Down Weaver's Lane (36 page)

 

Claude Armistead’s funeral was held two days later. Carriages, local gentry and tenants followed the hearse to the little church in the village of Padstall, then returned at a decorous pace to the big house for refreshments.

Though it was a raw day and she was not in the best of health herself, Tibby Oswald was among them, accompanied by Mrs Bradley. Emmy remained in Northby, however, staying at the Parsonage.

After the funeral Marcus said to his mother, ‘I don’t see why I should go on paying for the old lady.’

‘It will look bad if you don’t.’

‘I don’t give a damn how it looks. If you care about her,
you
take her to live with you. The girl will soon find herself another position. She can come here till we sell the place, if she likes. We can always use another maid.’

‘I’ll see what Matilda wants to do,’ Eleanor replied calmly. But she had not missed the sudden tension in his body as he’d mentioned the maid, however casual his words. It was a strange offer for him to make, since he never concerned himself with servants’ welfare, and she decided that Matilda’s fears about his intentions were probably justified.

It would be best simply to take Matilda and her maid with her to Cheltenham and let Marcus find out later that they were gone. Eleanor doubted he would pursue the girl there.

 

She returned to the north after spending a very pleasant two weeks in a hotel in Cheltenham. She had rented a charming villa within walking distance of the town centre and felt the air there exactly suited her constitution.

The northern landscape put on its bleakest face to greet her, with rain sweeping across the moors and turning the slate roof of her home black. She shivered. She was going to move south as quickly as possible.

The following day she went to visit Matilda and suggest her sister-in-law come and live with her in Cheltenham.

Emmy put her ear to the kitchen door and eavesdropped shamelessly on their conversation, tears of relief welling in her eyes as she heard what they were planning. This was the answer to all her worries. She would get away from Northby, away from
him
, and she was never going to come back again, whatever happened.

Over the next few days they began their preparations, but although Emmy tried to spare her mistress as much as possible, she could see that Mrs Tibby was struggling more than usual. Emmy was worried sick about her but said nothing, trying to maintain a cheerful expression and chatting as they sorted things out for the move.

And then, even before they could put their exciting new plans into operation, Tibby Oswald died. It happened very suddenly, only six weeks after her brother’s death. She was sitting staring into the fire one evening and fell asleep as she did sometimes. When Emmy went to rouse her and suggest it was time for bed, she found that her mistress had died as quietly as she’d lived. The old lady had a faint smile on her face, so Emmy knew she could have felt no pain.

‘I’m going to miss you,’ she whispered as she closed Mrs Tibby’s eyes. She wept a little, then put on her cloak and braved the windy night to go and tell Mr Bradley what had happened. He would send someone to inform the Armisteads.

She and Mrs Bradley came back to the cottage together to lay out the old lady with loving care. Cass followed shortly afterwards to spend the night there with Emmy.

As she lay in bed, unable to sleep, Emmy could not help thinking that this would change things for the worse. She knew it was ungrateful to regret that her mistress had not died
after
they had moved instead of now, but she was so afraid of Marcus Armistead she could not help it. He was now head of the family, a rich man. And he had stopped his shiny new carriage to stare at her as he passed her on the street only the other day. She felt quite sure he would come after her.

‘Once Mrs Tibby has been buried,’ she said to Mrs Bradley, ‘I shall have to leave Northby quickly.’

The Parson’s wife stared at her, eyes narrowed. ‘Because of Marcus Armistead?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure he’s still - interested?’

‘Yes. He’s been stopping the carriage and staring at me for a while now. He did it only last week.’

‘Drat the man! You’ll need to find another place, then. I shall be happy to provide you with references, my dear, though I don’t think I know of anyone who is looking for a maid at the moment. But there are employment agencies in Manchester, so I’m sure you’ll easily find a position. We can go into the city together to make enquiries, if you like.’

‘I don’t want to go into Manchester. Mr Armistead does business there. I want to find a position as far away from here as possible. I was thinking of going to London and trying there.’ The thought of travelling to the capital terrified her. What did she know about the south?

