Outside, the light was growing dim.
‘Or perhaps, I should say we met his mother,’ continued Maud.
‘How did it come about?’ asked Marcus. Now that he had begun to come to terms with her revelation, he wanted to know everything he could about his mother, and the trials she had endured.
‘Lord Carisbrooke was in Lyme, brought there by his mother, and for a similar reason. He was ill, and she had hoped he would benefit from the sea air.’
‘He was mad?’
‘He was. Of course, your mother and I did not know that at the time. We took a walk one morning. I can still remember it as though it was yesterday. It was a heavy day. The sky was grey, and the clouds were low. There was a keen wind blowing in from the sea. We were well wrapped up against the cold, and we walked along the beach. As we walked, the sun came out. We sat in a sheltered spot and talked over what was to be done. Your mother was hopeless, and I must confess I almost felt the same. We had next to no money, and when we had spent the tiny amount that was left to us we would be destitute. I spoke to her bracingly, but there was little I could do to relieve her gloom. We stopped speaking as a lady approached us, meaning to resume our conversation once she had gone by. But she did not go by. She said that she had overheard her conversation, and that if we would do her the honour of having dinner with her that evening she hoped she would be able to help us, and that in return we might be able to help her.’
She broke off, and looked at his cup.’ But you are not drinking your tea.’
‘Tea! I hardly think this is a time for tea!’ he exclaimed.
‘Nonsense. It is exactly the time for tea. You have had a nasty shock.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Tea first,’ she said, exactly as though he was still in the nursery. ‘Then I will finish my tale.’
He gave a low growl, but nevertheless he took up his cup.
‘And a biscuit,’ she said.
He gave an exclamation of exasperation, but knew better than to argue with her. He had tried it many times in his childhood, and it had always failed.
He took a biscuit.
‘I had the recipe from Mrs Wilson next door,’ she said, as he ate it. ‘She has several very good recipes, including an excellent one for ginger beer. Yvonne and I are quite taken with it.’
‘It’s very good,’ said Marcus grudgingly. He knew she would not continue until he had expressed an opinion.
‘I will tell Yvonne. She will be so pleased. She baked them herself.’
He dutifully drank his tea, then a second cup which she forced upon him.
‘Now,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Finish your tale.’
‘Please,’ she admonished him.
‘I am not five years old any longer,’ he growled.
‘More’s the pity,’ she rebuked him. ‘You had such lovely manners when you were five.’
‘Hah! You would drive a saint to distraction! Finish your tale, if you please.’
‘Very well.
She pushed her pince nez further up her nose, and then took up her story once more.
‘Your mother and I did not know what to do. It seemed strange that an unknown lady should invite us to dinner. Had things been different, your mother would not have dreamt of accepting the invitation, but in the circumstances it seemed wise to do so, particularly as it meant we would eat well that day, at least. We were driven to such extremes at that time. We joined the unknown lady in the private parlour of an inn just outside Lyme and talked of pleasantries whilst the servants were bustling about, but once they had gone she began to speak.
‘Her story was as tragic as your mother’s. She had been married to the Earl of Carisbrooke - your supposed grandfather, the father of the man you thought was your sire - at a young age, and had been very happy with him. She had had three children. Two had died in infancy, leaving her with only one son. She had loved him dearly, and for a time all had been well. Then her husband had started to have what she described as "queer turns". His behaviour had been erratic. He had started to swear and throw things at the servants. But after each "turn" he had settled down again. Bit by bit, though, his "turns" had become more frequent, and each time they had been worse. They had lasted for longer and longer, and had started to include bouts of violence. Both she and her son had been badly hurt by him on several occasions. It was then she had discovered, during one of his periods of lucidity, that there was madness in his family, a taint he had thought he had escaped: only that belief had induced him to marry and father three children. But he had not escaped.
‘She had naturally been shocked by his revelation, but she had cared for him as well as she could, until in a fit of madness he had thrown himself into the river and drowned.
