Obsession

by Claire Lorrimer

  Pulling her dress over her head, Harriet decided that it was only moral support Felicity needed: a witness to what was being said. By now, Ellen had returned and set about dressing Harriet’s hair, buttoning up her boots and taking her outdoor cloak and bonnet from the wardrobe. When finally Harriet descended the stairs, Ellen carrying her gloves and cloak, Fletcher was in the process of opening the front door.

  Seeing the post boy standing there, a new lad who obviously had not been told to use the tradesman’s entrance, Fletcher instructed him quite sharply to do so. Looking slightly apprehensive, the lad remained where he was because, he said, he’d been told not to leave without obtaining a signature from a Miss Ellen Reed saying she had received the letter he was holding. Realizing the boy did not know that Ellen was a servant and seeing her in the hall with the mistress, Fletcher said more gently, ‘If madam has no objection, Ellen, you can sign for the letter here.’ Taking the remaining letters from the post boy, he sent him smartly on his way.

  Ellen put the envelope in her apron pocket, and when Fletcher had assisted their mistress up into the driving seat of the gig and seen it disappear down the driveway, she hurried back upstairs to her bedroom. She had seen by the postmark on the envelope that it had come from the seaside nursing home in Worthing, where her sister was being cared for. The matron reported the patient’s condition to Ellen once a fortnight; however, it was barely a week since her last report, so as Ellen sat down on the hard iron bedstead, it was with a faint feeling of unease that she opened it, fearing news of a delay in her sister’s recovery.

  The words blurred as she started to read:

  ‘… died very suddenly last night. We sent at once for the doctor but Miss Reed had had a heart attack and there was nothing that could have been done to save her.

  We would have sent you a telegram with this sad news but knowing how devoted you were to your sister, and as there was nothing you could do for her, Doctor thought it would be less stressful for you to hear of her sad passing by letter.

  As you will be coming from some distance away, we will be very willing to accommodate you …’

  Ellen stopped reading. Her heart thudding, her hands trembling, she tried to come to terms with the horrific fact that her beloved sister, who she had believed to be recovering well from a bout of pneumonia, had suffered a heart attack and died.

  The shock was so intense, so heart-breaking, that for several minutes Ellen was paralysed. Then her mind began working at a furious speed as the initial shock gave way to anger. How could God have allowed this to happen? Her sister had never in her life done anything wrong. She’d been a gentle soul, suffering ill health without complaint as she had suffered the impoverished conditions in which she lived. Now, just when she, Ellen, was acquiring the necessary money to transform Susan’s life, God had taken the opportunity from her.

  Ellen scrunched up the pages of the letter and let them drop to the floor where it lay at her feet; then, anxious to read it once more, she stooped to retrieve it. As she did so, the letter from Mrs Goodall to Harriet, which she had stolen from her room whilst fastening her boots, fell from her skirt pocket on to the floor beside that of the matron’s. As she stared at the two lying side by side, she was struck suddenly by the thought that this could be prophetic: that Susan’s untimely death was God’s way of punishing her, Ellen, for knowingly complying with Felicity’s evil intentions. What better way was there of showing her she had been selling her soul to the Devil in order to achieve what she wanted?

  For a moment, Ellen feared she might faint as she faced the fact that assisting to commit a sin was as wicked as perpetrating it. There was no denying that she had suspected Mrs Goodall of intending serious harm, if not death for the wife of the man she wanted. She, Ellen, had closed her mind to what had become a certainty last night when she’d read Mrs Goodall’s request for Harriet to visit her secretly and alone.

  Although not overtly religious, Ellen attended church every Sunday and did not doubt the existence of an omnipotent God nor indeed of His counterpart, the Devil. She now caught her breath as her mind, distorted by shock and grief, envisaged Mrs Felicity Goodall as Satan in disguise. The Devil had closed her mind to the suspicion that the fruit and sweetmeats had contained poison; the Devil who had directed her to give Brook the stolen letter revealing the child’s origins, knowing full well that it could bring about the disintegration of a hitherto idyllic marriage.

