Abigail Moor (12 page)

The owner’s
eyes almost sparkled at the thought that two bidders were about to
bargain for his vehicle; Abigail presumed at his delight that he
could obtain an extortionate fee from the highest bidder.

“Whitby?”
Joshua repeated, and looked down at the boy. “This coach will seat
all of us comfortably.” He looked inside. The four seats were
arranged in two rows all facing forward. “Could I suggest we share
it?” He looked at Abigail and smiled.

The owner
looked slightly puzzled. “I thought you were heading south,
sir.”

“Indeed, but I
should like to show the boy the sea first.” Joshua offered the
explanation without hesitation.

Martha nudged
Abigail. “Very well, how soon can we leave?”

The owner told
them it would be ready within half an hour which seemed to please
all concerned.

Joshua and Molly stood by the coach, whilst Abigail and Martha were
seated in a small waiting room.

“Where did he
find the boy, Martha? I thought he was with a young girl?”

“After we
returned from our drenching a man came looking for a young lass. He
didn’t look kindly, in fact the opposite. You’re young gentleman
was very noble again. He stopped the man from finding her. I reckon
he’s some sort of guardian angel.” Martha chuckled and then dug
Abigail with her elbow. “No, I think he’s just meddling... he
limps.”

Abigail
blushed. “I hadn’t noticed,” she answered casually.

“You never were
any good at lying, Miss Abigail. We had better pray that he is a
guardian angel.”

“You really do
underestimate me, Martha Napp,” Abigail answered, and waited in
silence until the postilion took up his position.

Abigail was seated on the back seats next to Martha. Molly happily
sat herself next to Joshua in front of them. Abigail really wanted
to ask him if he was hurt in some way, but could not think how to
pose the question without being forward and intrusive. She could
see he was strong yet his eyes seem to suggest an inner
sensitivity: so did his actions apparently as he had helped the
young person next to him.

The postilion
in his bright and colourful livery, took his place on the nearside
horse, and prepared to move the vehicle off. Abigail was relieved
to be on her way again.

Deciding she
was being fanciful, Abigail stared out of the carriage window as
they left the city behind them, and the countryside opened out
before her once more.

She stared at a
group of raggedy children playing with a stick and stone in the
first village that they passed through. The poverty that she saw
touched her deeply. “What has happened here?” Abigail asked. “Why
are they so poor?”

“Nothing and
everything happened at the same time.” Joshua shook his head and
explained. “Not one single thing did this to them, but several over
the last few years. War, failing crops, lack of manpower and bad
politics.”

“You are not
making any sense, sir.” Abigail could sense a sad tone to his voice
as she did not understand the implications of the words.

“It does not
make sense to them either. That’s the problem. They work hard yet
bad weather has meant poor crops, little food and menfolk lost to
Napoleon in the war or returning home bashed in body and mind, or
both, and workless; all that came together meaning people are poor
and food is scarce.” Joshua stared out at them and then glanced at
her. “The poor abound.”

Martha stared
at Abigail. “Their world is far removed from what yours has been,
and for that you should give hearty thanks, ma’am,” Martha
commented in a subdued but audible voice.

“But what about
the parish funds? My father has always contributed most generously.
The poor are always given their share of charity, are they not?”
Abigail had heard Reverend Hardiman say as much on one of his
visits, usually when he was asking for her father to help support
some event or their ongoing demands.

“Does he?”
Martha shook her head, and Abigail did not like the attitude of her
maid. “Perhaps, because times are hard, it’s just not enough,”
Martha explained, and she too stared out at the hapless children
they passed by.

Abigail did not
like the hard tone to her voice. Her words almost came out with an
accusation of some kind thinly hidden behind them.

Martha saw
Abigail reach for some coins in her purse. “Now, what are you going
to do with those?”

“Throw them to
the children, so their mothers can buy them food.” Abigail thought
it was the least she could do. If the parish was not coping with
its poor then anything would be of help to them, and gratefully
received, she reasoned. Martha glared at her and prevented Abigail
from carrying out her gesture.