‘So she was left to bring up her son alone. For a time, she hoped the boy had escaped the family curse, but little by little the first signs began to appear. She kept him at the abbey, well looked after by a faithful couple of servants - you have them still, the Lunds - and from time to time she visited Lyme. The sea air made him calmer, and gave her some respite from her troubles. But she was sick at heart. She was going to lose her son, and after that she would have no one. She had been feeling desperate, she told us, when she had gone for a walk that morning. She had been longing for grandchildren to ease her loneliness and brighten her old age, but she could not allow an unsuspecting young woman to marry her son. She herself had been through agonies watching her husband descend into madness, and she would not inflict that on any other woman. And so she had seen nothing ahead for her but the sorrow of her son’s death and a lonely old age. And then she had heard your mother and I talking and an idea had come to her. If your mother agreed to marry her son, your mother would have a home and would be free from want. Moreover, your mother would have a father for her child and would be able to give it the protection of his name. And your grandmother - I call her your grandmother still, for although she was never related to you by blood, she loved you as truly as if she was your real grandmother - would have a child at the abbey, someone to bring sunshine and laughter into her old age. She would have the joy of watching a "grandchild" grow, and she would be able to relax, safe in the knowledge that it would not be tainted by madness.’
Marcus sat back, trying to digest everything he had heard. There had not been only one tragedy in the past, but two. His grandmother, or at least the woman he had called his grandmother, losing her husband and then her son to madness; and his mother, losing everything in one terrible accident. And yet out of both tragedies something good had come. His mother had found a safe haven, and his grandmother had found a family to love.
‘Then I am truly not Lord Carisbrooke’s son.’
At last he believed it. With the knowledge came a huge sense of relief. He felt suddenly lighter, as the enormous burden he had carried on his shoulders all his life lifted and floated away.
He gave a deep sigh.
He would not go mad.
But then his euphoria began to dissipate. Maud’s story had told him much, but there were still many things he wanted to know.
‘What I don’t understand,’ he said at last, ‘is how my mother came by Esmerelda.’
‘Ah, yes. Esmerelda.’ Maud’s hands stilled. ‘That was a dark day. Or perhaps I should say, a dark night.’
Marcus paled. He began to have an understanding of what was about to come.
‘Your father - that is to say, Lord Carisbrooke - was looked after by Lund, but one night Lund was taken ill. With the cunning that was a hallmark of his madness, Lord Carisbrooke took the key of his room from Lund’s waistcoat and escaped. He found your mother in her bedroom.’ She paused. ‘Esmerelda was the result.’
Marcus put his head in his hands.
‘My poor mother.’
She spoke consolingly. ‘Your mother never blamed him for it, and neither should you. It was not the cruel act of a rational man, but the unthinking instinct of a poor, sad creature, who was too far go
ne in madness to know what he was doing. Besides, your mother loved your sister. She even hoped, for a time, that Esmerelda had escaped the family curse. But it was not to be.’
Outside the window, afternoon was giving way to evening. Daylight was fading, and it was almost dark.
Maud laid aside her knitting.
Crossing to the mantelpiece, she lit the candles in the candelabras. Her old hands shook slightly as she did so.
Marcus watched her simple actions lovingly. Amidst so much that was changing, she was a familiar sight. He found it soothing to watch her, as he had watched her many times before, going about her simple routine. She lit the candles and blew out the taper, putting it back in its holder at the side of the mantelpiece. Then she bent down to tend to the fire. She took the poker from its place on the hearth and riddled the glowing coals, making them shift and spark. Then she returned the poker to its stand and took up the tongs. Carefully lifting a lump of coal out of the scuttle she placed it over the glowing coals, arranging another six lumps before deciding that it was enough. The red glow of the burning coals could still be seen, but the new ones placed on top of them were beginning to catch light, ensuring that the fire would not go out.
‘So now you know,’ she said. She straightened up again.
