The Edge of Dark

by Pamela Hartshorne

  ‘No!’ she protested but Geoffrey was by her side, tugging at her arm.

  ‘You promised,’ he said, triumph in his eyes. ‘You cannot deny me now.’

  Over his head, Jane met Gilbert’s eyes. He was stony-faced. ‘Gilbert,’ she said. ‘Don’t let this happen.’

  ‘What can I do?’ he said furiously. ‘You have lied. You are this man’s wife, and Geoffrey is this man’s son. There is no court in the land that would say you should stay with me.’

  ‘You are sending me away?’

  ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘There is always a choice,’ said Jane bitterly. ‘What of William? What of my son?’

  ‘You will not take another son from his father,’ said Gilbert, very white about the mouth.

  ‘No, I would not take him to the hell that is the Holmwoods’ house,’ she agreed. ‘But how will he manage without a mother?’

  ‘Mary is old enough to care for him.’

  ‘Mary is not a mother.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’ Gilbert lashed out at her. ‘It has always been Geoffrey, Geoffrey, Geoffrey. You said you promised to put him first. Well then, do it. You cannot now pretend that William is first, or that I am, or the girls. If your vow is so important to you, keep it.’

  Robert and Geoffrey were looking delighted, Margaret contemptuous.

  Jane was starting to shake, but she did not dare show it. ‘So be it,’ she said, quite as though her heart was not splintering into a thousand bitter shards. ‘May I say goodbye?’

  ‘Be quick about it,’ said Robert. ‘I am anxious to be gone. London is unwholesome. I would have my son back in York where he belongs.’

  So Jane climbed the stairs for the last time. The last time, she kept saying to herself in disbelief. This is the last time I will walk along here. The last time I will pass the parlour door. The last time I will see that crack in the plaster.

  The last time I will hold my son.

  Cecily and Mary were keeping watch over William, who was coughing still but watching big-eyed as they vied to entertain him.

  ‘What is it?’ Mary asked sharply, seeing Jane’s face.

  ‘I have to go away,’ said Jane.

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘I . . . don’t know.’ Somehow she summoned a smile. ‘But you must be good girls and look after the house for your father. And care for William for me. Will you do that?’

  She bent to pick up William, who nestled trustingly into her, his fat hands clutching her hair. ‘My heart,’ she whispered to him. ‘Your mamma will always love you.’

  The girls clung to her, until she had to prise their hands from her waist. ‘I must go,’ she said, her heart cracking, crumbling.

  She lay William back down, and he gurgled happily up at her, reaching his arms to be held again.

  Never again. Jane wanted to lie down and howl, but the girls were distressed enough. She couldn’t let them witness Robert dragging her away. Witness their father letting her go.

  Catherine was in bewildered tears in the hall. ‘I don’t understand, Pappa,’ she was saying to Gilbert, whose face seemed carved from a rock.

  ‘I don’t either,’ he said. ‘We must accept it anyway.’

  ‘Catherine.’ Jane held her tightly, unable to say more than her name.

  ‘Come back,’ Catherine whispered. ‘Come back soon. We need you. Pappa needs you.’

  ‘This is all very touching, but it is time to be gone,’ said Margaret, bored.

  Jane turned to Gilbert at last. His expression was as stark as hers must be. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I’ll always love you. That is the truth.’

  His throat worked, but he couldn’t speak, and after a moment, Jane nodded and turned. She had put on her warm gown but her hands were empty.

  ‘Is that it?’ said Robert in surprise. ‘Aren’t you taking anything with you?’

  Geoffrey, she saw, had packed a bag. He must have prepared it earlier.

  ‘Everything I need belongs in this house,’ said Jane without looking at Gilbert.

  ‘Then let us be off.’

  Robert and Geoffrey were already at the door, and Margaret swept before them out into the yard and up the passage to where a carriage waited, blocking the street, judging by the cursing that could be heard even behind the shop.

  Jane made her legs move. One step towards the door, and then another. Then a wheezy bark stopped her in her tracks. Poppet had sensed she was going without him and was struggling to catch up.

