The Edge of Dark

by Pamela Hartshorne

  ‘I know how it sounds, but I’m sure I’m right about Jeff,’ said Roz, ‘and if I am, he’s suffered far more than I have. He’s the only family I’ve got too. I may not know much about having brothers and sisters, but even I know that you don’t turn your back on family when they need you. I’m not going to start treating him like a murderer!’

  Nick held up his hands pacifically, knife in one hand. ‘Okay, then you both need a priest.’

  He was right, Roz knew. This had gone on long enough. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel Jane needs me,’ she said haltingly, knowing even as she spoke that Nick wouldn’t understand. How could he?

  Sure enough, Nick’s face clouded with disbelief. ‘You’re feeling guilty about a ghost?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  He put the knife down again and came over to take her hands in a firm clasp. ‘Listen to me, Roz. This is bad stuff.’ He shook her hands for emphasis. ‘You like sharing Jane’s life, and I can see – sort of – why it might be fascinating, but people don’t turn into ghosts when they die happily in their beds. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. You have to get rid of Jane before it’s too late.’

  In spite of herself, tears prickled behind Roz’s eyes at the thought. ‘I know, and I will, Nick, I promise. I’ll talk to Jeff when I get back to York and we’ll find a priest. We’ll explain what’s happening. But it needs to be in York, in Micklegate. I need to go back.’

  ‘Then I’m coming with you,’ said Nick, his face grim. ‘I can work just as easily in York.’

  ‘What about Daniel?’

  ‘Daniel managed perfectly well without me for fourteen years. He can cope with me being away for a couple of weeks. I don’t want you in York on your own, and that’s that.’

  Nick was sleeping. Roz listened to his slow, steady breathing, with the slightest hitch at the end. He had never been a snorer. Her body was loose and warm and woozy with satisfaction, but her mind was full of jagged edges. She cut herself whichever way she turned. Shifting onto her side, she tucked herself into the lovely long, lean length of Nick’s body and slid her arm over him. She could feel his chest rising and falling. He felt familiar, he smelt familiar, but there was something missing.

  He wasn’t Gilbert.

  ‘No,’ Roz whispered against his back as the longing rolled through her, a need and an ache that tightened relentless around her chest until she couldn’t breathe with the pain of it.

  Nick stirred. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said into the darkness. ‘Nothing. Go back to sleep.’

  She woke slowly, struggling through a torrent of loss and longing to surface with a gasp. Blinking up at the canopy, she put a hand to her heart to ease the ache that burned there. There was nothing to feel sorrowful about, she told herself as her mind cleared. It had been a bad dream, that was all. She was not lost and alone, Gilbert had not gone. He was lying beside her, sleeping sprawled across the bed as was his wont, and she turned and curled into him for comfort until the tight feeling around her chest lessened and the dreadful churn of distress was soothed by his steady breath.

  But she couldn’t go back to sleep. Outside the closed shutters, dawn was breaking, and after a while Jane eased herself away from Gilbert so as not to wake him, and swung her bare feet to the rush matting.

  Padding over to the window, she opened the shutters as quietly as she could and pushed open the casement. Autumn had always been her favourite season and she sniffed at the cool light. They were far from the country, but she was sure she could smell the harvest on the air, the appley tang of orchards rippling through the breeze and mingling with the mud and the soot and the grime of the city.

  Smoke was rising from the chimneys along the street, hanging still in the September dawn as folk started their days. Jane imagined fires being poked in every house, pots being set to boil. Already John the baker had his ovens lit, and his door stood open to let the scent of baking bread drift along the street. Jane saw a maidservant lift her nose hopefully as she laboured back with two buckets of water across her shoulders.

  At the sign of the golden lily, life was stirring too. Behind her Gilbert mumbled and grumbled into his pillow. Poppet uncurled from the cushion Jane set out for him, got stiffly to his feet and shook himself awake as he blinked hopefully at Jane. He was old now, and his joints were stiff, his eyes blind, but he knew Jane’s step and he followed her around the house, feeling safe when she was there. The stairs creaked as Avis made her way quietly down to the kitchen. William coughed in his sleep, once, twice, three times. He had looked heavy-eyed the night before when Jane put him to bed, and she suspected a rheum was brewing.

