White Water Page 4

  Ben shook his head. ‘’Tis no use, Ellie,’ he said as kindly as he could. ‘And Beth’s had bad news of her own a few moments since. Her own sister is sick of the plague and like to die.’

  Ellie looked at Beth in dismay. ‘So many folk dying!’ she said. ‘I’m afeared. If Harriet dies will we all die?’

  ‘Don’t say such things,’ said Beth. ‘Heron’s a big place and you’re well away from the infection. But now I must get on with some baking for if my sister dies I’ll be bound to see to her poor old husband, for he’s been crippled these past five years and can’t care for himself.’

  ‘You mean you’d leave us?’ asked Ben. ‘Leave Heron?’

  ‘Happen I’ll have to,’ said Beth resignedly. ‘’Tis all I can do for my poor sister and that’s little enough. I could scarce leave her old fellow to starve to death. Still, we’ll wait and see. Pass me the rolling pin, Ben, and Ellie — that toad goes out! This very moment and no ifs or buts! And don’t pull that face. You look just like your mother when she was a girl. Now where are the currants? Oh dear, I’m all at sixes and sevens.’

  *

  An hour passed and Harriet’s screams grew thankfully less frequent as the pain in her head subsided. Her temperature remained high, however, and her delirium increased. She spoke in a rambling voice, quite unlike her own, and for Maria, sitting beside her, the high-pitched murmuring increased her distress. She wondered if Allan would reach Heron in time and secretly hoped he would not. It was a poor sight to see the once beautiful girl in such a condition, her body marred by the dusky blotches which sprinkled the fair skin of her breasts and shoulders and began to appear on her face and neck. Her bloodshot eyes were wide and staring and from time to time she shivered so violently that her limbs jerked uncontrollably and her teeth chattered. She had bitten her tongue and blood oozed from the corner of her mouth and ran along the cracked skin of her lips. Maria wetted the small towel and wiped it away. Was it her imagination or had Harriet’s breathing changed? It seemed more rapid and the shivering increased. Harriet tried to speak but her voice was no more than a painful croak and Maria leaned over her to try and hear what she said.

  ‘What is it, child?’ she asked gently. ‘Are you cold? Or thirsty? Is it Allan you speak of? He will be home directly, never fear. We have sent for him. Take a sip of wine to ease your throat.’

  Harriet struggled to speak and Maria helped her to sit up a little and raised the flagon to her parched lips. Harriet managed a mouthful before she caught sight of her arm, and gave a moan of fear. Her pale wrist was speckled with three dark spots. Harriet understood their significance and stared at them, transfixed with horror.

  Maria held her hand, patting it reassuringly. ‘’Tis nothing,’ she told her. ‘Three little spots!’

  But now Harriet rubbed at the marks, uttering shrill cries of alarm. The sound, like an animal in distress, chilled Maria’s heart. The girl turned her head slowly and became aware of the tokens on her right shoulder and then she looked down at her body and saw her speckled breasts.

  She began to claw frantically at her skin, trying to rid herself of the offending spots, and she summoned deep reserves of energy so that her movements were forceful and her nails tore into the skin, streaking it with blood. Dimly, Maria was aware of hoofbeats outside and her heart sank. God forbid ’tis Allan, she whispered, but she knew it was very probable.

  She pleaded frantically with her daughter-in-law, aware of Allan’s imminent arrival. ‘Stop that, Harriet! No, you must not. D’you hear me, child. Oh, stop. I beg you.’

  But the demented girl fought off her restraining hands and then there were footsteps on the stairs and Allan ran into the room.

  ‘Help me, Allan. For pity’s sake, help me,’ cried Maria.

  He flinched at the sight that met his eyes — Harriet was half out of bed, screaming hysterically, her body running with blood from countless self-inflicted weals.

  ‘Help me hold her. Oh, what is to be done with her? Should we tie her down? Allan — Ah!’ She winced in sudden pain as Harriet lashed out at them, and a powerful blow caught her across the side of the head and sent her staggering off-balance. As she fell, she struck her head against the corner of the four-poster.

  ‘Mama!’

  Allan turned his attention momentarily from Harriet to Maria and in a flash the girl pulled free of his grasp and ran out of the room.

  ‘Are you hurt, Mama?’