  A sob tore from Jane’s throat as she bent to pick him up. ‘You can’t come with me, old boy,’ she said brokenly. ‘You must stay here. Stay!’ Thrusting him into Gilbert’s arms, she turned and ran blindly for the door, clapping her hands over her ears as he lifted his muzzle and howled and howled and howled for her to come back.

  ‘It’s all right. Shh, come on, it’s okay now.’ There were strong arms around her, a hand smoothing gentle circles on her back. She couldn’t make sense of the words through her wrenching sobs, but she could feel the comfort of them, and she clung to a warm, solid body, until gradually reality seeped back and she remembered where she was, who she was. She was Roz, and this was Nick, and she didn’t have to leave him if she didn’t want to.

  ‘Oh Nick . . . Nick, I don’t want to lose you,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Hey, come on, I’m not going anywhere,’ he said, the comforting circles turning to pats. ‘You’ve been having a terrible dream.’

  If only it were true. Roz clutched at him in her distress. She could feel only too clearly the churn of Jane’s grief, the desperation at having to say goodbye to everything and everyone she had loved.

  ‘It’s Jane,’ she said brokenly. ‘She’s so unhappy.’

  Nick muttered under his breath, but he was very patient as he stroked her hair and held her close against the comfort of his body. ‘Jane’s not here, Roz. I’m sorry she was unhappy, but she’s gone and you’re here and I’m here.’

  ‘I know.’ Roz pressed closer. She was fully awake now, still wretched but aware of the present: the clean, soft sheets, the street light casting an orange glow through the window, the distant whoop and wail of a siren. And Nick, lean and muscled, holding her, soothing her.

  ‘I came so close to losing you,’ she said quietly. ‘When you told me about Daniel, I lost you, and I lost myself. I was so angry and so disappointed, and now I can’t understand why it mattered so much.’

  ‘I know why,’ said Nick. ‘You’d just discovered your aunt had kept a huge secret from you, and that everything you’d always believed to be true had been turned upside down. And then I kept something from you too, and it must have felt as though nothing was certain any more and you couldn’t trust anyone. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Roz,’ he said, ‘but I know that I did, and I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘But you’re here,’ said Roz, clinging to him. ‘I keep thinking about Jane, and how wretched she is, and I can feel you right here, and I’m so relieved and so lucky. It’s like waking from a terrible dream. That could have been me,’ she told Nick. ‘I could have driven you away. I could have gone to York and refused to forgive you and that would have been that.’

  ‘You could have done,’ said Nick, ‘but I wouldn’t have let that be that. I would have followed you to York. I would have made you forgive me. I wouldn’t have accepted it was over.’

  ‘Nick.’ Roz pressed her face into his throat. ‘Nick, I love you.’

  ‘And I love you,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Roz. I won’t let you go.’

  Roz shifted closer. Her mouth was urgent, her hands streaking over him. ‘Nick,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to waste any more time. I want a baby.’

  ‘What, right now?’ he said, and she smiled against his skin.

  ‘Maybe not right now, but soon. Can we try soon?’

  Nick tangled his fingers in her hair, held her head between his hands. ‘Let’s try now,’ he said.

  ‘Oh God, I don’
t really have to wear a tie, do I?’ Nick grumbled when Roz reminded him of the launch that evening, and the need to look smart.

  ‘Think yourself lucky you’re not expected to be in a doublet and hose,’ said Roz, rolling her eyes. ‘We’re all going to be in full costume!’

  ‘I’ll be glad when tonight is over,’ said Nick. ‘And not just because I can take my tie off.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. She would be glad too. The atmosphere in Holmwood House was taut with tension, and the sense of waiting for something to happen was wearing on her nerves. Everyone had been busy preparing for the launch, but Roz knew that the queasy sense of dread simmering in her belly was due to more than worry about press coverage or whether or not the caterers would turn up.

  It had been good to have Nick around, though. She felt safer with him there. If nothing else, Jane’s wretchedness had made Roz appreciate what she had, and she and Nick were working hard to rekindle their relationship. Having someone to go home to at the end of the day made all the difference too. Roz hadn’t realized how lonely she had felt in York until Nick was there, a blessed distraction from the oppressive atmosphere in Micklegate, where sadness gathered, dense and heavy as a stone inside her, and the smell of smoke in her office was growing day by day, so strong that she had to keep the window open in spite of the fog that had been hanging cold and clammy over the city for days now.