But the thought of falling into Marcus Armistead’s hands terrified her even more.

 

Marcus drove into Northby the day before the funeral. He called first on Mrs Rishmore with a message from his mother, then went to a small cottage on the outskirts of town to discuss a certain matter with the man who was keeping an eye on Emmy Carter for him.

He smiled all the way back to Moor Grange. Now the old lady and his parents weren’t around he could put his plans into action. Soon, Emmy Carter, very soon now! he gloated as he was driven back across the moors.

As he passed the spot where he had killed Madge Carter, he threw back his head and laughed. No one had ever suspected him. As they would not suspect him of abducting her daughter if he planned things carefully.

You only had to wait a little and everything came to you. He intended to become extremely rich before he was through. He had a far better grasp of business than his father and was not afraid to seize chances Claude would have rejected. Look how profitable the venture with George was, and there were other avenues open if a man was not afraid to tread the shadier paths.

As they turned into the drive of Moor Grange, Marcus’s smile turned into a frown, however. His lawyer said it would be hard to find a buyer for a house so isolated and in such a stark, old-fashioned style. Why the hell his grandfather had bought this place he would never understand.

 

Mrs Tibby’s funeral took place in Northby because the old lady wished to be buried next to her husband there, not in the small village church at Padstall where her brother and the rest of her family lay. It was a beautiful autumn day. The sun shone and birds fluttered around as if they were watching over the grave and knew that this was the old lady who had fed so many of them in her back garden, delighting in their antics as her body grew weaker and her life more restricted.

Emmy went to the funeral with Mrs Bradley. The family was represented by Marcus Armistead and when his eyes rested on her, it made her shiver to see the gloating expression in them.

After the coffin had been lowered into the grave people began to move away. Emmy, who had lingered to say a private farewell, saw Mr Garrett approaching her.

‘You’ll miss her,’ he said in his sympathetic way.

She nodded, trying hard not to weep again.

‘What are you going to do now, my dear?’

‘Find myself another place in service.’ She glanced over her shoulder towards where Marcus was standing beside his carriage watching her. ‘As far away as possible from Northby.’

He followed her gaze. Everyone in town knew what Marcus Armistead was like, but it disgusted John Garrett to see that he was behaving in such an unseemly manner at his aunt’s funeral. ‘Is that young fellow annoying you?’

‘He’d like to, but I shan’t give him the chance. I shall leave town as quickly as I can, and in the meantime I’m staying with the Bradleys.’

‘Could you come back to the bank with me, do you think? There are some things we need to discuss.’

She fell into place beside him, wondering what he wanted but relieved to have an escort.

At the bank Mr Garrett ushered her into his office. This brought back memories of that first visit with Mrs Tibby and Emmy had to blink away more tears. Mr Garrett fussed with some papers to give her time to pull herself together.

‘I’m sorry, sir. I was just - remembering the first time we came here.’

‘Well, this time I have some good news for you. I asked Mr Baird, your employer’s lawyer, if I could tell you myself.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Did you know that Mrs Oswald had left you everything she owned?’

Emmy gaped at him in shock, unable to form a single word.

‘There will be the two guineas a month from her annuity and also her furniture and savings, as well as five small pieces of silverware. With that as a dowry, you could consider looking for a husband instead of a new place to work. You might be safer that way.’

She stared at him. ‘Don’t Mrs Tibby’s things go back to the Armisteads?’

‘No. They were hers to leave as she chose. She made the will before she went to live at Moor Lodge, and when she came back to live in Northby she told me she didn’t want to change a thing. Her nephew is rather annoyed about it, but he can do nothing.’ John spent some time going through the exact details then sent for some tea.

Emmy nodded and replied, but was still struggling to take it all in. She now had what seemed to her a great deal of money. She didn’t have to earn it. It would be there every month. She felt dizzy at the mere thought. Two guineas was not quite enough to live on if you had rent to pay, but enough to make a big difference to a young man’s earnings, certainly, so that he could still look after his mother, his brothers and sisters and . . . The banker’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘Can you come and see me again tomorrow? There are papers to sign. Would ten o’clock be all right?’