  She shook her head dazedly. ‘Harriet — go after her,’ she gasped, and he left her and ran out on to the landing. Already, the girl was at the bottom of the stairs. She ran straight into Ellie, who was turning the corner carrying an armful of freshly ironed linen. The little maid took one look at the dreadful sight, dropped the linen and fled back to the kitchen, white-faced and speechless with shock.

  Beth could get no sense from her so she hurried out into the hall in time to see Allan run out of the front door.

  ‘Now what’s amiss?’ she demanded and, looking after him, drew her breath sharply and crossed herself. ‘Tis the end, poor child! ’Tis the way they go, some of them. Some die slow and others burn themselves out in a flash.’ Ellie, who had crept out after her, burst into tears and clung to Beth, who put a comforting arm round her.

  ‘Harriet! No!’ shouted Allan, for the girl was running in the direction of the river. She reached the top of the steps which led down to the lower garden. She turned abruptly and her expression was strangely calm. Allan hesitated as she held up a hand to warn him.

  ‘Harriet,’ he stammered. ‘Come back to bed. Come with me. Oh, my dearest, take my hand. Let me hold you. Let me care for you. You shan’t die.’

  For a moment it looked as if she would comply. Her lips parted in a travesty of a smile and then she glanced down at her ravaged body.

  ‘Come to me, Harriet,’ he repeated gently. ‘All will be well, I swear it. Don’t run away from me.’

  She looked up and he saw that tears glinted in her eyes. ‘I’m ugly,’ she said simply. ‘The tokens are ugly — I must wash them away.’

  Allan took a step towards her and held out a hand. ‘I shall wash them away for you,’ he said. ‘Come back to the house and we shall make you clean. You will be pretty again, I promise.’

  With her hands, she brushed at the blood on her breasts then raised her fingers to look at them curiously. Allan took another step towards her and she glanced up at him with a strange smile on her face. ‘I’ll wash them away,’ she repeated. ‘Aye, that’s it. I’ll wash them away.’

  Only ten yards separated them, but before Allan could shorten the distances she turned suddenly and stumbled down the steps. As he ran after her, he heard the splash as she went into the river and when he reached the bottom of the steps he saw her standing waist-deep in the water. She was splashing water up over her body and she glanced up at him with a crazed expression. She flung wide her arms and laughed. Then the laughter died in her throat, her arms fell slowly to her side and she looked at him with sad eyes.

  ‘Oh dear God!’ cried Allan, plunging into the water, struggling to reach her before she collapsed. As he reached her she closed her eyes and fell lifeless into his arms.

  *

  It was past midnight when Harriet’s body was finally laid in the straight wooden coffin which rested on two trestles in the bedchamber she had shared with Allan for so short a time. Maria and Melissa had laid her out and now stood beside her, looking down into the sweet face, perfectly composed in death. The long white robe hid the lacerated body and white chalk successfully concealed the dark spots on her face. A white bonnet covered her soft brown hair and her eyes were closed and long lashes fringed her smooth cheeks. The candlelight was kind to her.

  ‘She was a bonny girl,’ said Melissa. ‘She looks so serene now. Allan will feel better when he sees her this way.’

  Maria sighed heavily. ‘Poor Allan. He took it very hard. When I found them he was sitting on the steps, cradling her on his lap. He was talking to her — tryin
g to reassure her that she was still beautiful. Her head was against his shoulder and her hair was wet. I thought she was still alive.’

  ‘Poor little girl.’

  Maria put out her hand and gently stroked Harriet’s cheek. ‘Still downy, this poor little face. Allan used to call her his little swan.’ Her lips trembled and she turned to Melissa. ‘If only I knew where he had gone. He was so strange. At first he would not part with her body but carried it into the house and sat in the bedchamber with her. I thought she would — I thought her limbs — ’ She broke off and Melissa nodded without speaking. ‘I thought we must take her from him but I couldn’t find the words. My head ached from the fall and I felt sickly. Then Hugo came back — ‘twas a mercy he did. He argued with Allan and then he — Allan — laid her on the bed and ran out of the room. He rode off, no one knows where. Oh Melissa, he looked so strange.’

  ‘Tis natural enough,’ said Melissa. ‘Such a terrible shock, poor lad.’

