so much easier to die. You can do it, I tell you. You are stronger than you know.’
He pulled her up to sit beside him, saying nothing. Together they stared into the flames which now flickered round the log. The dogs had returned to their dreams and the house was silent.
‘You say I can be strong?’
‘I do, Allan.’
‘What makes you so certain? I have no such faith.’
‘Think on it this way. A year ago in the face of this tragedy you would have blamed it on the Gillis blood. Oh, I know of it. Poor Martin had his faults like the rest of us. He was indiscreet and talked often of matters which were not meant for my ears. But you won’t deny what I say, will you? That today you do not blame the Gillis blood or take refuge in the Gillis curse. You take the blame for the accident upon your own shoulders. Isn’t that a sign of your growing strength?’
He did not answer immediately and she almost held her breath, praying that at last she had found the right words. Somehow she had to give him hope — a raft to cling to in those swirling waters of despair. She waited, afraid to say more. Her arguments were all used up and she was longing to go back to bed and close her eyes against the day’s miseries. Then at last she felt a change in him. An imperceptible tightening of the careless muscles, a small but decisive intake of breath. And still she waited. She had said it all and now he must summon his own resources. Slowly he raised his head and straightened his back and drew a deep breath. He stood up and held out his hands to pull her to her feet. Felicity stood up. She was weak with exhaustion. The long journey and the violence of her grief so soon after the birth of the twins had drained her energy. Even as she tried to smile at him she swayed suddenly and almost fell. Allan caught her and lifted her into his arms, cursing his stupidity. Wrapped up in his own distress he had overlooked her obvious frailty. Half fainting, she made no protest as he carried her up to her room and laid her upon the bed. She murmured but he ‘hushed’ her gently as he covered her with the blanket. He watched her for a moment until he was satisfied that she was asleep then he bent to kiss her forehead.
White Water Page 35
