A Woman of Influence (22 page)

It was getting dark, and Becky decided they should return to the house.

James offered to search the woods for a while longer, but there was general agreement that it would be of little use.

"Besides," said Becky, "it may not be safe to be wandering around in the woods after dark--I know Mr Jamison doesn't believe that his beloved convict is capable of violence, but desperate men may do reckless things, and an ex-convict may well be sufficiently desperate as to be dangerous."

Back at the house, they found everyone sunk into a state of despondency, which was deepened considerably by their return without Alice and the boy. Mrs Bates, who had recovered some of her customary composure, was anxious to know what, if anything, they had discovered and was only prevented from indulging in another bout of self-reproach by Becky, who told her the parson Mr Jamison had promised to help search for Alice and her son. A god-fearing, regular churchgoing woman, Mrs Bates took some comfort from that, although she was unable to explain even to herself what the source of that comfort was.

Mr Jamison, though a genuinely kind and good man of the cloth, had no heroic pretensions and certainly did not strike one as the type of man who might rescue damsels in distress, yet clearly he gave Mrs Bates some confidence, and for that Becky was grateful.

Going upstairs, she asked Nelly to prepare her bath and, as she went through her toilette, let her mind wander over the entire gamut of possibilities flowing from the disappearance of Alice Grey--bad, worse, and disastrous possibilities, for there could not have been any that were good.

If only Jonathan were here, she could have asked for his help, Becky thought as Nelly's voice broke in upon her musings.

"Ma'am, is it not possible that Alice may have gone to meet her husband?" she asked.

This remark jolted Becky back to reality. "What makes you think that, Nelly? Did Alice say anything that leads you to believe she would have done so?"

Nelly was innocently honest. "No, ma'am, but she did say how she had not seen him for a very long time and how much she wanted Tom to see his father, and when she said that she always sounded very sad, ma'am. I thought maybe if I felt that way, I should be wanting to see my husband--that is, if I was married and in the same trouble, which I thank God I am not, ma'am."

Becky smiled and, turning to let Nelly button up her gown, said, "I do understand, Nelly, and yet I wish I knew if Alice had indeed gone to meet her husband--that would not pose such a problem. It's the fact that we know nothing of her whereabouts or what her intentions were that makes me worry."

Nelly offered some further information, as she dressed her mistress's hair.

"I think Alice believed that he would send for them, when he had found a safe place for them to live, ma'am. She always swore he was innocent and believed he would return and prove it."

"Poor Alice, it is not as easy as she might think, Nelly," Becky said. "Her husband remains a convicted felon until he is acquitted or pardoned."

"But that isn't fair, ma'am!" Nelly complained, and Becky concurred.

"I know that, Nelly, but then, life is often not very fair, is it?" and reluctantly, Nelly agreed.

When they went downstairs, they noted that the weather had changed since early afternoon. There was a strong wind up, and clouds scudded across the sky. Rain was not far away.

As the candles were lit, the footman went to close the drapes across the large bay window, and in that moment, seeing a strange figure crossing the lawn, he called out, "Ma'am, there's someone out there coming towards the house."

Becky was up in a moment, and looking out on the darkening garden, she too saw a large figure, enveloped in a cloak, making its way towards the front porch. The manservant James went to the door and opened it cautiously, placing himself between those inside the house and whoever was approaching. No one was certain who this might be.

Becky stood to one side of the sitting room door, eager to discover who it was, but somewhat apprehensive that whoever it was may be the bearer of bad news. That it was not Alice Grey was obvious enough.

Moments later, James opened the door wide enough to let the burly figure into the hall, simultaneously exclaiming, "Why, Mr Jamison sir..." and then, as the boy emerged from inside Mr Jamison's cloak, "Tom! Where have you been, and where is your mother?"

On hearing his words, Becky rushed into the hall, and Mrs Bates, who had been alerted to what was afoot by Nelly, came forward and scooped the child up in her arms. He was wet and clearly scared. Mrs Bates and Nelly took him away to the kitchen; their priority was to get him dry, warm, and feed him well.

Mr Jamison was left to come into the sitting room and warm himself before the fire, while explaining his arrival with the boy.

He told a strange tale indeed.

About an hour ago, he said, he'd been reading in his study, when there had been a loud banging on the kitchen door. His housekeeper had opened the door to find Tom, cold and damp and probably hungry. She had taken him in and called Mr Jamison who, waiting until the child had been fed, had asked him where his mother was. It was then he had taken from inside his shirt a scrap of paper and handed it to Mr Jamison.

It was a note from Alice Grey, who had obviously sent the boy to the parsonage, knowing Mr Jamison would surely convey her message to Mrs Tate.

Not long afterwards, the storm that had been brewing all evening had broken over the district and forced him to wait until it had abated, before he could set out for Edgewater with the boy, he explained.

As he handed the paper to Becky, he apologised that he had not been able to reach her sooner, but Becky dismissed his concerns.

"Mr Jamison, there is no need for you to apologise; you have brought us the only good news we have had all day! I am in your debt and wish to say how very grateful I am." Mr Jamison beamed, looking very gratified at such fulsome praise, and continued to smile, although Becky, reading Alice's note, had begun to frown at its contents.