‘Yes. Now I know.’
He sat quietly, digesting all he had heard.
He was not Lord Carisbrooke’s son, and it had changed everything. But before he could allow himself to rejoice he must voice the one thought that still disturbed him. ‘If I am not Lord Carisbrooke’s son, then I am not entitled to my inheritance,’ he said. ‘I have no claim on the fortune, the title or the abbey.’
Maud resumed her seat.
‘You certainly have. The fortune was your grandmother’s, and not your grandfather’s. She had a right to leave it to whomever she wanted, and she chose to leave it to you.’
‘Then Laurence has no claim on it,’ said Marcus.
‘None at all. Besides, even if he did, he would not need it. Laurence has a fortune of his own.’
Marcus thought of the large fortune Laurence’s mother had left him, and was content on that score.
‘But the title ... ‘ he said.
‘Laurence has never expressed any interest in it, indeed I have heard him describe titles as vulgar. And he would not want the abbey. He regards it as a decrepit pile,’ she said with a sigh.
Marcus nodded. He had heard Laurence make disparaging remarks about the abbey on many occasions.
Now that his questions had been answered, he sat quietly, thinking over everything he had heard. His mother’s sad story, his grandmother’s tragic tale, his own origins and the details surrounding Esmerelda’s birth.
As he pondered the revelations, he was at last able to give way to the joy he had felt growing inside him ever since he had discovered that he was not Lord Carisbrooke’s son. Burgeoning inside him was a happiness he had thought he would never be able to feel, as the full meaning of the revelations was made clear.
His face broke into a smile. He had a future ahead of him, one that was bright and full of promise. He could marry Hilary. He could take her into his arms and love her and cherish her for the rest of his life.
He stood up. ‘I have to go.’
‘Yes, my dear,’ said Maud with a smile.
‘I never thought it possible that I could be so happy! There seemed to be no way of escaping my terrible destiny, and now everything has changed.’
The door opened. Yvonne stood there.
‘May I come in?’
Maud said, ‘You are just in time. Marcus is leaving us.’
‘Ah. Then you have told him,’ Yvonne said to her sister.
‘Indeed I have.’
‘And about time, too.’ She turned to Marcus. ‘I have often felt Maud should tell you the truth, but she never saw the need. Until now.’
‘I could not let Marcus throw away his chance of happiness,’ said Maud.
‘No, indeed. I am so glad you are to marry, Marcus. A wife will remove the haunted look from your eyes. You have had much to bear.’
‘You will wait until morning?’ asked Maud.
Marcus glanced out of the window. Night had fallen, but he was eager to be on his way. ‘No. I have a long journey before me. I want to make a start.’
‘Then we will wish you God speed,’ said Maud. ‘And mind you bring Hilary to visit us,’ she added with a smile.
‘I will,’ he promised her. ‘Just as soon as I’ve made her my wife.’
Chapter Twelve
Marcus had never accomplished the return journey from Lyme so quickly. He spared neither his coachman nor his horses, and a few days after leaving Maud’s home he was entering his own neighbourhood once again.
‘The Hampson farmhouse,’ he called out of the window to his coachman. ‘And stop when you get there.’
The coach pulled up in front of the neat farmhouse. Marcus opened the door before it had fully stopped and, without waiting for the step to be let down, he leapt out. His impatience had been growing throughout the journey, and now that he was within reach of Hilary it knew no bounds. Striding up the path, the hem of his greatcoat flying, he rapped at the door.
It seemed a lifetime before Hannah answered it, though it was only a few minutes.
‘I’m here to see Miss Wentworth,’ he growled as he strode into the house. ‘Be so good as to bring her to me.’
‘Yes, your lordship,’ said Hannah, clearly overawed by the sheer size of him, and by the knowledge that she had an earl in the house. ‘Only she’s —’
‘Who is it Hannah?’ came Mrs Hampson’s voice as she came into the kitchen, eager to greet her guest. ‘I - oh!’
She appeared to be dumbfounded at the sight of Lord Carisbrooke in her kitchen!
For once the worthy woman was speechless.
‘My lord!’ she gasped at last.
‘I have come to see Miss Wentworth,’ he said, trying to conceal his impatience and belatedly remembering to ask about Mrs Hampson’s health, the health of her husband and children, and of her new baby.
‘Never better, thank you, your lordship, the whole family, and the baby is thriving. We are so grateful to Hilary. She’s been such a help.’
‘Bring her to me, if you please,’ he said, tapping his hand against the side of his leg.
‘Of course, your lordship. Hannah, run out and get Miss Wentworth.’
‘Out?’ Marcus queried.
‘She’s taken the children into the woods,’ Mrs Hampson explained. ‘They were getting rather fractious, though never better children drew breath, I do assure your lordship, and she took them out for a nature walk. They’re to collect leaves,’ she explained helpfully.
Marcus almost exploded. Here he was, ready to sweep Hilary into his arms, and she was not to be found!
He was almost tempted to stride into the woods after her, but he would not be able to give way to his feelings once he found her if she was indeed with the children. He could hardly sweep her into his arms and cover her mouth, her face and her hair with his kisses, whilst the little girls looked on.
‘How long has she been gone?’ he growled.
‘Not long,’ said Mrs Hampson.
He cursed under his breath. If she had not been gone long, then she would not be back for some time.
A moment’s reflection showed him that perhaps this was no bad thing. He was not expected at the abbey, for he had travelled so quickly that he had not thought to send word ahead, and the fires would be banked down. When he was away the Lunds retreated to the kitchen and the fires in the main rooms were kept very low to prevent a deep chill from penetrating the stone walls, but nothing more. If he had found Hilary at home he would have carried her back to the abbey at once but she would have found a cold set of rooms and no dinner waiting for her. If he went on ahead these evils could be cured.
‘Bring me paper, if you please, ‘ he said to Hannah, ‘and a quill.’
‘Won’t
you come into the parlour?’ asked Mrs Hampson.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ He gave an apologetic growl. ‘I should not be giving your servant orders.’
‘Pray don’t mention it. I’m sure Hannah doesn’t mind any more than I do,’ said Mrs Hampson, agog to know what he wanted to write.
‘Oo no,’ said Hannah.
‘You are very good,’ he said with a bow.
Mrs Hampson led him through to the parlour, where she supplied him with a quill and paper.
He sat down at the table, dwarfing it with his immense size.
‘Do you have sealing wax?’ he asked.
‘No, my lord, there’s not a stick in the house,’ said Mrs Hampson.
Marcus nodded. He had not expected it. Still, it meant he must keep his note to Hilary brief, for he knew that Mrs Hampson would not be able to resist looking at the message.
My dear Miss Wentworth, he wrote, Pray join me at the abbey as soon as you are able to do so.
He signed it with a simple C.
‘Give this to Miss Wentworth as soon as she returns, if you please,’ he said.
‘Yes, my lord. Very good, my lord. Will you stay for tea?’
‘That is very kind of you, but I’m afraid I cannot stay,’ he said. ‘I must return to the abbey.’
‘I’ll see Hilary gets this just as soon as she gets in.’
‘Thank you.’
Pausing only to compliment her on the neatness of her house, and the orderliness of her farmyard, Marcus strode out to the waiting carriage and was once more on his way.
How long would it be before he could reasonably expect Hilary? he wondered, glancing at his fob watch. It was two o’clock now. Perhaps by three ....
The coach passed through the abbey gates.
His eyes swept over the weed-infested drive and the tangled shrubbery beyond. All this will soon be changed, he thought. Now that he had a future, he was eager to restore the abbey to its former glory, making it a suitable abode for his future wife - and, God willing, his future children.
The coach rolled to a halt outside the door.
He jumped out, and strode up the steps, pulling the bell rope so hard it nearly broke.