  She would beat up a spoonful of sugar and drop it into some of her best aqua vitae, Jane decided, and give it to him before the cough got any worse.

  It was a month since Thomas Parker had left, and Jane had heard nothing more. It seemed that he hadn’t remembered her after all, and surely if he hadn’t recognized her straight away, he never would? That was what Jane told herself.

  Geoffrey had refused point-blank to go to Mr Norris. ‘I am not a servant to be sent away,’ he had said, and Gilbert had been so astounded at his impertinence that for a moment he had been unable to say anything.

  ‘You must have some trade or profession,’ Jane pointed out.

  ‘Mr Parker did not.’

  ‘Mr Parker was a gentleman.’

  ‘Why can I not be a gentleman?’

  ‘Because you are the son of a butcher,’ said Jane as patiently as she could. ‘Butchers’ sons do not become gentlemen unless they make a lot of money. And they do not make a lot of money unless they train.’

  ‘I do not care,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I will not go to Mr Norris. He is fat and he smells.’

  ‘He is a clever lawyer, and you, Geoffrey, are not nearly as clever as you think you are,’ said Gilbert coldly, less patient than Jane. ‘You are an insolent and arrogant puppy, and I will not risk my reputation by sending you to my friends now. Perhaps you will learn some humility when you are starving and need to work for a crust of bread.’

  ‘I will not starve,’ said Geoffrey. ‘My mother is sworn not to abandon me, are you not, Mamma?’

  ‘I will not let you starve, but you must learn to be useful, Geoffrey.’

  His face worked with resentment. ‘This is your fault,’ he spat at her. ‘You must wed a butcher, and then be a servant. You have no ambition! Oh yes, you are comfortable married to Mr Harrison, but what is there for me? You have a new son, your precious William. He will inherit everything and I will have nothing.’

  ‘You deserve nothing,’ snapped Gilbert. ‘Your mother has sacrificed everything for you. Let us see if a thrashing will remind you of the need for gratitude.’

  But Geoffrey wouldn’t apologize. He was taut with bitterness, and Jane knew that it was only his promise to her that stopped Gilbert throwing him out into the street. Lately, though, Geoffrey had been different. He was tense, simmering with suppressed excitement, but he would just shrug when Jane asked him what had happened. The day before he had been gone most of the afternoon, and when he came back, the excitement had been lit to a blaze. He had been smiling, and charming, and Jane had reflected wistfully that if only he had been like this all the time, everything would be so very different. But Geoffrey was happy for once, and she was happy for him.

  So that morning, Jane was content. She dressed, putting on the necklace Gilbert had given her when William was born, as she did every day. The one that made her feel loved and secure. She stooped over William’s cot and brushed his hair back from his forehead as he tossed and coughed again.

  ‘I heard him coughing in the night,’ said Mary beside her. ‘Is he sick?’

  Jane shook her head. ‘He will be fine. I will make him something for the cough and we will try to keep him as quiet as we can, but it is hard to keep him out of mischief, I know. Will you watch him for me?’

  So the day began like any other. Gilbert wa
s always short-tempered in the mornings. He stomped down the stairs and into his closet without breaking his fast, and Jane poured some ale and put some cheese and bread on a plate, and took it through.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ said Gilbert.

  ‘You will be even crosser if you do not eat,’ Jane pointed out serenely, and he glared at her for a moment before he gave in and laughed.

  ‘Jane, what would I do without you?’

  ‘You would be very hungry and very cross.’

  He caught her by the waist as she would have passed and pulled her onto his lap. ‘I would be wretched indeed,’ he said, just as a loud knock sounded at the door.

  Jane laughed and disentangled herself. ‘You have early visitors today. Are you expecting anyone?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Gilbert, standing up. The door sounded again, loud, arrogant, and something stirred deep inside Jane, not as clear as fear, but akin to it. A knock so demanding rarely brought good news.

  Gilbert raised his brows. ‘Someone is impatient. Let us see what they want before they break down my door.’

  They were at the door of the closet when they saw Geoffrey open the door. Jane saw his face light up before she saw who was standing outside, but something in the way he straightened sent her stomach plummeting.