The note, though damp, was still quite legible. Clearly, Alice had had a good governess; she wrote well and in a neat round hand.

She apologised for her decision to leave the house while Mrs Tate was out and explained that she had received a message from her husband and had taken a chance to discover where he was and if it was possible for them to join him. It was what she had always wanted, she said, and begged Mrs Tate to trust her and to look after her son, Tom, until she returned. Plainly she had not wished to place the boy at risk.

Becky read the note a second time, with an increasing degree of anxiety.

Alice Grey had said nothing about who it was had brought her the message from her husband and where she intended to meet him. Becky was concerned that Alice may well have been lured away from Edgewater, where she was safe and secure, to some place where she may be exposed to danger without any protection. They had no proof that she had gone to meet her husband.

"Mr Jamison, I have to say that while I am exceedingly relieved to have Tom back with us, I cannot help being concerned about Alice Grey's safety.

"She claims she received a message from her husband; do you know who brought that message? Could it have been the man, the convict who approached you last week?"

Mr Jamison's smile disappeared, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

He shook his head and said he had no notion at all who could have brought Alice Grey a message; as far as he knew, the convict who had approached him in the churchyard had disappeared and never been seen again.

"He was probably frightened away when I mentioned the police," he said.

Becky wasn't willing to allow him such an easy exit.

"Are you sure, Mr Jamison? I understand that he has been seen on two or three occasions in the woods, near the church, and even in the spinney on my property! I am convinced he was trying to contact Alice."

At this, Mr Jamison's discomfort seemed to increase somewhat, and Becky had the impression that he was keen to leave. He put down his coffee cup, took out his watch and looked at the time, and put it away; then rose and walked to the window and looked out at the rain, which was falling much less heavily.

It was quite plain Mr Jamison was unwilling to talk about the convict, and Becky decided she would not press him at this stage. Better leave it for another time, she thought, but even as she rose to see him to the door, she added one significant line: "I cannot help thinking I ought call the police-- were I not to do so and something untoward happens; if Alice comes to any harm, those of us who knew will be held responsible. I shall sleep on it and speak with my lawyer tomorrow before I decide," she said casually, and seeing Mr Jamison's eyes widen in surprise, Becky thought, "Good, clearly
that ha
s shaken you. Think on that, Mr Jamison, and let's see if you have anything more to tell me tomorrow."

He bade her good night and said he would pray that Alice would return safe and sound. Becky could not help smiling; she found that she was unable to believe entirely in the sincerity of Mr Jamison's sentiments, not because she suspected him of malicious intent; quite the contrary, she had no evidence that he was anything but a good and decent man. However, she had not forgotten that in every conversation they had had about Alice Grey, Mr Jamison had appeared exceedingly keen that Alice should be reunited with her husband. Was it possible, Becky wondered, that the parson could have connived with the convict to help get Alice Grey away from Edgewater to meet her husband?

Incredible as that might have seemed, she could not put out of her mind the niggling doubts that assailed her and kept her restless all night long.

Writing in her diary, Becky pondered her options and decided that she needed the advice of someone with a sound knowledge of the law. She wrote:

Recognising the dilemma she was in, Becky was deeply troubled and spent many sleepless hours agonising over Alice Grey.

What if she didn't return? How would they find her, and what of the boy? Becky felt sure she would have to carry the blame for any misfortune that befell his mother. It was not a circumstance she contemplated with any degree of equanimity.

As she turned the events over again in her mind, Becky wondered who she could apply to for some practical advice. She did not feel she could trouble her sister again; it was not a matter on which either Catherine or her husband could be expected to have much knowledge or experience. Yet it was imperative that she get some sound advice. Once again, her mind turned to Jonathan Bingley.

He was indeed the ideal person to help her, but despite this, on reflection, she decided against applying to him. She reminded herself that a female relative who calls upon a gentleman for help in other than the direst of circumstances may well be considered a nuisance by his family, and Becky had no wish to be so regarded.

Finally in desperation, she decided that on the morrow, she would write to Jonathan's son-in-law, Mr Colin Elliott, MP. He was already aware of some of the circumstances of the case of William Rickman, and Jonathan had said he had friends in the Home Office, which made it seem a sensible course to follow.

Using some of the information given her by Mrs Bancroft as well as her own observation, she wrote, laying all the known facts before him and asking if he had any advice for her.

Having struggled with her dilemma for most of the night and a good part of the following day, Becky finally sealed and despatched her letter.

When it was done, feeling weary and longing for the soothing satisfaction of nature, she went out to walk around the grounds alone. She had decided she would say nothing to Mr Jamison about her approach to Mr Elliott. She did not feel she wanted to take him into her confidence on this matter.

She had begun to feel increasingly isolated, unable to confide in anyone.

Having written to Mr Elliott, she was impatient for an answer but knew there was no help for it, for wait she must for Colin Elliott's reply, however long it took. She was aware that he was a busy man, involved in much of the political machinations that were afoot at the time, but hoped desperately that he would find time to respond to her request.

The afternoon sun, already low in the west, cast long shadows over much of the grounds. As Becky walked towards the lake, her eyes were drawn to the poplars in the spinney, already deep in shadow. It had always attracted her, the sort of atmospheric scene she would have liked to paint if she had had the talent and skill.