  The fog muffled everything. It slumped thick and grey over the rooftops, pressing down on the streets. For Roz, it was like walking through a different world where the usual points of reference had disappeared. Every morning when she walked to Micklegate she would stop in King’s Square, where Jane’s church had once stood, and look up Petergate to orientate herself by the Minster that loomed over the city. But now the fog had gulped even the cathedral, and all she could see were the shops, their tiled roofs indistinct in the blurry light.

  Sometimes she thought she saw a figure in doublet and hose disappearing down an alley, or the end of a cart just rounding a corner. Sometimes she was sure she heard the bells ringing the opening of the market, or smelt the hot pastry on the pie seller’s tray, but a turn of the head, a blink of the eye, and all were gone and a van was tooting its horn behind her, or a burglar alarm was jangling above a shop. On Ouse Bridge, Roz paused and peered down at the river. Sometimes she could have sworn she saw the keelboats pulled up against the King’s Staith, but the next moment their ghostly shapes would be gone and there would just be the tourist boats tied up together, waiting for the weather to clear.

  In Holmwood House, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that no mention would be made of the séance Helen had interrupted until after the launch. If Helen had said anything to Adrian, he gave no sign of it. He was as unctuous as ever, and was determined to get involved in every aspect of the launch. His constant questions and suggestions drove Roz mad, but she gritted her teeth and was grateful that she still had a job at all. She avoided Helen as much as possible, which clearly suited Helen herself just fine.

  Jeff, too, was keeping a low profile. Roz had invited him round for supper to meet Nick, which hadn’t been an entirely comfortable occasion, although they had all done their best. Her brother and her husband had nothing in common, except for their insistence that Roz call in a priest to exorcize Jane as soon as possible.

  ‘All right,’ said Roz in the end, exasperated by the way they wouldn’t let it go, and unwilling to admit how reluctant she still was to sever Jane from her life. ‘You find one, Jeff, if you think it’s that important, but can we just get the launch out of the way first?’

  Now they were almost ready. The caterers were already in the kitchen, and the waiting staff were setting out glasses in the great hall. The costumes had arrived, and Jeff had delivered them to everyone on the team. Roz’s was hanging behind her door. Helen had chosen a plain blue gown for Roz with a roll at her waist to spread out her skirts, and a tight bodice.

  ‘I think I’m supposed to be a craftsman’s wife,’ she said to Lucy, inspecting the gown as they helped each other to dress. There was less lacing and pinning than she remembered, but the fabric hung beautifully and swished satisfactorily from side to side when she swung her hips.

  Lucy’s gown was more elaborate, with a modest farthingale. ‘You’re higher up the social scale,’ Roz told her. ‘Perhaps your husband is Lord Mayor.’

  Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘Helen really doesn’t like you, does she? She’s given you the dullest dress.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Roz, and it was true. The dress felt comfortingly familiar, and when she patted the little ruff at her collar into place and smoothed down her skirts, a shiver of recognition raced through her.

  Jane sat on the edge of her bed and smoothed her skirts. The fabric was familiar, a blue broadcloth she had had made up by a tailor in Fenchurch Street earlier that year. Jane remembered quite clearly being measured for the gown. It was a serviceable dress, warm and comfortable. Gilbert had shaken his head when he saw it. ‘We will never make a fashionable lady of you, sweeting,’ he had said, smiling, but Jane hadn’t minded.

  ‘What use do I have for fashion?’ she’d replied. ‘A court dress would be little use to me when I am in the kitchen!’

  She had been wearing the blue gown the day the Holmwoods came, and she was wearing it still. Jane fingered the broadcloth, marvelling that it could be the same gown, that she could be the same person. Her life was cleaved in two. There had been before, at the sign of the golden lily in Minchen Lane, when she had been happy, and there was now, wretched and alone in the house on Micklegate. It was as if she had never been away. Sometimes she wondered if the years in London had been no more than a wonderful dream, but then she would hold on to the necklace Gilbert had given her, and the memories would crash over her, bittersweet: William, staggering towards her, his arms outstretched; Catherine, curled up with a book; Poppet, closing his eyes in bliss as she caressed his silky ears; Gilbert, his hands gentling down her spine.