  ‘But Allan is — ’ she hesitated, biting her lips, afraid to put her fears into words.

  ‘He’ll be back, you’ll see. He’ll ride out his grief and return to us.’

  ‘I hope so. Jon said he rode like one possessed.’

  ‘He’ll be back,’ Melissa’s tone held conviction.

  ‘I hope I was kind to her,’ Maria said suddenly. ‘I think I was. Such a pitifully short life. I hope she was happy.’

  ‘Indeed she was,’ said Melissa. ‘A husband who adored her, an affectionate family, a comfortable home. Of course she was happy. How could she be otherwise?’

  ‘But to die before she had a child. Such a grievous loss, never to know a child’s love.’

  Melissa was silent, thinking fleetingly of her own son, Oliver, now a young man of twenty-four. He had left home ten years ago to go to sea and she had not seen him since. They had an occasional letter and these she treasured, reading them again and again, trying to picture her quiet son, wondering how he survived the rigours of a sailor’s life. Nightly she prayed for his deliverance from danger and for his eventual safe return.

  Maria fussed with the dead girl’s gown, twitching the folds into place and tucking the hem more securely under the small feet. ‘She looks very beautiful,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow I shall search for white flowers, some to tuck into her hands, others to circle her head. What d’you think Melissa?’

  ‘I like it. Flowers lend a certain delicacy.’

  ‘Aye. I think so.’ She sighed again. ‘And Beth is to leave us tomorrow. Did you know?’

  ‘Beth? Why, no.’

  ‘Her sister is also stricken and leaves a crippled husband.’

  ‘Sweet heaven! And this is a mild outbreak! Where will it end? But how will you manage without her?’

  Maria turned to her hopefully. ‘I meant to speak with you on the subject. I wondered if I might have Minnie here if Maggie would come to you.’

  ‘Maggie Ball at the bakery?’

  ‘Aye. She has often said that she might one day give it up. She is greatly aged this past two years and might welcome the idea. Will you think on it?’

  Melissa considered the idea and found it agreeable. There was a bond between herself and Maggie which no one else could share. They had both loved Simon Kendal and both had lost him. In a way Melissa admired the forthright Maggie for her independent spirit and ready humour. Melissa smiled wryly. ‘I dare say Maggie would rather come to Heron and be near her beloved Allan. To her he is almost a son.’

  Maria shrugged. ‘Minnie would never recover if she did. She has been trying to find a way back here since the day she moved to Ladyford.’

  They both laughed. Maria moved the candles nearer to the head of the coffin and Melissa looked at her curiously.

  ‘I know,’ said Maria. ‘I fidget. ’Tis foolish but I want to satisfy myself I have done all that I can for her. I cannot quite believe that she is dead and beyond the small comforts of life.’

  ‘Her soul is on its way to God,’ said Melissa. ‘The passing bell rang long and loud. She is at peace now. Let her be.’

  Maria took a deep breath and smoothed her own skirts. ‘You are right. ’Tis no use fretting over the dead. ’Tis the living need our help. Tomorrow, if Allan is not returned, I must send Matt in search of him.’

  ‘And I will speak to Thomas about Maggie and most likely ride into Ashburton to see her. You will need help with the funeral feast with Beth gone. How strange to lose Beth after all these years.’

  With a final glance at Harriet, they moved quietly to the door and out onto the landing. The rest of the household were already asleep and the only noise was the wind in the chestnut tree. It was too late for Melissa to return to Ladyford so she would sleep at Heron. She took the proffered candle from Maria and kissed her lightly.

  ‘Sleep easy,’ she told her. ‘You have done all that you could.’

  Maria’s eyes were large in the flickering light. ‘I hope so,’ she said earnestly. ‘I truly hope so.’

  *

  Allan had ridden fast and furious, across Dartmoor. Oblivious of his destination, he had ridden due east over the sprawling moorland unaware of the darkening sky that heralded nightfall. He rode without stopping, spurring his horse unmercifully so that it raced desperately, heart labouring under the unexpected effort, nostrils flared, specks of froth whipped from its mouth by the wind. Allan rode with his eyes closed against the pain, careless of his own safety, unconsciously challenging death to take him also, so that he could be once more with his beloved Harriet. At last the rumble of passing cartwheels opened his eyes and he found himself on the far side of the moor, on the furthermost outskirts of Tavistock. With an oath, he turned his exhausted horse and headed north-east so that he moved across moorland once more. He longed to ride forever until he fell, but it was in fact the horse that stumbled, throwing him head first to the ground.

