The Prophet, page 18
Slipping the half-ring on to her middle finger she let her mind roam free, looking for a deeper pattern. Random notions floated in her mind: the oak tree’s winter sleep and spring rebirth, Joshua’s carving the poppet to hang upon the tree, the prophecy of the birth of the saviour, the mother’s love expressed to her daughter etched on the gimmel ring’s surface. Beyond the obvious connection with Baptist Gunn there lay one common thread that bound each item together. It was the birth of a baby. She recalled his sinister words that she and her child were in danger. Gunn was not to be trusted; whenever she came close to him she felt fear in her blood, in her bones. Perhaps it was not manly lust that made him watch her, but something quite different. The insane wish to take her to America, perhaps? Lord, it was almost ridiculous. Or even worse, to take the child alone across the ocean. Such was her anguish that she gave a little sob and laid her palms on her stomach as if her own two hands alone could protect her child from danger.
At her bureau Tabitha wrote a friendly message to Sophie Rix, relating that she was now recovering from a bout of sickness and inviting her call at Bold Hall as soon as she was able. She reminded her friend of the favour she had requested, to speak to Langley’s daughter, Lady Maud, about the gimmel ring. Then, not certain she wanted to discuss her plan with even a servant, she carried the missive downstairs and slipped it into the post box in the entrance hall.
FORTY
28 June 1753
On Thursday morning Sukey announced that a Mister and Mrs Rix were waiting below, enquiring after Mrs De Vallory’s health.
‘I must dress and go down and greet them,’ Tabitha insisted to her disapproving nursemaid. ‘Sophie was my only friend at Langley Hall. To see her will do me more good than a hundred iron potions. Keep my stays very loose, mind, as the doctor advised.’
Down in the parlour, Tabitha and Sophie shook hands and found they could scarcely let each other go for the sheer pleasure of meeting again. In answer to Sophie’s enquiries, Tabitha made light of her illness. ‘They kept me in bed as a caution because the baby is expected so soon. But truly, I feel quite recovered.’
‘You certainly look well,’ Sophie agreed. When the gentlemen went away to Nat’s study, Sophie announced her news. ‘You asked if I might call upon Lady Maud. I did so yesterday and she is eager to see you – today. Here is her card. She will call here at eleven o’clock and speak to you if you are taking callers.’
Tabitha instantly revived at the prospect of renewing the chase. ‘That is perfect. What could be better?’
While they waited Tabitha drew out the circumstances of Lady Maud’s life from her new friend. ‘She married Lord Randall-Scott in order to unite their two fortunes. A horrible man, with something of the angry bulldog to his manner. Swinging jowls and bloodshot eyes, you know the sort? Fortunately, he generally stays at his own estates on the Scottish Borders. Well, matters went fairly well at first. Lady Maud had a difficult confinement but successfully produced a son and heir for the Langley family.’
‘So the line runs through Lady Maud? There is no male heir?’
‘No, the Langleys have no other surviving children. Hence the jubilation at Maud producing a son. Or so it seemed, for little Eddie was said to be somewhat wanting in brains, though he was amiable enough and adored by his mother. She had been told she would never bear another child so had little else upon which to throw her affections. The family were rarely seen in society and little Eddie, never at all. Then, it must have been a few years ago now, in 1750 I believe, we all heard that Eddie had drowned in their lake. He had escaped from his nursemaid and set a toy boat on the water and, utterly careless of the danger, had waded in. Oh, it is too tragic to speak of. He was only eight years old. Lady Maud has remained in deepest mourning ever since.’
As Tabitha listened, she felt the heavy burden of her self-appointed task. Hearing the rumble of wheels, she glanced out of the window where a very grand black carriage was winding its way up the drive. Who was she to meddle in the business of these grand people? Momentarily, she felt a wave of giddiness return. If Lady Maud had not been expecting to meet her, she would have been tempted to return to bed at once.
Lady Maud had expressly asked that Mrs De Vallory should speak with her alone, and so Sophie reluctantly went outside to admire the garden. Tom ushered in a woman of forty or thereabouts, scarecrow thin and dressed in severe mourning. Tabitha rose and curtsied awkwardly, and then raised her eyes to a countenance more ravaged by unhappiness than any she had ever before encountered.
