Abigail Moor (20 page)

“Good morning,
Abigail. I hope you slept well.” Her manner was charming and
bright.

“Very well, and
you?” It seemed strange to Abigail that she had slept with a total
stranger who was her own mother and yet it had felt so very right.
“It’s still dark,” Abigail said, and yawned.

“No, I didn’t
sleep at all well, but that was because I was so happy and excited
by yesterday’s events. I felt as though I should wake myself up out
of this dream, a dream I have had so many times, then awoken to
realise I was alone, my baby gone,” she gave Abigail a hug, “but in
fact this dream turned out to be real and, yes, it is still dark.”
Grace put her arm around Abigail’s shoulders and sat her down by a
cup of hot milk, a board on which had been sliced some freshly
baked bread, and a pewter plate on which were delicately arranged
pieces of ham and a fried egg. “It is the early bird that catches
the worm and we have a short chubby one to catch today, Abigail. So
move yourself along a bit, then I’ll dress your hair and we can be
on our way. I’ve left a letter for Able, in case they return before
we do.”

“He can read?”
Abigail asked, and then looked at her mother a little nervously in
case she had spoken out of turn. “I mean, I would not expect many
of the people in Ebton to be able to.”

“It’s all
right, Abigail, I’m not offended and neither would Able be. Yes, I
taught him how to. He is a very clever man and never tires of
learning new and challenging things. Now hurry up with that, whilst
I fetch our bonnets and muffs. Abigail, I hope you don’t mind but I
took a few things out of your bag and placed them in mine. I
thought we may need to stay overnight.” Grace looked at her quite
worried.

“That’s fine,
Mother. I don’t have anything to hide from you.” Abigail thought
that at last she had found someone who she could trust with her
whole heart. Unlike, it appears, her father, who was really her
uncle, although she hoped he had recovered and that she would be
able to persuade her mother to change her mind and see him again.
Whatever wrong he had done, she wondered if she could somehow see
brother and sister reunited.

“Good, unlike
Edmund, you can trust me, Abigail. Now we are together, let us keep
it that way. It makes life so much more simple and enjoyable. Now,
eat up.” Grace smiled at her and Abigail ate heartily.

All hope of a
reunion drifted from Abigail’s mind as she ate the fresh food. The
hurt was too deep in her mother, and Abigail had to accept that her
hopes were not to be. He had grievously wronged her and that was a
new pain Grace and Abigail would have to come to terms with, but
this time they would face their future together, burying the
past.

“Are you angry
with Martha or relieved she looked after me?” Abigail asked as she
washed up her plate.

“We’ll see. I
will know for sure once I see her face again. She has kept you from
me knowingly. She knew I lived here and yet she left me thinking
you were dead. I have taken flowers to the church for you
regularly. At one time I thought of joining you.” She looked
ashamed at her own thoughts.

“Thank God you
didn’t, or we would never have been together anywhere,” Abigail
said, as her mother brushed out her hair and arranged it with her
bonnet placed neatly on her head.

“Well, I didn’t
and I am so glad of that fact now. My dear, we will walk towards
the coast road and stop at Downing’s. If he has a chaise available
I’ll pay for us to travel to Whitby in some comfort, otherwise we
will have to wait for the stagecoach.”

Within minutes
they were headed towards Downing’s suppliers to the local gentry of
chaises and quality horses.

“Will it be
open at this hour?” Abigail asked, as the sun rose in the sky over
a calm sea.

“Oh yes, people
here are hard working, Abigail. They start early and go to bed
late. Tell me, has Martha been a maid to you throughout your life?”
Grace glanced down at her.

“Yes, I’ve
never been without her, until I came here to find you, with
Joshua.” Abigail admired the straight posture of her mother as she
walked along, head held high, back straight and a natural grace to
her step.

“Then why would
she not come here with you as a chaperone?” Grace asked, “Or was
she in fear of seeing me again?”

“I didn’t give
her the chance. I walked out on her and asked Joshua to chaperone
me. He is a gentleman, Mother,” Abigail added defensively.

“No, he is not.
Not yet, at least, not fully. He is a soldier, a very handsome one,
and it is in no way fitting for a young lady to be travelling such
country with him on her own.” Grace was firm in her manner, but not
unkind.

