White Water (37 page)

‘Is something burning?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘I can smell something. ’Tis like — ’

‘Get on and fold these clothes,’ snapped Minnie, ‘and don’t waste time on imaginings.’

‘’Tis no imagining, I tell you. I can — ’

‘Ellie!’

The girl looked at her mother and muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.

‘I heard that,’ said Minnie untruthfully. As casually as she could, she opened all the doors and windows. Ellie watched her thoughtfully but said nothing. She was trying to identify the smell. At last she knew. It was sealing wax — which meant a letter! In a flash of inspiration she threw down the towel she was folding and raced into the Hall. A glance at the letter confirmed her suspicions and she flew back to the kitchen as Hugo and Maria entered by the front door.

‘The letter!’ whispered Ellie. ‘You opened it! You did, I know it. Tell me what was in it.’

Minnie cursed — the girl was too sharp by far for her own good. But she was longing to pass on her ill-gotten news. Swearing Ellie to utter secrecy, she whispered the contents of the letter and was pleased to see that the revelation made the impact it deserved.

‘Twin boys!’ Ellie gasped. ‘And will we never see them? Do you think Felicity will — ’

‘Ssh! They’re coming.’

Hugo came into the kitchen followed by Maria. They were full of the news about Maudesley and had obviously not been into the Hall. Minnie fetched a drink of lemon barley for them and mentally urged them to go into the Hall and find the letter. But they sat talking to Minnie and Ellie and finally it was Allan who found it. He came downstairs after his rest and brought the letter with him.

‘This was on the Hall table,’ he said.

‘A letter?’ said Hugo. ‘Why, Minnie, when did it come? And why did you not tell us?’ He broke the seal as he spoke and his eyes were on the letter or he would have seen the guilty expression on Minnie’s face as she mumbled an apology, pretending she had forgotten it. She dared not look at him as his eyes raced along the lines.

‘From Martin?’ asked Maria.

‘Aye — come into the Hall and you shall read it for yourself.’

With an effort he kept his voice normal and Minnie watched him go with relief. Now he had broken open the letter he would not suspect anything. She was safe.

‘Allan,’ said Hugo. ‘Come with us, will you?’

Allan followed them out and Minnie and Ellie exchanged conspiratorial glances. Ellie winked and Minnie grinned sheepishly. It had all been too close for comfort.

On an impulse, she went to the larder where she kept a pitcher of orange wine behind the flour sack. She poured them each a generous mugful.

‘A toast!’ They raised their mugs. ‘To two little Kendal boys,’ said Minnie wistfully. ‘God bless them wherever they may be.’

*

Martin arrived three days later in a defiant mood. He was prepared for a cool reception, and that is what he received. Maria was distressed by the knowledge that now there were two illegitimate Kendals instead of one. Hugo was incensed by his son’s irresponsibility and the air of jubilation which he hardly bothered to hide. Martin was shocked to learn that Allan was back, but there was no meeting between the two brothers until the evening, for Allan had taken himself off to the deserted mine as soon as Martin arrived. At supper Allan spoke and ate very little and excused himself early and went up to his bed chamber. When Martin went up several hours later, Allan feigned sleep and there was no chance of conversation.

Next morning when Martin woke he saw that Allan’s bed was empty and cursed roundly.

‘I’m damned if he’ll avoid me any longer!’ he muttered and leapt out of bed. He splashed cold water over his face and dressed as quickly as he could then ran down to the stables. As he had guessed, Allan was there saddling his horse. He did not turn his head when Martin appeared and leaned nonchalantly on the lower half of the stable door. Allan continued to arrange the saddle until Martin coughed exaggeratedly.

‘Am I invisible?’ he asked lightly.

Allan ignored the remark.

‘Are you suddenly deaf?’ Martin persisted. ‘Your prolonged stay in London seems to have done you no good.’

Allan paused and glanced at him. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he said, ‘that you’d wish to hear.’

‘Nothing to say to your own brother? No exploits to recount? No news to impart of the wicked city? You surprise me, Allan, and disappoint me. I thought you had gone to make your fortune and save the house of Heron from ignominy. It seems I misjudged you.’

Allan reached for the harness and slipped the bridle over the horse’s head. As he fussed with the adjustment, his face was set but his ragged breathing betrayed his feelings.

‘And the fair Eloise has departed,’ Martin continued. ‘What an unkind cut. Though some say, who can blame the girl? You
did
desert her.’

Allan looked at him briefly, but with a look of pure hatred. Martin registered it with satisfaction. He knew Allan did not want to rise to the bait but he also knew that he would.

‘Still, doubtless ’tis all for the best. She was not the woman for you.’

‘And she was for you?’

‘I think so. I know what it takes to please a woman like Eloise. She needs attention, to be appreciated and flattered. She needs laughter and excitement. You two were like chalk and cheese, if I may say so without offence.’

Martin smiled, letting the malice show in his eyes. ‘Everything you say offends me,’ said Allan his voice rising. ‘Your presence here offends me. The expression on your face offends me.’

‘Oh come now. Such harsh words! What has happened to brotherly love? I expected you to seize my hand and congratulate me and all you … ’

‘Congratulate you? On what?’ Allan gave up the pretence of adjusting the bridle and turned at last to face his tormentor. ‘Tell me something decent, courageous or honest that you have done and — ’

‘Honest?
You
talk of
honesty
and decency? ’Twas not I that was flung into the Marshalsea and begged and cheated a way home. ’Twas not I that abandoned a wife — ’

He broke off suddenly, realizing he had laid himself wide open.

‘You treat women well then, do you, Martin?’

‘I did not say I — ’

‘How would you rate your treatment of Felicity?’ cried Allan. ‘To get her with child and then turn your back on her! Is that decent or honest? How can you live with your conscience, Martin? I’d truly like to know. Two sons, Martin, and — ’

‘Aye, two sons and I am barely sixteen! What have you to show for your twenty-four years? Nothing. No wife and no family. Oh, don’t remind me. You had a wife. I know. But she’s dead and gave you no heirs. Heirs, that’s what I have that you lack. And you envy me. Confess it, Allan. You are eaten up with jealousy and that is why you shun me. I have fathered two sons and you have none. You inherit Heron and ’tis worthless and I have Romney House and will be prosperous with my sheep. Oh, sneer at them if you will. ’Tis the fashion to do so. But when you are starving on your precious tin, I shall wax fat on my sheep. What, nothing to say? No answer to make? Because you
have
no answer. You know I speak the truth. You are Simon’s son. You are the eldest. You are the heir. Well, as far as I can see you are heir to nothing.’

Suddenly Allan stepped forward and seized Martin by the shoulders.

Martin winced in pain but the furious fingers bit deeper as they faced each other over the door.

‘What are you going to do about those two sons?’ Allan hissed. ‘They are yours. Your flesh and blood.’

‘They’ll be well provided for. Damn you, let go.’

Allan intensified his grip. ‘By whom? Provided for by whom? This fellow Lucas? What is he — a blacksmith?’

‘He’s a good man. He loves her.’

‘And does she love him?’

‘’Tis no concern of yours!’ With an effort, he jerked himself free and took a step backwards, out of reach of the cruel fingers. Allan turned to the horse, his shoulders heaving.

‘She could have rid herself of them if she’d wanted,’ cried Martin. ‘She wanted them. Now she’s got them. She didn’t tell me in time. ’Twas her intention to have a child.
My
child. She wanted my child because she loves me.’

‘And you don’t love her?’

‘She’s not suitable. Lucas will make her a good husband. He dotes on her and he’ll give her plenty more.’

‘And the boys will take his name?’

‘Aye. They’re not Kendals. They’re Carrs.’

‘They’re Kendals and you know it!’ Allan’s hand shot out and grasped Martin’s hair and jerked him back to the door. Allan’s control deserted him as he thrust his own face close to Martin’s.

‘Those boys are Kendals and you owe them your name, you miserable wretch! You know it. I can see it in your shifty eyes. You make me puke! Now get out of my sight before — ’ He could not finish. His fury and frustration welled up inside him and a blackness swam before his eyes. Taking another handful of hair, he began to force Martin’s head down so that his neck lay across the top edge of the door and the wood bit deeply and painfully into his neck. Martin struggled helplessly then, fearful that Allan would succeed in choking him, reached for the small knife he carried and brought it up to slash at Allan’s hands and wrists.

‘Aah!’ With a short cry of pain Allan released him, then in the same instant he brought up his foot and kicked open the door. It sent Martin backwards, stumbling and cursing, desperately trying to save his balance. He fell backwards over a mounting block and lay still, sprawled grotesquely across the cobbles. Allan fell onto his knees, exhausted and emotionally drained, his hands clasped against his bowed head. The half door creaked on its hinges and was still. Allan finally raised his head and looked across at his brother. He sighed deeply, pulled himself to his feet and crossed the yard to where Martin lay.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘You provoked me but — ’tis this damnable temper. Martin!’

The boy lay face down and Allan thought he was sulking as he had done when a child. Allan knelt and touched his shoulder gingerly, half expecting a sudden retaliation but Martin did not move.

‘I ask your forgiveness,’ said Allan formally and tugged at him to turn him over. He thought nervously that the boy had sustained a concussion but then he saw the knife. It was still held in Martin’s hand and was embedded in his chest up to the hilt. Dark red stained his jerkin and there was a similar stain on the cobbles. Allan’s mouth opened and his lips moved in a desperate prayer. ‘Please God, I haven’t killed him. I haven’t killed him. Oh no, dear God. Say I haven’t killed him.’ He touched Martin’s face and then his eyes. He picked up Martin’s free hand and patted it.

‘Martin! I beg you. Martin, open your eyes and tell me you are not dead. I do not want you dead. Only open your eyes, Martin, and I will love you. I swear it. I’ll love you as a brother, Martin. We’ll love each other. Oh dearest God, give him back to me, I pray you, and let me make amends.’

He was still kneeling beside the body when Jon came into the yard, his eyes bleary with sleep.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was considered too far for Felicity to travel, so soon after the birth of the twins, but a letter was sent to her telling her of Martin’s death and she insisted on attending. Abby and Adam therefore travelled down from Rochester to Appledore in a hired wagon and took Felicity with them to Devon.

The circumstances of Martin’s death had been reported to the appropriate authorities, but there was no question of charges being bought against Allan. No one doubted that it was an accident — it was obvious that Martin’s own hand held the hilt of his own knife and Jon confirmed that Allan was unarmed. Allan confessed to the quarrel and to the push that ended so disastrously, but if anyone believed the death to be more than a tragic accident, he or she kept silent.

Allan, as was to be expected, blamed himself for the tragedy and no amount of persuasion could convince him otherwise, but apportioning blame was a useless exercise, as Maria told him in an effort to reduce his terrible guilt. It was an accident. It was a tragedy, but it had happened and no amount of self-reproach would change the fact that Martin was dead. They must all come to terms with it, she told him. They must all live with the grief and help each other.

Hugo took it very badly. He broke down and wept and Maria could not comfort him. It was the final blow in a series of disappointments which had dogged him for the past few years. After the first passionate outburst he became very withdrawn and rarely spoke and Maria found herself having to be strong for both of them. It fell to her lot to make the funeral arrangements and invite the mourners.

Maggie and Melissa prepared the food so that, at least, was one problem less with which she had to deal. Piers came home from school and Beatrice and her husband rode over from Exeter leaving the children with their grandparents. The funeral had been set for ten o’clock in the morning, so that most of the visitors would be able to return home in daylight. As they stood at the graveside Maria thought sadly how frequently the Kendals were reunited by death. She recalled Luke’s funeral and that of Hannah. Luke had been buried here and Alison, and Simon. Of that line only Allan remained. She thought of Hugo and Simon and how close the cousins had been. Now Simon’s son had brought about the death of Hugo’s son and the thought of the Gillis curse flashed into her mind only to be rigorously rejected. She would
not
believe it.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, it began to rain, adding to the misery of the mourners. Allan found himself next to Felicity and looked at her with passionate entreaty.

‘Will you ever forgive me? I have killed the man you loved.’

By way of answer she took his cold hand in hers and put it to her lips. Her tears fell warmly onto his hand and suddenly she put her arms round him and they clung together as the first spadeful of earth fell on to the coffin. Maria watched them through eyes blurred with tears and Hugo’s arm was around her shoulders as she, too, struggled for composure. Lorna and Piers, beside her, stared solemnly ahead, trying to withstand the concerted grief by which they were surrounded. Melissa stood with one arm round Nina, who held the youngest child in her arms. Little Della held Maggie’s hand and Thomas stood beside them, a tall frail old man who had been so near death himself not so long ago. Now he wondered why fate had spared
him
and taken a young man in his prime. It made no sense, he thought sadly.

‘ … and so we lay to rest a young man of tender years, one Martin Kendal, late of this parish, the beloved son of Hannah, deceased, and Hugo Kendal. His sojourn on this earth has been a short one and his departure sudden. But who are we, mere mortals, to question the will of God? He has seen fit in his infinite wisdom to take this young man from our midst and we must abide by his decision. We cannot rail against death but must endeavour to understand God’s holy will. Martin was beloved by us, he gladdened our hearts with his presence and we are made desolate by his death. As we shared our love for him so we share in the grief at his going away from us. But our griefs are for ourselves, not for Martin. His soul is on its way to Heaven and everlasting peace. Soon he will be eternally at rest and will be reunited with those of his family who went before him. He will rejoice in God’s boundless love. We who remain weep only for ourselves and our loss.’

The rain fell more heavily, hissing through the dark trees and into the sodden grass. It mingled with the tears on the faces of the mourners and Nina’s youngest child began to cry fretfully — a thin sad sound.

‘And so we take our farewell of this bright life. He loved us all in his own way as we loved him. We are none of us perfect but we live our lives as best we may in the image of Jesus Christ. Now the final blessing … ’

As they turned to go, Hugo put a hand to his chest as a sudden pain gripped him. He tried to speak to Maria but the pain increased and drew a tight band around his heart. He stumbled against Melissa and she turned. Hugo put out a hand to steady himself but stumbled again.

‘Hugo!’

Maria turned at the alarm in Melissa’s voice and saw her husband fall to his knees, both hands clutching his chest, his face screwed up in wordless agony and she flew to him.

‘Hugo! Dearest God! Hugo, what ails you? Speak to me if you can.’

All eyes had turned from the grave to Maria and thence to Hugo, who hugged his pain to him and could not utter a word. Maria knelt beside him.

‘’Tis his heart, I’m sure of it. Oh dear God! This cannot happen, Hugo, my dearest Hugo. ’Twill pass. Be patient. The pain will pass.’

Everyone crowded round trying to help.

‘He hugs his heart,’ cried Maria. ‘We must get him back to Heron. Bring one of the wagons, quickly. Hugo, can you speak to me? My dearest, they are gone to fetch the wagon. You will soon be home, safe in your own bed. Is the pain still bad? Oh Hugo! I cannot bear it.’

Allan knelt beside her. ‘He will live, Mama. I know he will. Do not weep for him. So many tears!’

The wagon was driven up to the church yard gate and gentle and willing hands lifted Hugo from the wet grass and carried him to the comparative comfort of the wagon, which at least had a canvas hood over it to keep off the rain. As soon as he was settled with Maria and Allan beside him they led the procession back to Heron. Hugo had relaxed slightly and was able to speak to them. The pain had eased a little, he told them, and they must not concern themselves unduly. It was a cramp, nothing more. Maria did not believe him for a second and had already despatched Matt to fetch the physician.

Back at the house, Hugo was put to bed and Maria sat by his side, refusing to leave him.

‘They can all manage without me,’ she declared. ‘There is a good fire and plenty to eat and drink. They will be well cared for and I shall stay with you, Hugo, until the physician tells me I can safely leave you. Oh my dearest, it has been such a terrible day — such a terrible year! But don’t give up, Hugo. You must not give up the fight. We are so fortunate to have each other — but I talk too much and will tire you. No, you close your eyes and rest. I will sit here beside you and wild horses shall not drag me away.’ Minnie came in with hot milk for Hugo and mulled wine for Maria. She helped her out of her wet clothes and into a dry gown. Maria asked her if all was well downstairs and Minnie said it was going splendidly. Folk were drying themselves out and everyone sent Hugo their best wishes for his recovery. Maria nodded absentmindedly and grumbled that the physician took so long.

‘Bring him up the moment he arrives,’ she told Minnie. ‘He may be wet through but no matter. He can dry out
after
he has seen Hugo. I want no delays, Minnie. Tis most urgent. And put another log on the fire. We must keep Hugo warm.’

Intuitively, she knew the seriousness of Hugo’s condition. A pain round his heart, cramping his chest! She had heard folk speak of such seizures and knew they could be fatal.

When Minnie had gone, she saw that Hugo’s eyes were fluttering. ‘Doze a little,’ she told him. ‘I dare say the pain has tired you. Close your eyes and sleep until the physician arrives.’

An hour passed and still he did not arrive. Hugo slept but Maria fretted anxiously. Matt came back to report that the physician was not at home and he and Jon were sent out again to make what enquiries they could concerning his whereabouts. From downstairs came the sounds of the funeral supper — subdued voices, footsteps, the clatter of pewter, the scrape of furniture. Maria tried to concentrate her thoughts on Martin but Hugo’s condition filled her mind to the exclusion of anything else. Martin had gone and none of their prayers could bring him back. She prayed God that he would not take his father with him into the grave. Just before five Maria was herself dozing when a strangled cry from Hugo roused her. His face was once more contorted with pain and his arms were clamped round his chest.