“Please, keep
them coins safe. We will need all that you have. Don’t you see that
we could also end up like them poor children in the street? If we
can’t find suitable accommodation and work, we could starve
ourselves.” Martha blurted the words out above the jostle and
rumble of wheels turning on the road.

Abigail was
appalled. “How dare you speak to me in this manner and in front of
a stranger too?” she quietly rebuked Martha. Her cheeks were
flushed as she caught the Captain’s head turn.

“We have been
introduced already, Mrs Moor. My name is Joshua Rusk and until ten
months ago a serving Captain in the Rifles. Now, we have been
introduced twice, dear lady, then we are definitely not strangers
anymore. I think your maid is quite correct in her advice and very
observant.”

Molly looked
up. Joshua indicated that she should remove her cap and she smiled
at Martha.

“Well, my maid
speaks nonsense! We should be able to do more.” Abigail did not
mean to sound quite as petulant as her remark may have sounded.

He shrugged. “I
agree ideally we should be, but we live in troubled times.”

The continuous
noise of the coach and its rocking momentum saw a cessation of
conversation as it made good progress to Pickering where they could
take refreshments.

Abigail was delighted to find that a room had been made available
for ladies who were travelling. She used the opportunity to take
Martha to task.

Abigail had
been thinking. “We will send the militia from Whitby to rescue
Father and all will be as it was.” She was not prepared to accept
Martha’s outspoken response.

“Just like
that?” Martha snapped back, as quietly as she could.

“So, having
found out that your own father’s ‘good’ friend, Mr Ashton, would
prefer to believe in Mr Frederick’s word rather than yours, you
honestly believe a militia man will take your side on the matter
without proof or question? Don’t you see, Abigail, you will
certainly be seen as no more than a trouble-maker out to feather
her own nest? They will not believe or care why you should not
consider obeying Mr Frederick and marrying that bag of trouble,
Blackman. He has both position and money. Many a young woman would
settle for that.”

“Mr Ashton may
have doubted my motives because he is such a good friend of the
family. After all, I was a total stranger to him. That does not
mean that the militia officers would do likewise. You cannot be
sure they would doubt my honesty, integrity or credibility.”
Abigail saw that her servant was totally unconvinced as in fact she
herself was, but she had to try to believe they had a future, that
all would be well, or what point was there to their running away?
She had now seen real poverty for the first time in her life and
she did not like its look or smell.

“Don’t you
think that the soldier in charge of the militia may be a little
pre-occupied with his own problems like overseeing a busy port and
trying to stop the trade around here – or at least trying to do
something to stop the smugglers. There is no going back, Abigail,
unless your father makes a full recovery and returns to his
previous good health, which is doubtful, I’m sorry to say.” Martha
squeezed Abigail’s hand gently. “You and I have to make a new life
for ourselves - one that will involve working to keep a roof over
our heads.”

Abigail saw the
panic in Martha’s face. To Abigail the whole adventure was
exciting, liberating and a means to an end – escaping Frederick’s
despicable plans for her. However, Martha knew the reality of life
and their prospects to her were obviously daunting. Abigail would
not give in to such poor thoughts. They would survive and
succeed.

Abigail decided
she would be direct. “You knew my mother, Martha. You knew who she
was and I need to be told the truth.” Abigail saw that her quick
turn of conversation had caught Martha off guard. It was not
expected in front of their new companions. The woman blustered for
a moment or two then grinned at herself and at her own
behaviour.

“I shall tell
you what I can, Miss…es Abigail, and no more. So accept this and,
for your own sake, don’t question me any further, for there are
some things a person is better off not knowing.” Martha waited a
few moments for her to agree. “Now is not the place.”

“It’s my right
to be told the truth – it is my birthright.”

“Martha, tell
me what you can and, for now, it will have to do.” Abigail watched
Martha swallow slightly and she realised that whatever her past
involved it was something that touched Martha deeply too.

