A Divided Inheritance (20 page)

‘I am pleased to say we have received written instructions from your cousin.’

At long last. Elspet was standing in Greeting’s chambers again. She had walked from West View House and after the fresh air outside, the room was like a bath-house – uncomfortably
warm. The windows bloomed moistly with steam.

‘And what does he say?’

‘Will you not sit, mistress?’

‘Just tell me, when is he coming home?’

‘I’m afraid he’s not. Master Deane has left us to carry out his instructions in his absence.’

‘And what are his instructions?’

‘Please – won’t you sit? Then we can discuss it more comfortably.’

She pulled her skirts to one side, sat down in the leather-backed chair opposite him, and untied the muslin from her hat. He observed her with a careful expression.

‘I’m sorry, Mistress Leviston.’ She waited while he licked his lips and slid the ink stand across the blotter. He looked up. ‘His instructions are to sell.’

He saw her blank expression and repeated, ‘He wants his half of his inheritance. You will have to sell, mistress.’

‘What? Everything?’ Her voice was a whisper.

‘Yes. The house is to be sold, and the business will have to go too. I’m afraid he has no plans to return to England at present, and he wishes us to cash his assets and deliver the
money in gold to his residence in Spain.’

‘You are not – you are not going to act upon his instructions, are you?’ She could hardly bring herself to speak.

Greeting had the grace to apologize. ‘I beg your pardon, it is not the news you were expecting, I know. But still, I expect you will have an adequate portion from the business when the
transaction is completed. But you have to see, my hands are tied. Your father charged me to deliver his wishes and that I must do. You cannot retain half the business if he wants to
sell.’

‘My father would not have wished this, you know he wouldn’t. Father intended to consolidate the business, not divide it, I’m sure. As for Zachary Deane – he cares nothing
for any of us; not me, not the business nor any of the employees. Are you seriously telling me he can sell everything and there is not a damn thing I can do about it?’

‘Calm yourself. I have some smelling salts in this drawer –’ He bent over and began to fumble under the desk.

‘Smelling salts be damned. What happened to your friendship with my father, Mr Greeting? What if he could see you now, taking the roof from over my head, and my livelihood? What would he
think then?’

He did not answer, but proffered a bottle with a grubby cork. ‘I have asked him to advance you a sum for lodgings until you are wed.’

She leaned towards him. ‘Lodgings? Please, Mr Greeting, you know this is not right. You have to help me. At least tell me where Zachary is, so I can write to him and reason with
him.’

‘His instructions were definite, mistress. To sell as soon as possible. If you yourself have no available funds, perhaps your intended, Mr Bradstone, will be able to purchase shares in the
business. Though he must move quickly, as perhaps others will be interested too.’

‘And I suppose you are on a percentage of the sales, are you not?’ Greeting’s eyes shifted away and he slid the ink bottle back towards him. ‘I’m right.’ She
sighed, knowing she had no leverage when it came to coin. ‘Please, Mr Greeting, for my father’s sake, send word back to Mr Deane and press him to delay, at least until I can try to
raise the money to buy the house. I have given my heart and soul for Leviston’s Lace and I won’t see it divided. Just give me time to send—’

He began to bluster, ‘I don’t see that—’

‘You owe us that much.’ She stood firm. ‘My father lined your pocket all these years, the least you can do is try.’

‘I’m afraid . . .’

‘At least give me his address, then. I will write to him myself. I tell you, Mr Greeting, I am not moving from your chambers until I have it.’

She sat back and folded her arms. They would have to drag her from that place before she would give in.

Greeting sighed. ‘Very well. You twist my arm. His address, then.’

He reached up to a high shelf where leather boxes were piled in alphabetical order. He took down the box marked ‘D–E’ and slapped it on to the table. He called to the scrivener
in the next room and as the door opened she saw Martha’s red tearful face and knew she had been listening. A change in her fortunes meant a change in Martha’s and well she knew it.

The scrivener copied down the address, scratching laboriously at the paper with a worn-out goose-nib. When he handed her the paper she read:

She did not thank him. She simply tucked the paper into her bag and swept out of the chamber. Outside she sucked in great lungfuls of air. Until that moment she had not realized she had been
holding her breath.