‘Yes.’ But she would ask Mrs Bradley if Cass could walk across town with her.

‘Shall you be staying on at Chad’s Cottage, Emmy?’

‘No, sir. I’m staying at Parson’s house. It seems - safer.’ Marcus Armisteads had lived mainly in Manchester since his wife’s disappearance, but every now and then he came over to Northby. Emmy looked out of the window, dismayed when she realised dusk was falling. ‘Oh, dear! I had meant to go straight back to the Parsonage with them today.’ She tried to smile at him and failed. ‘I don’t know why I feel so nervous, only it’s getting dark and ...’

He was astonished at the way her voice shook with fear. ‘I’ll walk back with you, if you like, though I think you’re making too much of Marcus Armistead’s - um - interest in you. He is a gentleman, after all, and will surely not try to force his attentions on you?’

‘He paid someone to kidnap me once, but I got away. I had to hit him quite hard to do that, and I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for it.’

John Garrett stared at her in shock. ‘Kidnap you! But wasn’t there something you could have done about it afterwards? Told Constable Makepeace at least?’

Emmy let out a mirthless laugh. ‘I
did
tell him. But how could I have proved anything? Who would have believed the word of a maid against that of a gentleman, especially a maid with a mother like mine? They’d have said I was making it up.’ She tried to smile and failed. ‘But the Bradleys believed me, thank goodness, and they’re helping me. I’m going to look for a job as far away from Northby as I can get. Mrs Bradley will give me references. When I get a new place, can you help me make arrangements about the money?’

He nodded then went to put on his overcoat and place his top hat firmly on his head.

As they walked up the lane towards the Parsonage someone stopped to greet Mr Garrett near the mouth of Dyers Alley, so Emmy stepped back to let them chat.

She realised with a shock that a dark figure was standing behind her in the shadows at the mouth of the alley, but before she could cry out, the man covered her mouth with his hand and started dragging her backwards. If the attacker hadn’t stumbled and let his hand slip for a moment, he’d have succeeded in getting her away before anyone realised what was happening. But just for a moment his hand did slip and she seized the opportunity to scream loudly then bite him for good measure as he tried to shut her up.

A voice called out from the street and footsteps pounded towards them. With a curse Emmy’s attacker threw her at the leading figure and ran off down the alley.

Emmy and Mr Garrett fell to the ground and as they struggled to right themselves the gentleman who had been talking to the banker stood beside them, muttering, ‘I can’t believe it! Attacking you right in the middle of town. Whatever is the world coming to?’ He stared after the retreating figure then turned to help them up, still shaking his head and glancing over his shoulder occasionally to make sure no one sneaked up on them.

‘Are you all right, Emmy?’ Mr Garrett asked as he brushed down his coat.

‘Yes, sir.’ But she wasn’t. She was terrified. If she couldn’t walk down the main street safely, it was even more imperative she leave than she had realised.

‘Let’s get you back to Mrs Bradley before we talk,’ Mr Garrett said, setting a brisk pace.

As usual the Parsonage was a haven of warmth and safety. Parson questioned Emmy about her attacker, but she had seen nothing beyond a shadowy figure. ‘He was a big man,’ she kept saying, ‘very big, with a muffler over his face.’

‘It can’t have been Armistead, then.’

But she felt utterly certain it had been done for Marcus Armistead.

‘We shall have to make sure you never leave the house on your own,’ Mrs Bradley worried. ‘It’s even more important now that we find you a position away from here quickly and that no one knows where you have gone.’

‘Actually, I may be able to help. I know a lady who is looking for a reliable maid,’ Mr Garrett said. ‘And Emmy hasn’t told you her good news - Mrs Oswald left everything to her, a small income and all the contents of the cottage. I know my client was hoping Emmy might find herself a husband with it.’