‘Welcome, Your Ladyship. Please make yourself easy and I’ll send for some refreshments.’
Lady Maud’s moist grey eyes flickered over the swelling beneath Tabitha’s silk bodice. ‘I need nothing, pray be seated. I believe you are Sir John’s daughter-in-law. I am intrigued why you should wish to speak with me.’
Tabitha sank back into her comfortable chair and forced her breath to grow calm. ‘I am most obliged to you, my lady. I shall endeavour not to waste your time. I have been searching for the other half to a gimmel ring. When staying at Langley Hall I happened to notice the same ring in a portrait of your late aunt Phyllis. Upon making enquiries I understand it may have been bequeathed to you upon your aunt’s death.’
Tabitha reached into her pocket and drew out the half-ring found in Maria’s cold hand.
‘Oh.’ Lady Maud came forward, hesitating before touching it, as if it might scratch her. Then she stared at Tabitha, blinking like a stricken rabbit. ‘How did this come into your possession?’
‘It was found on my husband’s land in Mondrem Forest.’ When the silence lengthened, she continued. ‘Prepare yourself for bad news, Your Ladyship. This ring was found on the hand of a young woman who was tragically deceased when we discovered her.’
Lady Maud sat down, as stiff as pewter. ‘Who was this young person?’
‘She was known as Maria St John. However, I understand St John to be a foundling name as she was raised under the auspices of the Blue Coat Hospital.’
Lady Maud produced a black-edged handkerchief and wiped tears from the deep furrows around her eyes. Then pulling on a black ribbon at her throat she retrieved a second ring. At last, Tabitha thought, with bitterly mixed emotions. It was the matching half of Maria’s ring, a mirror image of the first gold band, bearing a second outstretched hand worked in enamel. Leaning forward, Tabitha could see that it bore the completion of the ring’s motto. ‘“As these hands part”,’ her visitor recited in a cracked voice, ‘“so breaks my heart.” How prophetic those words have proved.’
Now Lady Maud unloosed her own ring from the ribbon and slotted both parts together with a gentle click. She studied the result on her outstretched hand. ‘At last our two hands are reunited. I had to break the tiny gold pin to separate them,’ she murmured. ‘Seventeen long years ago.’ Then raising eyes full of tears, she asked Tabitha, ‘She was my daughter. How did she die?’
Tabitha said gently, ‘She was killed by another’s hand. I have been attempting to unmask Maria’s murderer. So far, in vain.’
Maria’s mother made an attempt to restrain her tears, but her voice was choked with sorrow. ‘I understood she had left that institution. I had not seen Maria since observing her secretly in the chapel some years ago.’
‘How dreadfully hard for you,’ Tabitha said quietly. When Lady Maud lifted her face, it was entirely raw with grief. ‘Tell me. Do you know where Maria now lies?’
Tabitha explained that the coroner had intended to place her in a pauper’s grave when no family came forward to claim her. ‘I arranged that she be buried in a modest grave in Netherlea churchyard. There is no headstone yet, for I was not certain of Maria’s full name.’
Lady Maud shook her head. ‘I had no choice but to give her up. Maria was conceived as the result of an alliance with a servant; yet I console myself, she was at least conceived in love. When my father discovered the facts, he ensured my sweetheart vanished from my life along with my beloved baby. My husband also forbade my ever meeting with Maria.
‘I could bear it while little Eddie was with us. Though my heart never mended at the loss of my daughter, my son was some consolation. But to lose both – to lose all my children and to be told I could bear no others … what kind of cruel God would do that to a woman?’ Rising, Maria’s mother crossed to a table with a decanter and asked, ‘May I?’
At Tabitha’s acquiescence she poured two glasses of brandy. Setting one to stand untouched at Tabitha’s side, she took a long draught and asked, ‘Did you know her?’
‘Only briefly. I believe she tried to improve her situation.’
‘Yes. She tried. Yet she had little hope of a happy life. Beaufort ruined my daughter.’
‘Beaufort Langley? Surely they are kin?’
‘Yes, they are cousins. Beaufort came upon her by chance on the streets of Chester. He set her up in a rented house as his kept – well, his demimondaine.’
‘And did he abandon her?’