Elspet wandered around the chambers of West View House like a lost soul. She had sent a letter to Hugh to inform him that Zachary wanted to sell; perhaps Hugh might be able to
reason with Greeting to stay the sale. Without a shadow of a doubt they would see neither hide nor hair of Zachary Deane once he had the gold in his grasp.

Since the reading of the will she had not been down to the priest cellar; she had been too bitter, unable to find gratitude for prayer. But now she descended, thinking she might find comfort
there. One of the servants had left a small taper alight as was the custom, so she pulled one of the horsehair kneelers over the flagstone floor and bowed her head, making the sign of the
cross.

She gazed on the small statuette of Mary, who had a half-smile and wide, innocent eyes. Mary held her blue mantle about her as if concealing the mystery. Her halo glowed in the candlelight. She
was just an ordinary woman once, thought Elspet, before the angel visited her. Did she have that peaceful expression then, or did she frown and scowl like everyone else and wonder why life treated
her so harshly?

Elspet sighed. Would she ever have such a look, or know the secret of her grace? Mary looked so accepting. Elspet found that she could not accept that she would always be beholden to someone
– to Mr Bradstone or, worse, to Zachary Deane – and she did not want to have to beg every day of her life. She stood, frustrated, still unable to pray. Perhaps, after all, even Mary
could not help her.

Elspet dabbed her eyes on the lace of her sleeve, but before she left she lit two small candles, one for Lydia, the child who had died, and one for Joan. Joan would certainly need heavenly
assistance when she told her what Father had done. She did not light another for Father, for despite her prayers, her anger still burned hotter than any candle.

She banged the door shut on the cellar and drew the drapes so that the metal curtain rings rattled and the fabric swung, releasing a mist of dust.

‘Martha,’ she called.

She came running at the tone of her voice.

‘Have these drapes taken outside to be beaten. And all the curtains at all the doors and windows. And while you’re at it, all the rugs.’

‘But mistress, it’s just started drizzling –’

‘Then it will help the dust settle in the yard. Go on now.’

‘Yes, mistress.’ Martha curtseyed to her and fetched a stool to stand on to take down the curtain.

She wound down the armfuls of cloth and dragged the bundle out of the door. A few moments later the houseboy arrived to take down the drapes at the windows. A fine film of grey settled over the
furniture, the pale light streaked through the dirty diamonds of glass. She fetched a ewer with water and vinegar and scrubbed at the windows. The cloth blackened under the vigour of her
rubbing.

Martha stopped short in the doorway to see her with her sleeves turned back and a dampened rag in her hands.

‘Mistress! Whatever are you doing?’ She bustled over. ‘Here, let me take that.’

‘How long since these were cleaned?’

‘Beg pardon, but I don’t know, mistress.’

‘Well, look.’ She held out the cloth.

‘I’ll see to it straight away, mistress. Straight away. I’ll go tell the boy.’ Martha snatched the rag from Elspet’s hands and ran off.

When the boy came back, he eyed her sideways as if to gauge whether or not she had gone stark mad, but she simply gestured to the windows.

‘All of them,’ she ordered, pacing up and down before them, ‘and the wainscots and banisters.’ It was obviously years since they had been done.

After the windows, she gave instructions for a thorough scouring of the whole house, even though today there was not enough sun to dry everything. But the activity and bustle in the house
soothed the restlessness in her heart as she waited for Hugh’s reply. After a little more than a week his letter finally arrived; she tore off the seal and read his few lines.

Thank God. Relief flooded through her. The letter had taken a few days to reach her, so perhaps even now he was at Greeting’s. She pressed the letter to her lips and kissed it. ‘Oh
Hugh!’ she exclaimed.

The messenger lad in the doorway smiled, and twisted his cap in embarrassment. No doubt he thought the letter full of terms of endearment. He was waiting for a reply so she sat at her desk and
wrote a fervent note of thanks. She folded it carefully, and smiled, for in this mood even the smell of the sealing wax gave her pleasure. She almost skipped down to the kitchen to tell Goody
Turner she would take Jakes out.

