Authors: Jane Jackson
Rage exploded inside her, blinding, searing. She couldn’t breathe and pressed clenched fists to her temples as screams too big for her throat threatened to split her skull and shudders wrenched her body.
As suddenly as it had attacked the fury departed, sucked out like a tide. It left her beached, boneless, and utterly exhausted. Stumbling to the sofa she fell onto it and let darkness take her.
Chapter Eleven
Riding home on the busy main road in the gathering dusk, Henry Damerel ignored carriages, horse-drawn omnibuses and farm carts. Familiar with the route his sturdy cob needed no guidance. There was nothing to distract Henry from his thoughts. Like claws and sharp teeth they nipped and tore, shredding his optimism, gnawing away at his confidence.
Despite fevered efforts by the engineer, the blacksmith, and two carpenters, the worn-out leaky pump had defied all attempts to keep it functioning. By mid-afternoon the level of water in the north shaft had forced the men in the lower levels to abandon the stope. That alone would have been sufficient cause for worry. But soon after the afternoon shift in the south shaft had gone down, boys working bellows in the ends were sent back up to grass as one pare after another found that the lode had suddenly pinched out.
With a new setting day due Joe Buller insisted the only solution was to go back on tribute. ‘I tell you, sir, ‘tis the only way. They’ll find ‘n again, don’t you fret. You could put ‘em down there blindfold and they’d
smell
out the tin. But you got to make it worth their while.’
He would not give up.
Yet how much longer could he carry on?
He needed money: a lot of money. That need was not simply urgent, it was desperate.
His butler met him in the hall. ‘If I may have a word, sir?’
‘Later, Patrick.’ Henry waved him away. ‘It’s been a long day and I’m tired. ‘
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but this can’t wait. May I suggest the library?’
With a sigh Henry turned as the butler closed the door and crossed to the silver tray. Pouring a generous measure of whisky into one of the cut-glass tumblers, the butler set it on a small tray of polished figured tin and offered it to his employer.
Taking it, Henry rubbed his forehead where a headache throbbed. ‘All right. What is it? I daresay I can guess. My wife is unwell again. Has Ainsley been sent for?’
‘Sir, it is my unhappy duty to tell you that Mrs Damerel passed away this afternoon. Miss Grace came back from the village and found her in the folly. Sitting in the chair she was, and looked very peaceful.’
‘
Dead?’
‘I’m very sorry, sir.’
Lifting the glass Henry swallowed half its contents.
Thirty-one years.
She had almost died the night Grace was born. The threat had hovered over their lives like a shadow ever since. But now it had happened he didn’t know how to react. Surely he should
feel
something?
Patrick cleared his throat. ‘On behalf of all the staff, sir, I’d like to say how sorry we are.’
‘Thank you.’ Draining the glass, Henry crossed to the tray and splashed more whisky into the glass, astonished to see his hand shaking.
‘Dr Ainsley is upstairs now, sir. He’s with Mrs Chenoweth at the moment. As you can imagine, the shock–’
‘Indeed.’ Henry raised the glass to his lips. A thought struck him, accompanied by a flash of irritation. ‘Where’s Grace? Why isn’t she –’
‘Miss Grace is in her room, sir. I understand from Kate that Dr Ainsley has given her a sedative. Took it bad she did, sir. The minister should be here directly.’
‘The minister?’ Henry repeated. ‘Whose idea –’
‘Mine, sir. Seemed to me Mrs Chenoweth and Miss Grace might be glad of such comfort at this sad time. I hope I did right?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Henry passed his free hand over his face, feeling stubble rasp against his palm. Exhaustion swamped him like a breaking wave. He felt tired to the depth of his soul.
‘I expect you’ll want to go upstairs, sir?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Of course.’ Swallowing the last of the whisky Henry set the glass back on the tray. It didn’t seem real. Louise
dead?
Over the years there had been so many close calls he had become inured to anxiety. Just for an instant he wondered if there had been a mistake.
Foolish.
He started up the stairs. Patrick followed.
‘Madam is laid out in her own room, sir. Violet has attended to all the necessary. Minister shouldn’t be long. Mr Bryce has taken the trap and gone to meet him.’
Flora Bowden set the plate down in front of Edwin. ‘I expect you’re ready for that. Been some long day for you it have. Reverend Peters was good as gold, God rest his soul. But you do twice what he done in a day.’ She moved the salt and pepper closer. ‘I can’t help thinking that people do take advantage. But perhaps it isn’t for me to say,’ she added quickly.