  ‘Who – ?’ she began, and then Geoffrey stood back with a sweep of his arm, and Robert Holmwood and Margaret stepped into the hall.

  Jane stopped dead, her head ringing with shock, and for a moment she thought she would faint. Gilbert didn’t seem to notice. He was moving forward politely.

  ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ he asked Robert, with a courteous nod at Margaret, whose eyes were fixed on Jane with venom.

  ‘You can give me my son.’ Robert looked straight at Jane. ‘And my wife.’

  Gilbert’s head jerked back in surprise. ‘I think you must be mistaken.’

  ‘There is no mistake, is there, Jane?’ Robert’s gaze was triumphant while Jane stood as if turned to stone, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to do anything but stare in horror as her world crumbled around her.

  ‘Jane?’ Gilbert was still puzzled, waiting for her to explain the inexplicable.

  ‘I – ’

  ‘Yes, let us hear her explanation,’ said Robert. ‘This woman has played you for a fool, as she did me. She took my son and she ran away. Is there a more heinous crime than to take a child from its father? This is my child.’

  ‘No.’ Jane found her voice at last but it seemed to be coming from far away. ‘No, he is not your son.’

  ‘I am!’ Geoffrey’s eyes blazed with hate. ‘I am the son of a gentleman and you let me think I was a butcher’s brat!’

  ‘Not a butcher’s son, a tailor’s son,’ said Jane. ‘My sister lay with John Harper,’ she told Robert, horribly aware of Gilbert, rigid as a stone, and of Geoffrey, his face contorted with bitterness. ‘You were not capable of begetting a child. We both know this.’

  ‘You lie!’ Robert was white with rage.

  ‘Yes, I lied,’ she said evenly in the end. ‘I pretended her babe was mine. I hoped it would please you to have a child, but you sent me away anyway, and you had no care for Geoffrey. All you wanted was his inheritance.’ She glanced at Geoffrey. ‘I took you from a soiled cradle. There was no one to sing to you, no one to hold you. I promised Juliana I would look after you, and I had to take you away.’

  But Geoffrey wasn’t listening. He cared nothing for songs or tenderness. She could see that his mind was closed, that he was seething with resentment at the lies she had told, the injustice he thought she had done him.

  ‘Jane . . .’ Gilbert looked as if he was reeling but Jane couldn’t comfort him then.

  She turned back to Robert. ‘I have kept my vow,’ she said. ‘You did not keep yours, Robert. You vowed before God to honour me with your body, you agreed that marriage was for the procreation of children, and yet you could not touch me. And I know why.’ She looked at Margaret. ‘I saw what you and your son do together. I could not let Geoffrey be tainted in the same way.’

  ‘You are mad,’ Robert blustered, even as Margaret laid a hand on his sleeve.

  ‘Do not waste your breath trying to reason with such a creature, my son,’ she told him. ‘She will say anything for her own purposes. What matters is that you have found your heir after so many long years.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Yes.’ Recovering himself, Robert put his arm around Geoffrey’s shoulders, and Jane saw Geoffrey stand taller, blossoming in the attention. ‘My heir. Geoffrey had known there was something wrong when Thomas Parker saw Jane. He followed Thomas after he left and told him that his mother had lied, that he had never heard her mention Beverley, only York. And he said he would furnish any more information if it was needed. Thomas was back in York before he remembered. He sat in my hall and he looked as if a thunderbolt had struck. By God, he said, I know who she was now. I have seen your wife, Robert, and your son in London. She is naught but a lawyer’s drab.’

  Gilbert stepped forward, clenching his fists. ‘Unsay that, sir! Jane is no drab!’

  ‘Is she not? Has she not been whoring for you, knowing full well that her husband is alive and well?’

  ‘I heard you had married again,’ Jane said without expression. ‘I thought you had stopped looking.’

  ‘She died. She was no use,’ said Margaret. ‘There was no child.’

  ‘And so you still have need of a son’s inheritance. No wonder you came running to London as soon as you heard Thomas’s story!’

  ‘We were anxious to restore my son to his rightful inheritance.’