Lady Maud unsteadily returned to sit at Tabitha’s side. She stared forlornly at the ring. ‘No, I understand it was Maria who wanted to end it. Beaufort is not a gentleman. I wanted to give her shelter but the men in my family have various means of preventing their wives any liberty. I know she became a common prostitute. And then she disappeared. I have long expected the worst news.’
Tabitha gathered her courage to ask some keener questions. ‘Is it possible Mister Beaufort Langley could have harmed Maria?’
‘No.’ Lady Maud was entirely firm. ‘Beaufort, for all his many sins, was besotted by Maria. However, it was not a mutual affection. He has confided that she was his life’s love despite Maria’s dislike of him.’
Tabitha thought quickly; she still did not entirely trust Nancy Blair. ‘Maria told a friend she was leaving her old life on the streets to join some sort of family. Could it possibly have been Beaufort?’
‘No. Certainly not Beaufort.’
‘Some say she left with a preacher named Baptist Gunn. Do you know him?’
‘I do not. Is he a good man?’
‘I am afraid he is a cruel hoaxer.’ Then after a long silence, she added, ‘In confidence, Your Ladyship, I fear my husband has been cheated by Mister Beaufort Langley.’
Lady Maud appeared to wake a little from her grief. ‘I am sorry to hear of your husband’s troubles. I have heard Mister De Vallory’s name much of late. I believe my father covets a tract of your land.’
Tabitha had no alternative but to be honest. ‘It is true that Sir John owns the land. Lord Langley … he disputes the claim, shall we say.’
An expression of disgust pinched Her Ladyship’s thin features. ‘My father is trying to steal it, is he not?’
Tabitha bit her lip. ‘I cannot disagree.’
‘I have a notion, Mrs De Vallory, of how I might stop this nonsense of stealing a neighbour’s land.’ She took Tabitha’s hand and though her touch was as cold as an iron key, the pressure was gentle. ‘After Maria left the charity school, I wanted to reclaim her as my own child. You do know that, after Eddie died, Maria would have inherited the Langley Estates after me? And now we have Beaufort Langley picking our pockets. My father calls Beaufort the family saviour. I call him our curse. Poor Maria. A mother’s sorrow for a lost child is the cruellest of all fates. Yet I do believe that over time grief may be distilled into a most useful weapon.’ Her voice breaking with emotion, she stood and signalled that she would leave. ‘You have been most kind. I shall do my utmost to assist you.’
When her friend returned Tabitha gave a somewhat censored version of Lady Maud’s revelations. ‘Such a woman does not deserve to be the entertainment of her neighbours,’ she said soberly. ‘I have returned the lost half of the ring to her. I should be grateful if you do not speak of today’s visit.’
After Sophie gave her word, Tabitha said, ‘Enough of me. Tell me, how are you?’
Sophie sighed and stared at the carpet. ‘I have no news. Though I have attempted a number of charms in the hope of becoming a mother. Unfortunately, mandrake tea was not to my taste. And I have carried the heart of a female quail in a little bag at my waist since Eastertide. And …’
‘My dear,’ Tabitha interrupted gently. ‘Do not waste your time on such follies. These are rational times, my friend. Here, let me show you.’
Pulling a little almanack from her pocket, she opened it at the next month’s calendar and soon set out a plan of campaign.
‘So you are saying I will only make a child within this middle time of the month?’
‘Yes. Turn your husband away if he comes to your bed outside those prescribed days. This is especially important if he is weak due to age or sickness.’
‘Heavens, to have such knowledge. Do you know these matters because of your former profession?’ Sophie awaited the answer like a mischievous child.
‘What is it you wish to ask?’ Tabitha could not keep a smile from her lips.
‘Well, I have secretly read … that particular book everyone whispers of. The extraordinary adventures of a certain Miss Hill. My dear Tabitha, all the ladies of the neighbourhood are agog about your former profession. What a life you must have led.’ Her brown eyes grew round with curiosity.
Fiddlesticks, her new friend was waiting for a saucy anecdote.
‘I assure you,’ she said gravely, ‘my London life was never so full of incident as any masculine author would write it. How my friends and I laughed at young Fanny’s relentless contortions. The poor girl would have been worn to the bone by her sixteenth birthday. No, Sophie, many men desire only the swiftest of connections. And others, tedious as it may sound, merely want an amiable companion to wear upon their arm.’
‘Truly?’ Sophie looked disappointed.