‘Hugo! Sweet heaven! I’m here, my love. What can I do to help you? See, my arm is round you, I’ll hold you safe. Don’t be fearful. Your Maria is here. Is it so bad? Oh Hugo! What’s to be done?’

He tried to speak but could not. He gasped for air and Maria felt weak with a terrible dread. For all her brave words she knew she could not help him. Only the physician might do that and he was not found yet. She shouted for Minnie and stamped on the floor to make sure she would be heard above the babble of voices below them. Minnie ran into the room, breathless from the stairs.

‘Is it the master, ma’am?’

‘Aye and taken again with the same pain. I know of nothing we can do but send Melissa up — and Allan.’

‘Oh ma’am!’ Minnie burst into tears.

‘Don’t stand there bawling!’ cried Maria. ‘Send them to me at once!’

Within minutes Allan and Melissa had joined them and a moment later Abby hurried in and they all stood helplessly beside the bed. Hugo was still doubled up in agony and perspiration beaded his face. He made no sound except for an occasional groan which was forced from him. His eyes, dark with pain and fear, were on Maria. She looked up for a moment.

‘We must do something,’ she cried, ‘or he will surely die. Think, I beg you. Abby? Melissa? What shall we do to save him?’

Abby knelt on the floor opposite her. ‘We can only pray,’ she whispered. ‘If we all pray.’ Allan and Melissa knelt also and put their hands together. Abby saw Minnie hovering in the doorway.

‘Minnie. Go down. Tell the others what is happening. Beg them all pray for Hugo.’

Minnie sped off and they heard her voice above the clamour. Gradually the noise faded and there was a great quiet followed by the low murmur of voices. The door opened and Beatrice came in with Piers and Lorna and they knelt and began to pray. Maria gazed round at all the faces then turned back to Hugo. He had fallen back against the pillows, his face white and drawn, his jaw slack, his eyes rolling upwards. His mouth twitched soundlessly.

‘Dearest God,’ whispered Maria. ‘Look down in your infinite mercy and spare our beloved Hugo. Do not take him from us, I beseech you. We all love him. We all need him. He is a good man and does not deserve to die. Sweet Jesus, be merciful and spare him. Spare him a little longer to share our lives and comfort us. He is a good father, a loving husband — Oh, I cannot bear it if you let him die. What can I say to entreat you further. If I have sinned forgive me. Forgive us all our faults and do not take Hugo away from us — ’ Her voice trembled and she opened her eyes to look at her husband.

‘Maria! He is dying!’ It was Beatrice.

Piers closed his eyes, unable to watch and Lorna flung herself into Beatrice’s arms and the two sisters clung together tearfully. Allan put an arm round Maria but she had eyes only for Hugo. His eyes were now closed and she felt his hand go limp in her own.

‘Hugo!’ She screamed suddenly. ‘Hugo! Don’t leave me. Don’t! Don’t! I love you, Hugo. Do you hear me? I love you … I love you.’

But it was all over …

*

Hugo’s body was laid to rest beside the son who had so recently preceded him. The service was held early in the day and there was no funeral feast. This had been arranged so that the mourners, who had already extended their visit to Heron, might make a start home the same day with as much daylight ahead of them as possible. Only the Heron and Ladyford households remained and they went their separate ways. Adam, Abby and Felicity would return home the next day. The grief was too deep for comfort and intuitively it was accepted that the company of others would not ease the despair. Each person had to live through their own agony and come to terms with it in his or her own way. Everyone craved the blessed oblivion of sleep and most people at Heron retired to bed early that night. Felicity was exhausted and went up at nine o’clock, knowing that only Allan and Maria remained downstairs. At last she heard Maria’s footsteps and struggled to keep awake until Allan followed. She was concerned for him. He looked haggard and his eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep. Still he did not come upstairs and at last she slid out of bed and, pulling a wrap round her shoulders, went downstairs to the Hall. Allan was sitting by the fire, leaning forward, his face hidden in his hands. For a moment she stood watching him without speaking. The fire was low and the dogs had wriggled close to it, their noses reaching out for the last of the warmth. Felicity moved forward and set a small log among the glowing embers. The fire crackled and the dogs leapt back, glancing at her reproachfully.