  Throughout Susan’s childhood, her favourite book had been one containing Bible stories which she had had to read to her again and again. If any living person knew right from wrong as a result, she did; but she had chosen to sell her soul to the Devil and ignore those teachings. Was it now to be wondered that if God had chosen to remove the most precious thing in her life as a punishment? That he was giving her one last chance to redeem herself?

  Her hands trembling, Ellen smoothed out the page containing Felicity’s instructions to Harriet. Eleven o’clock Harriet was to be at Melton Court. Was there still time to prevent what she feared might be about to happen? If she could show God that she wished to repent, might He forgive her so that she could be certain to be reunited with her beloved sister in Heaven when she died? It was only with the certainty of seeing Susan again that she could even begin to face life without her; to accept that she would never hear her voice again, never see her lovely smile …

  Ellen rose stiffly from the bed and, drawing a deep breath to steady herself, resolved to carry out what she now had no doubt must be done. She looked once more at the hands of her watch and saw with dismay that even now it could be too late to prevent the disaster she suspected – a disaster it must surely be when the letter made it so clear Harriet must go to Melton Court on her own. The master must see the letter: hear her confession that she was in Felicity’s pay, and that she was convinced of her evil intent towards his wife.

  She grabbed the letter in one hand, her crumpled skirt in the other, and hurried down the main staircase, praying with every step that the master would be in his study and that her confession would not come too late.

  TWENTY-TWO

  1870

  For some time now, Felicity had been standing behind some trees in Badgers Wood, a dark cloak covering her dress and helping to conceal her presence. Confident that Ellen would have given her letter to Harriet that morning, she was in no doubt that Harriet would pass that way to Melton Court within the next half hour. Had Harriet been unable to come, she reasoned, she would have sent word to say so. All her planning now depended upon Harriet’s kindly nature ensuring she answered Felicity’s appeal for help. The only possible danger she could envisage was if, for some reason, Brook came with her. But she had even thought of a way to deal with such a contingency. If Brook was accompanying Harriet, she would be obliged to reveal herself as soon as they came into sight, pretend that she had fallen from her horse on the way to meet Harriet, and allow them to conduct her to Hunters Hall to recover. In due course she would insist upon returning home alone, which would afford her the opportunity to dismantle the trap she had set.

  Felicity had no fear that any other person might come this way. The road, if such it could be called, was no more than a cutting between the dense forest of trees that lay between their adjoining estates. Only a trespasser ever came this way or a poacher, and they would keep well hidden off the beaten track.

  It was a mild, sunny morning and squirrels were scampering about in the beech trees beneath which Felicity was standing. A rabbit ran past her motionless figure unaware of any danger. Apart from the rattling of a woodpecker calling to its mate from a nearby tree, there was no other sound to distract her apart from that of an approaching horse’s hooves. Stretched across the bridlepath, almost completely concealed by last winter’s leaf fall, lay a tripwire.

  Many years ago, when she and Paul were children, he had proudly explained to Felicity his newly acquired knowledge, imparted by the gamekeeper, of how to make snares for rabbits. At the same time he had describ
ed various aspects of nature, one of which was the fact that wild animals nearly always frequented the same paths through the undergrowth. This knowledge, he said, had come in handy in the war when tripwires were laid across routes in forests known to be used by the enemy’s horses pulling their gun carriages. All too frequently the unfortunate animals broke their legs and had to be shot.

  Now, whether Harriet came in a carriage or on horseback – this unlikely in her condition – the wire she had stretched across the bridleway would at the very least unseat her. If the fall did not kill Harriet, then she had beside her a stout branch which would complete the job, and would explain the resulting injury to Harriet’s head.

  Back at Hunters Hall Hastings was in the hallway, the look of anxiety on his face deepening when he saw Harriet descending the stairs. He stepped forward quickly and, apologising for halting her progress, he said, ‘Pardon me, madam, but the master thought as how you had departed about half an hour ago. He has gone after you. He said if he wasn’t back within the hour, I was to go to Melton Court.’

  Harriet looked at the valet curiously. Hastings was what Brook called a rock, always quiet, dependable and unflappable. He was now quite clearly in a disturbed state.

  ‘I did leave, Hastings,’ she said, ‘but I went first to the hot-house to pick up a plant for Mrs Goodall, and the heel of my boot came loose. I’ve just been upstairs to change. I am a trifle late, so I must hurry now. But you sound worried, Hastings. Your master had no need to follow me. Do you know why he has done so?’

  ‘Yes, madam, I am concerned,’ he said. ‘The master did not even change into his riding clothes. Nor would he wait for me.’ Hastings caught his breath. He could see no reason why the truth could not be told – it would be bound to surface sooner or later.

  ‘Ellen came downstairs to speak to the master,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘She warned him that you were in danger, madam; that you were on your way to see Mrs Goodall and must be stopped. The master did not even wait for me to fetch his hat and coat but went himself to the stables to fetch Shamrock and, without saddling him, went galloping off down the driveway.’

  ‘What danger, Hastings? I don’t understand,’ Harriet said, her heart quickening in anxiety. ‘Are you trying to tell me that it is my husband and not I who is in danger? If so, why aren’t you with him, Hastings? No matter what orders he gave you?’

  ‘Because he forbade me. He said I might hold him up,’ the valet replied simply, ‘as I’m not able to ride without a saddle as he can. He …’

  ‘Then we must go and tell him that I am perfectly safe!’ Harriet said. ‘Besides which, I am due at Mrs Goodall’s house at eleven o’clock and I should be well on my way by now. The gig should be waiting outside,’ she continued. ‘We will go together, Hastings, and if, as you seem to think, my husband is anticipating some kind of trouble, you will be on hand to take care of it.’

  A few minutes later, as she set off in the gig with Hastings, down the driveway and into the woods leading to Melton Court, she tried to fathom what possible reason Ellen might have had to see Brook that had disturbed him sufficiently to follow her to Melton Court.

  Never having liked Ellen, she had consequently not mentioned to her that she was visiting Felicity alone that morning. Even had Ellen seen her depart alone in the gig, it was not her business to relay the fact to Brook.

  It was time she got rid of Ellen, she told herself, as Hastings urged the horse into a faster trot. She would have dismissed her years ago, had it not been for two reasons – one, that Ellen was extremely efficient, the other that Ellen had no family other than the invalid sister for whom she was solely responsible. Pity had outweighed her antipathy for her.

  At first, all they could hear above the muffled noise of their horse’s hooves on the rough ground was the harsh cawing of the rooks as they flew off in alarm. Then suddenly there was the sound of gunshots. A moment later they turned a corner and a horrifying scene came into sight. Hastings reined in the horse as they drew nearer. A man in rough clothing, holding a gun, was standing looking down at a dead horse. Beside him was a man’s body with a woman crouched over him, cradling his head in her arms and keening.

  In a flash, Hastings had jumped out of the gig and was running towards them. Only as he reached them and the woman raised her head did Harriet realize that the sobbing female was Felicity. A second later, horrifyingly, she caught sight of the man she was holding: it was Brook, and the dead horse was Shamrock, his precious stallion.

  Hastings was now trying to pull Felicity away from Brook’s body, but she clung to him with astonishing strength. As quickly as she could, Harriet struggled to climb down from the gig. The man with the gun, who she now recognized as Tyler, Paul Denning’s gamekeeper, came hurrying over to her, saying, ‘Best not go near them, Mrs Edgerton, not ’till your man’s got hold of her. Reckon as how the poor lady’s off her head!’ He scratched his chin in bewilderment. ‘Don’t make much sense to me, her carrying on like that, not seeing as how it were she what set the trap for him – leastways, that’s what I’m thinking!’

  Seeing the look of incomprehension on Harriet’s face, he continued, ‘When I came this way last evening, I saw that there wire, coiled up like, behind that tree. I reckoned t’was one of them dratted poachers were about as have been after the pheasants. So I thought as how I’d keep an eye on it. When I comes back this morning, there was the wire fastened to that tree across the path and …’

  Harriet was only half listening as she stared at the dreadful scene in front of them. Brook’s inert body lay only a few feet away from the dead horse. Resisting Hastings’ attempt to lift her, Felicity was cradling Brook’s head, rocking to and fro. She had stopped moaning and was whimpering, her words barely decipherable as she protested over and over again that she loved him and had not meant to harm him; that he mustn’t die because he belonged to her; she needed him. Harriet only half heard the gamekeeper’s voice as he continued to relate what he’d seen.