“Your mother
was a governess at a large hall.”

“Where? Which
hall?” Abigail asked eagerly, desperate to know anything about her
mother.

“No questions,”
Martha said. “I will tell you only the details that won’t cause you
too much pain to know. The hall was bigger than Beckton Manor. It
was grand, fit for a king. She had been, I believe, the youngest
daughter of a wealthy family…”

“What was her
name, Martha?” Abigail asked, again eager to know anything that
brought this shadowy figure of her mother closer to her.

Martha’s face
filled with a joy that was infectious as she remembered.

“What was her
surname? Perhaps I can trace my true family?” Abigail said
excitedly.

“No! Her name
was Grace. I’ll not tell you her family name because they turned
their back on her and disowned her leaving her to a life of
solitude and to her fate. That - her fate, I mean, was one that no
young woman should have to face on her own, especially a lady who
was well-bred. She was bright as a polished brass button,
intelligent, always reading books in the library.” Martha grinned
to herself. “She would have been better than Frederick, for sure,
at his law work... but she was a lady and not a gentleman. Good for
marriage...”

“So what did
fate do to her?” Abigail asked, whilst bracing herself for the
unpleasant truth.

Martha looked
at her with slightly watery eyes. “My dear, Abigail, the answer is
simple and hard because it is... you.”

Abigail looked
horrified, an empty sinking feeling threatening to engulf her.
“What do you mean... me?”

“You should
have been her greatest blessing, but she was single and you were
not born from the seed of love. She was not married.”

Abigail gasped.
“Was she rap…? You know what I mean. Was she taken against her
will?” Abigail felt almost sick at the thought. Not only for her
mother’s horrific experience, but that Frederick was even more
correct in his description of her as an ‘illegitimate child’ than
she would have ever liked to accept. Up to this point his words had
been no more than empty weapons said purely to inflict pain in her
heart, but they had never really hit her hard because she had not
believed there was any truth in them. She presumed that poverty had
led her to be abandoned by her parents to a poorhouse, not
abandoned by a defiled mother.

“No, she
wasn’t, not in the way you mean…”

“How many ways
are there?” Abigail asked sharply, and then regretted her abrupt
manner.

Martha raised
her head and gave her a warning look. “Miss Abigail! I’ll explain
as best I can if you’ll stop interrupting me like that. I know more
about such things than you and your books, dear child.”

“Sorry,”
Abigail said quietly, taking the rebuke as it was deserved. She had
talked to Hetty, a maid, about such things and they had gossiped
about another servant, Rebecca, and her antics with James the
stable lad. Martha did not know everything about her, Abigail
thought to herself.

“Grace took
pity on the master of the house at a very vulnerable time in his
life. She didn’t mean to become involved with him in any way. She
had a good heart and merely tried to help him through his grief
when he lost his son, his only child. Grace had no idea what sort
of a man he really was. He was clever, with an ambitious wife and
they desperately wanted an heir. His wife was beautiful but did not
conceive one, so in order to protect his fortune and line, yet keep
his young wife, she stayed with friends whilst he seduced your
mother. She was, as I said, well-bred and educated. She never
realised what was happening to her until it was too late; she had
no idea of the evil ways of this world. Grace was gentle and naïve,
always looking on the bright side of life. Like you, she thought
everything in this world, even the bad things, would have a good
side to them. Grace didn’t know what Lady … what her mistress was
capable of. She didn’t stand a chance against the two of them. The
inevitable happened and she became pregnant. Once pregnant they
waited to see if it was a boy, and… oh dear, I’ve already said far
too much.” Martha’s eyes spilled out silent tears as she relived
what was obviously for her a painful and distressing memory.

“They wanted a
boy but ended up with a daughter – me.”

Abigail held
the woman’s arm and bit her lower lip as she quietly resented her
own gender more than ever in her life before. It was so unfair. She
felt that her own emotions were in turmoil. “No, Martha, you have
not said too much - rather, not enough. Who were these wicked
people?”