“Some might say
the same regarding your reputation, and your friendship with Able,”
Abigail spoke directly hoping she would not offend.

Grace stopped
and turned Abigail to face her. “Abigail, I lost my position and
reputation many years ago. I have been living as an outcast to
‘polite’ society and to these people for nearly all my life. Is
that how you would choose to live?”

“I was brought
up in a gilded cage, surrounded by possessions and two people whom
I thought I knew, whom I believed in, and thought I could trust,
but they lied to me for twenty years. They both knew I had a mother
and yet they kept you from me. I never knew who, or what I was,
except I discovered recently how much my presence was hated by
Frederick, for being a ‘bastard’. Would I like to live here? Yes,
if I could be with my real mother.” Abigail spoke from the heart
and with total conviction.

Grace wrapped
an arm around Abigail and hugged her to her. “We have both been
wronged, but let us be on our way and we shall try to sort out this
mess.”

She strode off
at a pace, and Abigail followed carrying the small case. Grace
seemed to have even more determination in her stride as she
approached the iron gates with ‘Downing’s Yard’ written within
their workings over them.

“Now, smile and
be pleasant. Remember you have no need to cower to anyone, you are
a lady, born and bred,” Grace reassured her.

Grace’s face
glowed with genuine pride. Abigail silently watched her mother
negotiate a fair price for the chaise. Within minutes they were on
their way once more, back to Whitby, where her story began.

Abigail had
mixed emotions about seeing the distant Abbey once more. She felt
guilty at walking out on Martha and was not sure how much
bitterness her mother felt towards her old friend. The chaise
pulled up by the harbour bridge. The driver helped her mother
alight, then her, and handed their baggage down. Grace gave the
driver a tip. Then, as he pulled away, she turned and breathed in
deeply. The air was bracing. Fishing boats had already set sail and
the boat yards were noisy and busy.

“It’s been a
long time, Abigail. It brings back so many mixed emotions to me.”
She linked arms with Abigail.

“The bakery is
down here. I left Martha with her sister-in-law…” Abigail started
to explain.

“You mean Biddy
is still here?” Grace asked, obviously surprised like Martha that
she still ran her business.

“Why, yes.”
Abigail and Grace cut through the snicket by the inn and stared in
horror as they were faced with the remnants of a burned out gutted
bakery.

Abigail ran
across the street. “Martha!” she said out loud. She turned to face
Grace. “Mother, I left them here. Oh, dear God, what have I done?
She can’t be…” Tears overwhelmed her. She had been so blinded by
her own anger that she had given no thought to their future. But
now, faced with the ashes, not knowing if Martha’s ashes were mixed
with the remnants of those of the building, she felt empty and
sick. Martha had always been there, with her, throughout
everything. Abigail realised she expected she still would be.

Grace put a
comforting arm around her. “We’ll find out what happened and if she
is alive, injured or dead.” Her voice was steady, matter of fact
and strangely without emotion.

Abigail wiped
her eyes on her sleeve. “Sorry, yes, you’re right.”

They turned to
walk up to the coaching inn. There they would be able to find out
the whole truth of what had happened, and if there had been any
survivors. Abigail looked up. “Molly!” she shouted to the girl who
was walking down the street towards them. “You’re safe. Tell me, is
Martha safe? Does she live? Did she escape?” Abigail ran the few
feet to the young girl, who once again looked grubby after the
night’s events.

“Why? Do you
care or are you scared that your servant will no longer be fit to
do yer biddin’, eh?” Molly’s voice was filled with bitter
resentment. Abigail was quite taken aback. She was aware that Grace
had moved up to the side of her.

“Of course I
care, she’s my Martha, I…”

“No, she ain’t!
She don’t belong to you. She belongs to herself. She is Martha Napp
and deserves to have a life of her own.” Molly stared at Grace. “Is
this yer ma then?”

“I am Abigail’s
mother, yes. Who are you?” Grace asked politely.

“I is Molly,
and she don’t need Martha no more, as she has at last got a ma of
her own. You go and leave Martha with me. I’ll take care of her, so
bugger off before you gets her all upset and maudlin’ again.”
Molly’s face was flushed, her anger obvious but she looked tired
and drawn.