  He was lucky enough to land in soft marshy ground which broke his fall. For a moment he lay where he was, his anguish welling up afresh but then with a deep, trembling sigh he scrambled to a kneeling position and stared into the darkness. His horse was grazing nearby. He could hear the teeth closing and the small sound of grass parting from its roots. The half moon was rising and there were no clouds.

  ‘Harriet!’ he whispered. ‘Harriet … Harriet.’

  He longed to see her as she had been, when he lay with her, sweet and loving under his caresses, an excited smile fighting her face, her breath coming in soft gasps. Instead he saw her wild eyed and bloodied. He groaned aloud and threw himself face downward on the cool turf and there he lay all night, unmoving, sleepless, while the moon rose over him and the night creatures watched him cautiously, skirting the long still form, startled by the blond hair which shone silver in the moonlight.

  His stillness belied the turmoil within him, as grief and shock gave way to a deep misery that was physical — a misery that weighed on him like earth upon a coffin, pressing him down into the soil beneath him, while the darkness hid him from the world. He was abandoned, solitary, cut off from his fellow men, unable to see or hear, a forgotten object. He was buried alive in the dark recesses of his mind. He was at one with his sweet wife. He prayed for oblivion and wanted the all embracing darkness to go on forever.

  But at last the sun rose, touching the cold sky with its rosy light and warming the earth with the promise of a new day. The sounds of night vanished with the dawn and reluctantly Allan Kendal opened his eyes and forced himself to face the rest of his life.

  His body was cramped and his clothes clung damply to him. His mind was numb, all rage, fear and pain had merged into unreality. His horse was gone but he stood up and stamped his feet and swung his arms, and felt the stiffness leaving him. Breathing deeply of the cold air, he turned to face the sunshine, imagining that it warmed his face. Then he turned eastward and set off for home. After an hour’s walk he came upon his horse, which came willingly when he whistled. So he rode slowly back and the hours passed at a walking pace until the spire of As
hburton church gave him his exact whereabouts. On a sudden impulse he turned away from Heron and headed into the town, and just before five had tied his horse to a hitching post and was knocking at the door of Maggie’s bakery.

  She came grumbling to the door, a shawl thrown round her shoulders, her figure hidden in a shapeless nightgown. Her protest died on her lips as she recognized him.

  ‘Sweet heaven, ’tis Master Allan — and in such a state! Come in at once and let me take a proper look.’

  She pulled him inside and closed the door and for a few seconds her eyes took in his haunted expression and the crumpled state of his clothes. Hands on hips, she surveyed him, tutting softly to herself, then she flung her arms round him and hugged him fiercely.

  ‘Whatever ails you ’tis not the time to speak of it yet,’ she said shrewdly. ‘When a young man turns up on my doorstep at this ungodly hour, there’s only one thing to do and that’s feed him. So you sit yourself down, young Allan, and nurse the fire along for I’ve only just lit it, and I’ll get a bite of breakfast and a drop of hot spiced wine. That’ll warm the cockles of your heart — mine, too — and we’ll eat and drink and life’ll be worth living again. That’s right, love, throw on a few more sticks. They’re in the basket behind you. Make a nice blaze. Now let me see, there’s a couple of veal pasties in the larder and a bit of cold capon. Tasty that was, though I say it myself. Cooked it slow with a few sprigs of rosemary and the flesh fell off the bones. We’ll finish that — and there’s a bit of curd cheese, or did I finish that off? My memory these days! I’m getting old, no point in pretending.’

  Allan said, ‘You’ll never be old, Maggie,’ and she smiled to herself to see that he was ‘coming round’. Chattering on, she gave him no time to think his own thoughts and suddenly she laughed. He turned from the fire to see her regarding him cheerfully.

  ‘You look just like your father, kneeling there,’ she told him. ‘The image of Simon. He was a grand lad, your father. A grand lad — and you’re like him. No two ways about it. Oh dear, it’s smoking a bit. Wood’s damp I expect. The bellows are behind you, love. Give it a bit of a blow. Show it who’s master.’