  Geoffrey’s face was blazing. ‘I knew I was no servant! I knew it!’ He turned, sneering, to Gilbert. ‘And so it seems dear little William is the bastard!’

  Gilbert looked as if he had been beaten around the head. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said. ‘Jane, tell me this is not true,’ he pleaded. ‘Tell me you have not been lying to me all this time.’

  ‘I had to,’ said Jane. ‘You are sworn to uphold the law. You would have sent me back to York. And I made a promise. The only way I could keep it was by lying to you.’

  ‘It was all a lie,’ Gilbert repeated dully.

  ‘Nothing that mattered was a lie,’ said Jane. ‘Everything I felt for you was true. Everything I still feel for you.’

  His face was blank with shock. ‘You are no different from my first wife, then,’ he said dazedly. ‘At least she was open in her lies. Except, of course, you are not my wife, are you?’

  ‘I am your wife in every way that matters.’

  ‘Not in the eyes of God. Not in the name of the law. What matters more than those?’

  ‘In my heart I am,’ said Jane. ‘In the truest place of all.’

  ‘You can speak of truth? You who have lied for all these years?’

  ‘What was I to do? Leave Geoffrey to be brutalized and warped as Robert was?’

  ‘More flights of fancy!’ Margaret scoffed. ‘Come, we have done everything we had to do here,’ she went on briskly. ‘She does not deny she is your wife, Robert. She does not deny the boy is ours. Sir Gilbert is a man of the law, he must say that we have the right to take them back to York. Is that not so, Sir Gilbert?’

  Gilbert said nothing, but his jaw worked. Jane was numb. He was shocked and hurting. How many times had he told her that truth mattered more than anything to him? But how could she have told him without breaking her vow, which mattered more than anything to her?

  He was going to send her away, she realized in dull disbelief. He would not be able to stand for the law if he did not give her back to Robert. Jane could see the reality of it hurtling towards her like a stone flung from a catapult. It was going to hurt her, she knew that. It would land with a blow that would send her crashing to the ground, but she could not move to step aside. The pain was coming, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  ‘You can keep her if you like,’ Robert began dismissively, but Geoffrey ste
pped forward.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, she has to come too.’ He turned to Jane. ‘You said you would not abandon me. You promised. You are my mother,’ he said, and the expression in his eyes chilled her. ‘Will you let me go alone? Do you choose William over me?’

  ‘Do not make me choose, Geoffrey.’ Jane’s own voice was unsteady. She glanced at Robert, golden and arrogant, and Margaret beside him, with her cold, cruel, beautiful face. To Geoffrey they must look gilded and glorious, she thought. He had no idea. ‘These people are not what they seem,’ she told him urgently. ‘They are vicious and depraved. They do not care for you. They do not care for anyone but themselves.’

  ‘All the more reason for you to come with me,’ he said.

  ‘All the more reason for you to stay here, where you are safe.’

  Margaret laughed, a silvery chuckle that scraped over Jane’s nerves. ‘Stay? The boy has no choice. We will not allow him to stay. He is Robert’s son.’

  ‘And I have told you he is not.’

  ‘Can you deny that you came back from Holme Hall and showed us the child in the cradle? “This is your son,” you said, did you not?’

  Jane said nothing. What could she say?

  ‘Now you want us to believe that was a lie?’ Margaret lifted delicate brows and triumph gleamed in her eyes. ‘You are an admitted liar, Mistress Jane. You are a liar and a thief. You stole this boy from his father and denied him his inheritance. By rights you should hang. Be glad the boy wants you, for we do not.’

  ‘Geoffrey.’ Jane turned to him in desperation. ‘I beg of you, do not go with them.’

  ‘But I must go,’ he said. ‘They offer me a future. I will inherit a house, a hall of my own. What can you offer me here? Apprenticeship to a fat lawyer?’

  ‘A decent life,’ said Jane, but Geoffrey only looked contemptuous. Indeed, perhaps to him it seemed a poor exchange for wealth and status.

  ‘If the boy wants you, then you will come too,’ said Robert, as ever acting the grand gentleman while manipulated by others. Geoffrey had the measure of him already, Jane could see that.