  ‘Weren’t no one about that early,’ he was saying, ‘but the deer often comes this way and I reckoned that them poachers were hidden somewhere’s awaiting for one of ’em to come by and break its leg like that poor horse. Had to shoot ’im, I did!’

  Seeing that he now had Harriet’s attention once more, he continued, ‘I didn’t see his rider, Mr Edgerton, at first, and next thing madam comes running out of t’other side of the path and …’

  He broke off as Hastings finally managed to pull Felicity away from Brook’s body. Disregarding her screams, he was restraining her with his belt as he twisted it round her waist, securing her to a nearby sapling. As Harriet ran forward to Brook, Hastings turned his back on Felicity and came over to kneel down by Brook’s side. Harriet watched him, her heart pounding as he put his ear to his master’s mouth.

  After what seemed to Harriet to be an interminable time, he looked up at her, saying, ‘He’s alive, madam, but only just. We need to get the doctor fast.’ He turned to the gamekeeper. ‘You stay here with madam and I’ll take the horse and ride to the village to fetch Doctor Tremlett.’ He took off his jacket and covered Brook’s body as best he could. Then, rising quickly, he hurried over to the gig and took the two cushions off the seat. With great tenderness, he put one under Brook’s head and the other on the ground beside him.

  ‘If you stay here with him, madam, Tyler can keep an eye on Mrs Goodall. I’ll be as quick as I can. Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Hastings!’ Harriet told him. ‘Please hurry!’ she whispered as she forced herself to look at Brook’s ashen face. There was a smear of blood coming from a gash on his forehead, and his breathing was slow and frighteningly uneven.

  Tears filled her eyes but remained unshed as she stroked his cheek, whispering words of endearment and begging him not to leave her. So concentrated was she that Felicity’s screams as she tried to free herself went unheard.

  Thus it was that with her head bent over Brook’s body as she will
ed him not to die, Harriet was unaware when Felicity suddenly managed to extricate one arm from the belt securing her body to the tree. Tyler, walking back to pick up his gun from where he had placed it by some trees, turned as he heard a sudden piercing scream, and saw Felicity hurrying towards the couple. She stopped momentarily to pick up a stout branch of wood lying by the dead horse. Then she reached Harriet’s side and, screaming hysterically that Brook belonged to her, raised her arm ready to bring the branch down on Harriet’s head. Her hair was now in a wild tangle about her face, which was distorted with hatred. Even from some distance away, Tyler could see that her eyes were blazing like those of someone demented. In that single moment, he was in no doubt whatsoever of the mad woman’s intent. Simultaneously, he realized he could not cover the distance between them quickly enough to prevent the blow being struck. He reached instinctively for his gun, pulled back the safety catch, and took aim.

  Seeing him do so, Felicity gave a wild laugh and raised the branch still higher above Harriet’s head. ‘He’s mine! Mine! Mine!’ she screamed, and was still screaming when, believing he had no other alternative, Tyler pulled back the trigger and fired.

  TWENTY-THREE

  1870

  It must be all of twenty-four hours ago, Harriet thought, that she had gone into labour. Bessie had sent for the midwife who had come up from the village and examined her, and gone away saying Harriet would have to wait a while yet before her baby arrived. To Bessie she confided that she intended having a word with Dr Tremlett as she feared things were not as they should be with Mrs Edgerton.

  Not really frightened by the intermittent pains, Harriet had no wish to be left on her own and was happy to have her faithful Bessie sitting with her.

  There was no sign of Brook. He had been in a coma for over a month before he had regained consciousness, and it was a further eight weeks before Dr Tremlett had pronounced his complete recovery. However, he had not regained any memory of the accident. According to the doctor, this was not unusual and he had assured Brook that he might recall events in the future.