Tabitha nodded sagely, intent upon destroying her reputation with such dull stories. Heavens, if only Sophie knew of her London romps Tabitha doubted very much their friendship would survive.
Nat was dutifully entertaining Mister Rix in his basement study in the dower house. The man was unimpressive in appearance, seeming more than his fifty years of age, grey-haired, spindly, with a wrinkled countenance that did, thankfully, combine with a most engaging mind. He leaned upon his cane, admiring the room’s classical frescoes and spontaneously described the history of Chronos. Nat found himself looking again with interest at the Roman fresco discovered by his late uncle, depicting the forefather of Time replete with a sharp sword and grey beard.
‘This room of yours is perhaps the most exquisite survival of the classical past in the county,’ Mister Rix said in admiration. ‘I am merely an antiquarian, De Vallory,’ he confided as he turned to Nat’s precious library. ‘My collection is mostly books and stones and bones, I’m afraid. You must have many fine relics hereabouts, judging from the number of tumuli and what the common folk call giants’ stones.’
Nat warmed to the man. He hesitated, then decided to confide in the scholarly fellow. ‘In truth, I am in something of a predicament, sir.’ He told Rix of his commitment to present a paper to the Cestrian Society. Then, rather sheepishly, he described his experiment on the veracity of prophecy – and its disastrous consequences. His new acquaintance questioned him closely, occasionally refining Nat’s account when he allowed emotion to colour his description. ‘The facts alone please, sir. Tell me only what your senses recorded.’
When all was told, Mister Rix sat back and considered for a while, tapping his bent fingers on the silver top of his cane. ‘What a fascinating experiment you made, sir. However, I predict your hypothesis will be explained by human motivation rather than the occult. The essential question is, what does this fellow want from you?’
‘That is a question that puzzles me mightily. Firstly, there is the prediction Gunn made of imminent danger to my wife and child. I admit I wanted to draw him out, but God forgive me, I was badly startled. Presumably, he wants to frighten us. And there is the fee of fifty pounds, I suppose. Though I have not yet paid him.’ Nat was finding it a prodigious relief to speak and, once he started, he found it hard to stop. ‘Yet still, the artifice of the whole affair: his choice of location, the dim candlelit chapel and the creation of a sinister atmosphere. Most prophets I’ve studied are meticulous in managing the staging of their act, baffling their watchers with esoteric chanting, darkness, surprises, and so forth. It is the apparition that baffles me.’
Mister Rix nodded the grey thatch of his head, but his shrewd eyes shone. ‘Why so?’
‘Because to our astonishment it was not solid. It was made of air.’
The gentleman raised his grizzled brows and gazed into space, considering deeply.
‘Curiously,’ Nat added thoughtfully, ‘I do have a clue, a thread to follow in this labyrinth. I found it attached to the wall above the altar.’ He pulled the black fibre of wool from his pocketbook.
‘Fascinating. We have a conundrum worthy of Theseus himself.’
‘Indeed. As it was so well expressed by Chaucer: By a clue of twine as he hath gone, The same way he may return anon.’
Nat had walked outside to bid farewell to Mister and Mrs Rix while Tabitha retired to rest.
‘Please do visit us,’ Mrs Rix begged. ‘You can test my husband’s prodigious memory. Name any book on earth and he can at once tell if it is one of the three thousand volumes in his library.’
Nat considered. What the devil was that book he had been meaning to search out? Yes, the unlikely volume he had seen in Gunn’s possession at the camp. ‘Do you know an author named Della Porta?’
Rix nodded vigorously. ‘A Neapolitan. Natural philosopher of the last century. A playwright, and inventor, I believe. I have an edition of his work. Call on me and you may borrow it.’
FORTY-ONE
30 June 1753
On Saturday morning Nat rose early, eager for a long ride. The year had reached its sunlit zenith and his bones, stiff from sleeping on a thin and narrow bed beside Tabitha, warmed pleasantly in this golden season. He rode out to the forest and noticed for the first time the subtle darkening and drying of the bright springtime leaves. The air was very still and scented with old sap. Along the familiar bridle path Nat felt the sweet melancholy of summer’s peak that was slowly passing. He was humming a song that revolved in his brain: the one where a fellow’s mother-in-law bewitches his pregnant wife who is cursed never to give birth to her child:
