Silent On The Moor Part 31

"He was. And he was already ill, desperately so. When Lord Evandale dismissed him, he was devastated. He knew it was the end of him in the Egyptological community and he went home to die, it is as simple as that. It is a measure of his depravity that he thought to defile his sister first."

I gave him a reproving look. "It is not really that simple, is it? I cannot believe you never took the opportunity to let him know why you had come."

"I let him know every day," Brisbane said with a savage little smile of satisfaction.

"How?" I asked.

"Can't you imagine? You saw the photograph."

I thought of the images I had seen, captured in that one brief moment, stilled forever. I shook my head. "No. How did you signal your thirst for vengeance to Redwall?"

"*Thirst for vengeance?' Ye G.o.ds, Julia, you ought to be writing thrillers of the lowest variety."

I gave him a little poke in the ribs, but I must have caught him on the bad side. He stumbled and righted himself, looking very pale.

"I am sorry, Brisbane. But I was right, wasn't I? You did go to Egypt for revenge, and you had it. I finally put it all together today. I had heard of course that your mother was bound over for trial for stealing a bottle of laudanum. I knew she cursed the judge, Sir Alfred Allenby, and the chemist as well. That was Mr. b.u.t.ters, wasn't it? Poor Mrs. b.u.t.ters. I wonder if she ever realised it was your mother who cursed her husband."

"Of course she knows," Brisbane said, gritting his teeth a little and holding a hand to his ribs. "She used to make griddlecakes for me when I was a boy."

"Remind me to ask her what you were like as a boy. Incorrigible, I should imagine."

"Thoroughly."

His tone was light, but I knew he dreaded what was coming next. I dreaded it as well. I did not want to open new wounds, but so long as they poisoned him still, there was no hope for us. The only way for him to face the future was to put the past squarely behind him. I only hoped he was capable of it.

"But it was something Jerusha Earnshaw said that made all the difference."

"Jerusha Earnshaw?" he asked, but I knew it was a bid for time. I gave him a repressive look.

"The innkeeper's sister. She told me the charges against your mother would have likely been dismissed at the a.s.sizes because the witnesses against her were a pair of children. Ailith and Redwall Allenby."

His jaw hardened and his handsome mouth twisted into something most unpleasant. "Did she tell you why? Did she tell you it was because of me?"

I stared straight ahead as we continued to walk. It was easier somehow if I did not have to look directly at him as I exposed his demons.

"Well, it was," he went on. "Ailith was not even ten, and the most accomplished liar I had ever met. I did my best to stay away from them, Ailith and her brother both, but sometimes our paths crossed. One day I went swimming in the river, where it flows calmly by the graveyard. Ailith and Redwall came upon me and began their usual habit, taunting and calling abuse. I ignored them until I realised Ailith was holding up a pendant of mine I had left on the bank with my clothes. It had been given me by my mother. She told me stories about the lady engraved upon it, a beautiful and terrible lady. I used to wonder if the woman on the pendant was my mother. It was my dearest possession. And there was Ailith Allenby, swinging it from her fingertips, saying she meant to keep it, even if it was an ugly piece of Gypsy trash."

I had the oddest fancy then that Brisbane did not even remember I was there, he was speaking almost to himself, in a low hollow voice, his eyes unfocused, as if he only saw the past.

"I leapt out of the river and charged at her. I pushed her down and took the pendant back, and told her if she ever touched anything of mine ever again, I would kill her. Redwall tried to stand up for her, but I shoved him into the river. It might have been funny, a stupid children's quarrel, but for the look on Ailith Allenby's face. It was not the face of a child. It was the wilful evil of some devil straight from the pits of h.e.l.l. I knew then she meant to do something terrible. And, coward that I was, I packed my things and I ran away."

I had guessed some of what Brisbane told me, but I had not antic.i.p.ated that. "I thought you ran away because the Gypsies would not have you as one of them."

Brisbane came slowly back to himself, as if the sound of my voice had roused him. "They have more generosity than you credit them with. I was my mother's son, and she was a powerful woman. I looked just like them, I rode and picked pockets and made harnesses as well as any other Gypsy lad."

"You picked pockets?"

He shrugged. "Once in a while and only from people who could spare it. My mother's people are resourceful."

Not quite the word I would have used, but I was not surprised he still felt warmly toward his maternal family.

"And after you ran away, Ailith Allenby took her revenge upon your mother instead."

He nodded slowly. "I am to blame for everything that happened to her. The least I could do was see her avenged. It's come full circle now."

We walked in silence a moment, and then I had a sudden start of realisation. I put a hand into the neck of my bodice and drew out the pendant Brisbane had given me, incised with the head of Medusa, a beautiful and terrible woman. I tucked it away, hastily. There was no need to ask. I knew now precisely what I meant to him. What I had always meant.

Just then he turned to me, and I felt a surge of joy. The past had been exorcised. I felt lighter and a hundred years younger. We were betrothed, as far as the world knew. This was the moment then, when it would all come right.

"I just remembered, I put notices in the newspaper of our engagement to lend the lie more veritas," he said, his brow furrowing.

"Yes," I said encouragingly. My breath felt tight within my lungs.

"I forgot to post the retractions. They ought to be printed as soon as possible. It would be more believable if you sued me for breach of promise, but the whole thing will go away more quickly if we just let it be."

I swallowed hard, concealing my disappointment. "Of course. Breach of promise suits are so terribly louche, I always think."

He stood for a long moment, staring at me, searching my face, and when he spoke it was without pretence and every word was its own tragic poem. "There is no money, Julia. Not a farthing. I've put everything I had into Grimsgrave. I was convinced there was a fortune under this moor, if only I could find it. I was a fool," he said bitterly.

"I understand," I said hollowly, but of course I did not. It was a very great irony that the fortune my husband had left me stood between me and my only happiness. "I could give it all away, you know. I am sure there is some home for elderly cats or something that would quite appreciate the money."

He laughed, and I heard the sharp edge of despair in the sound, and perhaps anger as well. "I will not touch you again. It isn't fair, to either of us."

I nodded. "I won't kiss you either. You might get ideas and I am a very respectable widow."

We stood a foot apart and yet with worlds between. He reached out then and crushed me to him, heedless of his newly-st.i.tched ribs. I clasped my arms around him, holding him as tightly to me as my own flesh.

"For the love of G.o.d, don't cry," he ordered, his face m.u.f.fled by my hair. My hat had gone tumbling over the moor, bowled along by the wind, but I did not care.

"I won't," I promised. "But I am feeling rather fragile, so you might want to look away in a moment."

He pulled back, and I saw a thousand emotions warring on his face. He seemed to be memorising my face, his eyes lingering on each feature in turn.

Finally, he released me. "Ailith will be buried the day after tomorrow. I will make arrangements for you and Portia to return to London the following day. I will be closing up the house. I am leaving England for a while."

"For how long?" I asked him, determined to keep my composure.

"Until I am quite recovered from you," he said evenly.

"When will you return?"

"Never."

He turned and left me then, walking slowly toward the village. I stared after him for a long time, until I could no longer see the strong form and the witch-black hair tumbling in the wind. And then I turned and set my face for Grimsgrave Hall.

THE THIRTY-FIRST CHAPTER.

All gold and silver rather turn to dirt.

-William Shakespeare.

Cymbeline.

And so Portia and I made our preparations to return to London. I expected her to pry and fuss, but she took one look at my face and put me straight to bed with a hot whisky.

The next morning I gathered up Redwall Allenby's things, the journals and photographs and the little amulets from the babies' coffin. I replaced them in his desk, wondering if they would ever again see the light of day. I almost opened the priest's hole, but in the end I left the children where they lay, hoping they were at peace. Brisbane would have to make arrangements for them to be buried secretly.

Mrs. b.u.t.ters was subdued as she prepared breakfast, and I do not think anyone was inclined to eat. I picked at some eggs, and tried not to think. Portia fed bits of York ham to Puggy, coaxing him to eat from her hand.

"Puggy's off his feed," she complained. "I think he would rather be upstairs with Florence and the pups."

To our mutual surprise, Puggy had turned out to be a devoted father. He doted on Florence, offering her the choicest t.i.tbits of food and permitting her to use his favourite cus.h.i.+on. He growled when anyone came near his little family, and had even nipped Morag when she touched one without his express permission.

"I do not see how we can keep them apart," Portia said, offering Puggy a spoonful of coddled egg. "Do you mean to come back to stay with me, or will you go straight down to the Rookery?"

I thought of the peace of the countryside in Suss.e.x. The Rookery was the charming little house Father had presented me with as a Christmas present. My devoted butler, Aquinas, had written that all was in order and I could finally take up residence whenever I liked. I would have as much quiet and solitude as I wanted, I thought.

And perhaps more. The city, with all of its heady diversions, might be a better distraction at present. But the thought of my family, pressing dinner invitations and outings upon me, made my stomach hurt. I wanted to be alone, but not alone. I wanted to pour out my hurts and frustrations, and I wanted never to speak again. In short, I was at war with myself.

I shrugged at Portia and idly b.u.t.tered my toast. "I do not care. I suppose I will stay for a little while with you."

"You needn't sound so enthusiastic," she said waspishly. "I am no more thrilled about the prospect than you, I a.s.sure you."

I would have put out my tongue at her, but it was simply too much effort. Mrs. b.u.t.ters brought another rack of toast, although we had scarcely touched the one on the table. I think she simply wanted to keep busy.

"Mrs. b.u.t.ters, what will become of you? If Mr. Brisbane is closing up Grimsgrave, where will you go?"

She gave me a brisk nod. "You needn't worry about me, Lady Julia. Mr. Brisbane made certain I would be taken care of. I have a sister in Leeds. He has said he will arrange for my transportation to her when he is ready to leave Grimsgrave. I have put a little something by, and I will be perfectly all right."

"I am glad to hear it. At least someone will," I said peevishly.

"And Minna," Portia put in.

I lifted a brow. "What do you mean?"

"Hasn't she asked you yet? She means to stay here and marry G.o.dwin Allenby."

"Out of the question," I told her. "I know they have an understanding, but he cannot keep a wife."

"You will break the girl's heart," Portia said softly.

I sighed. "I have promised her mother to take care of her, Portia. I have thought it over carefully, and I cannot leave her with an impoverished husband, no matter how much she loves him. If he cannot provide for her, he cannot have her."

Portia looked to Mrs. b.u.t.ters. "I do not suppose G.o.dwin has a tidy sum put by as well?"

Mrs. b.u.t.ters shook her head sadly. "I regret not. I have grown rather fond of that girl. She would have trained up as an excellent housekeeper. Her cookery is very solid, and she has a head for figures."

"What if we took G.o.dwin back to London?" I suggested. "He could find employment, something reliable and steady. Then when he has saved enough, he can approach her mother for her hand."

Mrs. b.u.t.ters clucked. "Oh, no. Tha' would never do. G.o.dwin is an Allenby. He belongs to these moors. He would never live in a city. I think it would kill him."

She cleared away a few of the dishes then, and Portia and I regarded each other across the breakfast table.

"We are a couple of sour old women," I told her.

"But you are right, even if I hate to say it," she said. "We cannot let her marry for love if it means she will starve. What if she had children? How would they keep them? I was stupid to think it. I just wanted a happy ending for them," she finished wanly.

"Because we neither of us have ours?" I asked softly.

She nodded and we fell silent.

"Then we will have to give her a dowry," I said finally. "We will each put up fifty percent. Name a sum that will settle them, either as far as purchasing a small farm and a herd to stock it, or a business in the village."

"We cannot offer it directly," Portia warned, and I bristled.

"I know that. It would be insulting to them both. We will have to disguise it as an inheritance. We can make Brisbane give it to G.o.dwin, say it was a legacy from Ailith's death."

"But Ailith's property would go to Lady Allenby," she pointed out.