Grace could not
hide her amusement, which seemed to annoy Molly and surprise
Abigail. But whilst Abigail had had her eyes fixed firmly on Molly
and her reprimands, Grace had seen the familiar figure walk down
the street behind Molly.

“Listen, lass.
I’ve never needed anyone to fight my corner and I don’t intend to
start accepting it now.” Martha put her arm around Molly’s
waist.

Martha looked
at Grace, and Abigail saw her mother’s eyes water.

“You seem to
have a knack of surviving, Martha,” Grace said gently.

Molly scowled
at Abigail, who stared defiantly back at the girl. Her words had
hurt her deeply, mainly because of the power of truth that they
carried.

Martha opened
her mouth to speak to Grace but her bottom lip trembled as, she
stretched out her arms pleadingly. Grace, swallowed and acted true
to her nature, accepted a gentle hug.

Molly looked at
Abigail accusingly. “See I told yer, she’d get all maudlin’
again!”

“We cannot stay here and freeze, ladies,” Grace said brightly, and
Abigail saw Molly raise her eyebrow slightly when they were all
referred to as ‘ladies’.

Martha stared
at them. “I’d like it if you two could be friends. You are both a
part of my life, past and present, so please try to be at peace
with each other.”

Grace nodded
her approval of Martha’s words.

Abigail smiled
broadly at Martha and adopted her mother’s tone. “I’m sure we
shall.”

Molly smiled
sweetly, and replied with her best attempt at polite speech, “You
bet we will, just like real sisters, eh?”

Grace looked at
Martha and said, “So let us find somewhere warm and private where
we can discuss the future.”

Martha nodded,
and all four women turned as a voice exploded behind them. “Bloody
hell, me business is gone, me life’s in ruins and you all stand
here gossiping. What are we going to do now?”

“Have a cup of
tea, I think,” said Grace, and patted Biddy on the back.

Biddy groaned.
“Did you spring up from the ashes?” she addressed Grace.

Abigail
chuckled, because she remembered her own promise to be like the
phoenix no matter what befell her.

“No, but I like
the analogy,” Grace replied, and ignored the look on Molly’s face
as she spoke.

“Aye, I’d need
a lot more than a cuppa to get over this reunion. Come and help me
see if I’ve got owt worth saving first.” She headed over to the
bakery.

Biddy and Molly
carefully tiptoed inside the building. Martha and Abigail stepped
forwards but Grace put her hand out on each of their arms. “Two’s
enough. Biddy, we shall be in the hotel, we have things to
discuss.”

Biddy’s reply
was muffled and unclear, but the expletives were easy to pick
up.

“We’ll see you
there when you’re ready,” Grace shouted and walked off.

Abigail and
Martha followed, unusually ill at ease in each other’s company.

“I’m sorry I
walked out on you, Martha. It was a stupid thing to do.” Abigail
saw Martha smile.

“I’m glad you
realised it, without any harm coming to you. So what have you done
with your gentleman?” Martha looked at her.

“He had
business to attend to,” Grace explained.

Abigail put her
head next to Martha. “He’s gone to see if he can help.” Abigail
thought she heard Martha gasp but she dissolved into a coughing
fit.

“Are you all
right, Martha?” Grace asked and patted the woman’s back.

“Yes,” she
cleared her throat, “wind got me water.”

“Good, then we
will order some tea and we can discuss events…” Grace was standing
tall staring down the street at the side of the hotel. A yellow and
black coach was parked alongside the building, the driver waiting,
ready to go.

Martha saw what
she was staring at. “Now, lass, don’t go getting’ any ideas, Grace.
Bygones an’ all…”

“Abigail, we
shall acquire a table. You must wait for Biddy and the young girl,
whilst Martha and I say hello to an old ‘friend’.” Grace faced
Martha who was looking decidedly unsure.

“No, Grace, it
will do no good,” Martha pleaded.

“Yes, Martha,
it will. You owe me, woman!” Grace’s voice was firm. They entered
the hotel, Martha was extremely nervous, Grace however, was
strangely calm and Abigail looked most concerned.

“Mother, let me
come too; this concerns me, doesn’t it?” Abigail asked.

Grace looked at
Abigail thoughtfully for a moment. “Yes, it does.”