‘A fine idea, mistress,’ Turner said, grinning at her obvious good cheer, ‘he needs exercise that one, he runs us all ragged if he don’t get a walk. But make sure you
take your sun-shade. That sun’s baking. Nearly fried my ears off on the way here.’

‘Come on,’ Elspet said to Jakes. ‘Walkies! And, Goody Turner, we are going to the drapers to order more cloth for curtains!’

‘New curtains? Well, there’s something. I was worried. There was rumours your cousin might be closing up the house.’

‘Not if I can help it. Mr Bradstone and I won’t hear of it.’

‘I’m right glad.’

‘Here, Jakes!’ The dog stopped sniffing the bottom of the door long enough to have his lead put on. ‘Shall we stop by the butchers on the Strand, and buy some bones? Bones,
Jakes!’ Jakes let out a delighted woof. She fetched her hat and fastened it on, calling for Martha, before asking, ‘Do we need anything, Turner?’

‘I don’t think so, mistress, though if you pass the comfit-seller, I wouldn’t say no to a twist of pear drops.’ She winked.

‘Cheeky! Sugared figs for me – but we will see what the man has on his barrow.’

‘Pear drops, milk sops, lemon cherry, make we merry!’ Martha said, catching the mood and jamming her felted hat on her head.

Elspet picked up Diver and gave him a squeeze. ‘You be nice for Goody Turner, now.’ He wagged his stubby tail.

She passed him over. Goody Turner ruffled his head and said, ‘Don’t fret, mistress, he’ll be fine and dandy. Just make sure Martha holds tight to that Jakes, get him fixed to
the railings in town. He’d chase a cobble set in the road, that one.’

It was almost six when Martha and Elspet returned, their arms full of parcels and their mouths full of candied delights. Martha dragged her feet and complained during the last
half-mile. Goody Turner poked her head up the stairs to see what they’d bought. Now that Father was gone, Coleman, Broadbank and the lad spent their time in the stables or below, and they
were a house full of women. It made them giddy.

‘Look at those roses in your cheeks!’ Goody Turner said to Martha. She grabbed hold of the muddy and excited Jakes and added, ‘Off you go; go on down now.’

Martha and Goody Turner were only halfway down the stairs when there was a loud knock at the door. As Elspet was so near she went to open it herself, though Goody Turner appeared again right
behind her. She pulled open the door still in her outdoor clothes. Below, the dogs set to barking.

Hugh was on the doorstep, and another, shorter, older, man who was leaning on a stick. ‘Hugh!’ she said, surprised but pleased to see him. ‘Why, how strange, I’ve just
penned you a letter, not a few hours ago!’

‘This is my father. May we come in?’

‘Come in, come in,’ she said. ‘What a lovely surprise. Well, I didn’t know you were down from Yorkshire, sir. So very pleased to meet you. Pray take the gentlemen’s
coats, Turner.’

‘No need. We won’t be staying,’ Hugh said.

She didn’t register his words at first for she was busy saying, ‘I have just come in from outdoors myself.’ It was only when the men staunchly retained their hats that she
realized something was the matter.

Hugh was holding himself very upright and stiff, his face was set and tight. Hugh’s father’s demeanour was similarly grave. A part of her went cold and still. She heard herself
observe the usual courtesies.

‘Have you ridden here?’ she asked. ‘The stable lad will—’

‘No.’ His father cut her off. ‘Our carriage waits outside. Is there someone from the family who can sit with you whilst we talk?’

‘No,’ she said, somewhat flummoxed, ‘only Martha, my maidservant. I’ll call her.’

But Martha had heard the conversation. ‘Here, mistress,’ she called.

Diver appeared from the stairs, growling, teeth bared. ‘Go on down now. Good dog. Goody Turner will get you some supper.’

Diver seemed to sense the odd atmosphere and his hackles were up. He carried on growling, his ears back. Goody Turner had to pull him, whining, down the stairs. When Elspet turned back to the
visitors, Hugh’s father was raising his bushy eyebrows at his son.

‘Mistress Leviston, let us go inside,’ he said. His voice was a broader, harsher version of his son’s.

‘Yes, yes . . . of course.’ She led the way and heard the click click of his cane as the men followed. She pulled an upright chair near to the hearth for Hugh’s father, though
the fire had not been lit for weeks.