I waved her aside. "Nuns cannot inherit property," I told her loftily. "At least, I do not think they can, and if they can, we will simply have Brisbane tell him otherwise. We'll make up some story about Hilda getting a sum as well. I hardly think G.o.dwin will question such a piece of good fortune closely."

Portia's eyes lit up and we haggled then, even drawing Mrs. b.u.t.ters into the business. The three of us worked the sums and argued over the details, but in the end, we devised a settlement that seemed suitable without being too generous. There was also the question of how to present the money. We agreed to leave it to Brisbane, and Portia volunteered to apprise him of our plan while I began to pack.

I do not know what was said, or how. I only know that by suppertime, all was decided. Minna flew out of the kitchen as I was coming down the stairs. She was still holding a ladle in one hand, dripping sauce upon the flagstones as she clasped me in an embrace.

"Oh, bless you, my lady! I know you did this. Miss Ailith hated him, she would never have left him money. But I know you and Lady Bettis...o...b.. did this between you. How can I ever thank you?"

She was sobbing freely now, and I disengaged myself gently. "If you keep crying, you will water the sauce and ruin supper."

She wiped her eyes on her ap.r.o.n and shook her head. "I cannot believe it. I just knew we wouldn't be able to marry, not with us having but a s.h.i.+lling between us. And then when Mr. Brisbane told us, it was like a miracle, like the world just cracked open wide and everything I ever dreamed of was inside."

She hugged me again, fiercely, and flew off to the kitchens, leaving me feeling fairly staggered. I was the daughter of an earl, I thought bleakly, born to privilege and wealth most people could not even hope to imagine. And in that moment, I would have happily traded places with a little maid who had everything I did not.

Ailith Allenby was buried quietly in the graveyard of the ruined chapel. There were no hymns, no weeping, only the soft patter of the rain that fell upon the coffin. The grave had been dug the day before, and I noticed that Brisbane and G.o.dwin were conspicuously absent for a long period of time before the burial. They never said, and I never asked, but I saw the grave was rather shallower than one might have expected and the bottom of it was freshly packed, as if something else had been buried before Ailith's coffin was lowered into the ground. No one else seemed to notice anything amiss, and I murmured a prayer for the souls of the lost babies as well as their unfortunate mother as the clods of earth covered her at last.

It was a small and solemn group that wended its way back to Grimsgrave under a cl.u.s.ter of black umbrellas. Hilda and Mrs. b.u.t.ters served as chief mourners in the absence of Lady Allenby. Brisbane had sent word to Lady Allenby of Ailith's death, but she had not replied. Perhaps she was already too deeply entrenched in the solitude of her convent life, or perhaps she struggled with the twin burdens of guilt and relief: guilt at her own crimes and relief that the daughter who was bent upon her destruction was dead.

There had been a letter from Sister Bridget, brief and to the point. All of Ailith's personal property was to be given to the poor of the parish "that she who had done so little good in her life, might do some in death." Harsh, but not inaccurate, I thought. Hilda refused to deal with the matter, so Mrs. b.u.t.ters saw to the removal of her things. I wondered if somewhere in the village a little girl would be awed at the gift of the elaborate doll's house, never dreaming what it had meant to Ailith's twisted mind. The doll's house was uninhabited when it left Grimsgrave. The tiny infant dolls with their unmistakable gilt hair had been laid in Ailith's coffin. I could not imagine leaving them in the toy house, and destroying them seemed somehow wrong. Yorks.h.i.+re folk believed that suicides walked the earth, never resting in their graves. It seemed a primitive sort of magic to leave the dolls with her, but perhaps she would lie quietly.

After cakes and wine at Grimsgrave, everyone dispersed. Portia went to play with the puppies, Mrs. b.u.t.ters to rest, and heaven only knew where Brisbane had got to. Valerius, still weak from the blow to his head, was dozing by the fireside, and I found Hilda in the room she had shared with Ailith. It was barren now that Ailith's things were gone. A little trunk stood open under the window and it was half filled with Hilda's books and unbecoming tweeds. In spite of the recent tragedies, there was a new serenity to Hilda that she wore well. She even smiled a little in welcome as I settled myself on a chair.