Edwin suppressed irritation and flashed a brief smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Bowden.’ As he picked up his knife and fork Flora bustled towards the door.
‘You just ring when you’re ready for your afters.’
As the door closed behind her he gazed at the lumps of grey meat, mashed potato, and cabbage that had been boiled with bicarbonate of soda to a vivid green stringy mush. He recalled fish and vegetable curries made with coconut and spices, subtly flavoured dishes of dhal, and salads of exotic fruits that he had taken for granted. Though conditions at the mission had been Spartan, food was cheap and they had eaten well. He sighed. If not exactly appealing it was adequate as fuel. He opened the book beside his plate, and began to eat.
He was mid-way through his meal when the sound of raised voices brought his head up. A moment later the door was flung open and Bryce Damerel strode in.
‘You got no business –’ Flora bleated behind him.
‘Be quiet!’ He turned on the minister. ‘Was the message not clear enough? Or is your dinner more important?’
Startled, Edwin rose, wiping his mouth. ‘I’m sorry? What message? I’ve had no message.’
‘Don’t give me that.’ Bryce glared at him. ‘My sister wrote asking you to come to the house as quickly as possible. Patrick sent Jamie Couch down with it. What do you mean, you didn’t receive it?’ At the same instant both men’s eyes turned to the housekeeper.
‘Would you excuse me, Mr Damerel?’ Edwin put one hand on Flora’s back and shepherded her towards the door. ‘I won’t keep you a moment.’
‘Listen –’
‘Please sit down. I’ll be right back,’ Edwin said over his shoulder as he closed the door.
Seething as he pushed the housekeeper ahead of him he remained silent until they reached the big kitchen. It cost him dearly to keep his tone mild.
‘The letter, Miss Bowden?’
Her thin cheeks flushing she smoothed her apron. ‘Reverend Peters was always very grateful to me for not bothering him just when he was going to sit down to his dinner or his tea.’
‘I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Miss Bowden, but I would prefer to judge for myself the urgency, or otherwise, of any message.’
‘But ‘tis never right; expecting you to jump when they call, just like you was a servant.’
Biting down the sharp retort Edwin replied carefully, ‘That is exactly what I am, Miss Bowden: a servant of the Lord, and of the people who seek his comfort. Where is the message if you please?’
‘I was going to give it to you soon as you’d finished your tea.’ She pulled the sealed envelope from her apron pocket and thrust it into his outstretched hand. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled. ‘I didn’t mean no harm.’
Edwin clung to his patience. ‘I’m not Mr Peters. I do things differently. Not only has your action caused Mr Damerel and his family great anxiety and upset, it reflects badly on me.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh my dear life, I never meant –’
‘I’m sure you didn’t. But in future if someone brings a message I want to receive it immediately. If I am not here you may leave it on my desk so I will see it as soon as I return. Should someone come looking for me while I am out, you will kindly write down that person’s name and the time that they called. If I am at home you are to come and tell me at once. Is that quite clear?’
He glimpsed resentment before shock rounded her red-rimmed eyes. ‘Even if you’re in the middle of your dinner?’
‘Even then,’ he said firmly, tearing open the envelope. As he read the brief plea, penned in a shaky scrawl that revealed appalling distress, his heart contracted. Turning abruptly he strode back to the dining room.
‘I’ll come at once, Mr Damerel. I can only apologise.’
‘Hid the note did she? Someone should have warned you. She’s a jealous old biddy.’
‘A misunderstanding,’ Edwin replied, leading the way across the hall to the front door. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ Bryce warned. ‘Being the minister’s housekeeper has given her a taste for power. Because he was a lazy old man who liked his comfort Mr Peters allowed her free rein. She won’t want to give that up.’
‘Miss Bowden understands that remaining here as housekeeper requires she adjust to
my
way of doing things. I intend no criticism of Mr Peters but I believe it’s my responsibility to be available to anyone who needs me whenever that might be.’
Bryce seemed about to speak, but instead he clicked his tongue, urging the horse into a faster trot.
Edwin had noted the bruise-like marks of exhaustion beneath his eyes. Bryce Damerel was deeply troubled. But confidences could not be forced. He lifted the note. ‘Mr Damerel, your sister started to write something about your mother.’
‘My mother’s dead.’ Bryce said flatly. ‘Grace found her this afternoon. She blames herself.’
‘Why?’ The word was out before Edwin could stop it.
‘Grace has always taken care of my mother, of all of us.’
There was a tightening in Edwin’s chest as he pictured her in the village, at the May Fair and in the chapel. Always busy doing for others, always giving.
Who cared for her?
He cleared his throat.
‘Forgive me, but could your grandmother not have helped?’
‘You’ve met my grandmother,’ Bryce said. ‘There’s no warmth in her, except for Zoe. But my uncle says she’s taken mother’s death very badly. It’s understandable, I suppose. She only had two daughters and has lost them both. You won’t have an easy time with her. As for Grace.’ He broke off.
‘What about her?’ Anxiety made Edwin’s voice sharp.
‘She’s been hurt enough.’
‘Mr Damerel, I need no such warning. I admire your sister more than–’
‘Do you give poetry to all the women you
admire?’
‘The situation has never arisen. I promise you I would never do anything to hurt her.’
More than anything he yearned to offer Grace the comfort and support of his love. Yet because of the secret that lay like a dark stain on his soul, he dared not. All he could do was pray for help to find words that might ease her suffering.
As he approached the front door, dropped off by Bryce, John Ainsley was in the hall about to take his leave.
‘Ah, Mr Philpotts,’ the doctor said offering his hand. ‘A sad business. I’ve done all I can. The rest is your province. Mrs Chenoweth is refusing to settle until she has seen you.’
‘How is Miss Damerel?’ Edwin enquired steadily.
The doctor frowned, shaking his head. ‘I must admit to some concern. Grace was aware that this could happen at any time. It was touch and go with her mother on several occasions during the winter months. I have to say I didn’t expect this reaction, not from Grace. She has always been the one on whom the rest of the family relied.’
To avoid betraying himself Edwin caught the inside of his lower lip between his teeth and tasted the hot saltiness of blood.
John Ainsley drew a gusty breath. ‘It might not have hit her so hard had there been some warning. I’ve given her a sedative so you might find her a little slow. Hopefully she’ll buck up in a day or two.’ He nodded in farewell. ‘Doubtless we’ll see each other again soon.’
‘Indeed.’ Swallowing questions and comments his calling forbade him to voice, Edwin wished him good evening then waited, fighting impatience, for the butler to conduct him upstairs to Grace’s room.
After knocking and receiving no reply, Patrick opened the door.
‘Miss Grace?’
‘Please go away.’ Her voice was barely audible and held a flat hopelessness that Edwin found far more moving than tears. Still fully clothed she lay facing the wall, a tartan rug covering her lower body.
‘Miss Damerel?’ Edwin said.
She jerked upright. Her face was ashen but her haunted eyes betrayed far more than relief.
‘You came. I thought – I was afraid.’ Covering her mouth with shaking fingers, she shook her head.
Having just promised her brother he would never hurt her, Edwin knew with terrible certainty that he was going to cause her untold pain. And there was nothing he could do to avoid it.
Grace looked down to free herself from the entangling blanket. The brief respite allowed Edwin to regain control.
‘I’m sorry I’m so late.’
Alongside him the butler cleared his throat. ‘Beg pardon, Miss. Now minister’s here how about I ask Kate to bring you both a nice cup of tea?’
Knowing she needed it despite the nausea that flitted across her face, Edwin spoke quickly. ‘How very kind. What an excellent idea.’
Turning to leave Patrick whispered, ‘Try and get her to take something, sir. They’ll all be looking to her. She’ll never manage if she don’t eat proper.’
Grace sat hunched on the edge of the bed, her hands tightly clenched, head bowed. Edwin’s fingers curled into his palms as he remained where he was, his jaw aching from tension as drops of perspiration trickled down his back.
She looked up, her grief stark and raw. ‘Help me.’ The words were wrenched from her, as if her need were something to be ashamed of.
Crossing the space between them in two swift strides he sat beside her. After an instant’s hesitation he took her hand.
Surely it could do no harm? She needed comfort so badly.
Her fingers gripped him. ‘I can’t make it better, Grace. Grieving for a loved one is a journey each of us must make alone.’
As a minister charged with the care of her soul his use of her name was perfectly acceptable. But it was the man’s heart not the minister’s that ached for her grief, ached for her.
‘You don’t understand,’ her voice broke.
‘That you think it’s your fault?’ he said gently. ‘That if you had done something differently your mother would not have died?’
Her face contorted in pain too deep for the relief of tears.