  Jane’s heart cracked and curled at the memories. No, they hurt too much to be imaginary.

  She had been given one of the servants’ chambers at the top of Holmwood House, a bare, mean room with a straw mattress on the bed and a thin coverlet. And a bar on the door.

  Margaret told her she should consider herself fortunate to have a chamber to herself, but Jane would have welcomed the company. She might have found an ally then, but as it was, all the servants clearly had orders not to befriend her. She had wondered if she might be banished to Holme Hall again, but that would have been too kind.

  Since she had been back in York, Jane had been out only to go to church, where she was sat next to Margaret and unable to talk to anyone else. They had told everyone that she was mad, but made sure to parade her anyway so that folk could see that she really had returned, and that Geoffrey was lawfully Robert’s son. Nobody mentioned Anne, who had been Robert’s wife while Jane was in London. Poor Anne, who had died childless and, Jane was sure, unwanted. If she had lived, if she had had a son, how different would things have been? Margaret and Robert would have had no use for Geoffrey then. Jane and Geoffrey would have been safe.

  As it was, the Holmwoods were enjoying the chance to exact revenge on Jane. She was not locked in her room. She was not a prisoner, no, but they all knew that there was nowhere else she could go. Henry Birkby, they told her, had died only a month or so earlier. No one would aid Jane in her disgrace, they said. She could earn her board and her keep, and her place with Geoffrey, by running the house as she had done before, but she would be no mistress. She was a servant, to be isolated and humiliated at every opportunity.

  For the first few weeks Jane was too wretched to care. She ached for the house in Minchen Lane, for her son, for the girls, for the dog, and for Gilbert most of all. It had all happened too quickly, like a thunderbolt out of the blue, smashing her life apart, and at first she was too shocked and numb to react. She had sat dully in the carriage with Margaret as it jolted up the long road to
York, and the only thing she had been able to think was that Gilbert had let her go.

  But now she was thinking again. She should have resisted, she realized, slowly brushing the fabric of her gown, feeling the nap beneath her palms, slowly starting to feel again. She should have fought harder to stay. She should have explained more clearly why she had done what she did, and made Gilbert listen.

  She had made a mistake, Jane knew that now. She had kept the wrong promise.

  Geoffrey didn’t need her. Why had she ever believed that he would? He had wanted to punish her, that was all. He was in his element in York, strutting around behind Robert, revelling in the vicious atmosphere, blooming in the unkindness that warped the very air in the house. Jane didn’t know whether he was aware of the depraved relationship between Robert and his mother, but she knew that if he was, he wouldn’t be shocked. There was a wrongness in him that no amount of love or attention could change, she had come to realize. She had tried her best, but all her efforts were pointless, Jane could see that now.

  Her life, her love, had been lost for a promise that had mattered to no one but herself.

  Jane looked up at the tiny square of grey sky she could see through the window. She wanted to go home. She had done all she could for Geoffrey, and now she could do no more.

  The house was empty. She had heard them all go out earlier. She might not have a better chance. Making up her mind, she went down to Robert’s closet, closing her mind against the horrible memories that room held. She found paper, a pen, some ink. Trying not to think what would happen if Robert came home and found her there, she scrawled a quick note to Gilbert, and sealed it. Then she went to find Sibylla, the shy servant who blushed and stuttered whenever Jane was in the room. Nan and the other servants she remembered were long gone. The servants now were poorly trained, Jane had noted. They were slapdash and insolent, and taking their cue from Margaret and Robert, they treated her with thinly veiled contempt. Only Sibylla was young enough to be thrown into confusion by Jane’s presence.

  Jane had not managed a house for years without learning how to overawe a little maid. ‘Take this and find a carter,’ she said. ‘I need the letter to get to London as soon as possible.’ She pulled off a ring. ‘Give him this in payment.’