The Other Cathy (30 page)

‘Uncle Randolph, you mean?’

‘Aye, Mr Randolph Hardaker! He’s evil, child! Take thy
man an’ go away from here, an’ never return no more.’

‘Uncle Randolph evil? That is going too far!’ Emma pro
tested. ‘I won’t listen to you.’ Then in a less aggressive tone,
she added, ‘Please explain yourself, Ursly.’

‘I will an’ all, I’m not afeard o’ him! If tha asks me who
killed Hugh Hardaker, it were his brother Randolph. There
now, it’s out! ‘

Shocked into silence, Emma sat limp in the chair trying to shut the thought away. Dazedly she watched as Ursly got up
and fetched her pestle and mortar, and started grinding some
seeds. At last she gathered the strength to whisper, ‘Go on, tell me what you know.’

‘That night at t’mill, when Mr Hugh died, they wasn’t alone
like t’master thought. Two others was there – two others as
shouldn’ have been there at all. So they kept themselves hid
and watched it all happen.’

‘Two others?’

‘Aye! My Rosie, and – Seth’s father! Though t’lad’s never
to know that,’ she added in a rush. ‘He’s never to know whose seed he comes from, for ’tis bad seed. It were Johnny Gone-
tomorrow, that one who got murdered. And ’tis easy to guess who killed him, too. Johnny’d kept well clear of t’Brackle Valley all those years,
but when he found out Matthew Sut
cliffe were back, he saw his chance to get some brass for what he knowed.

‘It were bitter cold that night,’ Ursly recollected, ‘and
Johnny had telled my Rosie to leave a window off latch at
t’mill when she knocked off work in t’carding room. Later on,
they went there and climbed in one o’ they big skips o’ wool to keep theirselves warm. They was still there when t’door
were unlocked an’ someone come in carrying a lantern. It were
Mr Hugh Hardaker, and he started doing summat or other to
one o’ the machines. My Rosie and Johnny, they dursn’t move,
then after a bit Mr Randolph Hardaker come in too, an’ he
began picking on his brother, all about things always going
wrong and couldn’t he do nowt right. Then it got worse an’ they was really bawling at each other. All of a sudden Mr
Hugh raised his fist, but Randolph he were quicker. Snatched
up one o’ they pointed shuttle things, he did, and hit out
wi’ it, twice or more, Hugh give a terrible cry and fell to
t’floor wi’ blood pouring from his head. Randolph sort of
gasped an’ stared down at Hugh for a bit, then he grabbed up t’lamp and run off. Well, my Rosie and that Johnny,
terrified out o’ their wits, they was. There weren’t no sound
coming from Mr Hugh an’ they reckoned he were done for,
and Johnny was afeard he’d get the blame for’t. So they crept out of their hiding place an’ run off quick. The way it turned
out, though, Mr Hugh weren’t quite dead at the time, ’cause
afterwards it were found out he’d scratched out some message
on t’stone floor.’

Emma heard it all and understood every word. Yet somehow
none of this horrifying story seemed to have any link with reality. Here was the truth at last, the evidence that would clear Matthew’s name once and for all. But she could not rejoice, felt no sense of relief. A numbness seemed to pervade her whole body. Her Uncle Randolph had killed her father!
And only three weeks ago, to prevent his dreadful crime from
coming to light, he had killed a second time. It was a long while before she found her voice; and then it came out so
cracked and dry it hardly seemed her own.

‘Why didn’t you speak of this at the time, Ursly? Why did
you allow Matthew Sutcliffe to be tried and sentenced -transported – for a crime you knew he didn’t commit?’

The old woman had been pounding ceaselessly with the
pestle, but now she stopped and peered across at Emma.

‘I didn’t know it were not him done it, not then. Not till
Rosie were a’dying, giving birth to Seth nine month later, did
she tell me what they’d seen. And by then ’twere too late. Matthew Sutcliffe had
long sin’ set sail in a convict ship. And what could I ha’ done,
against t’word and power o’ Mr Randolph Hardaker? Who
would’ve believed the likes o’ me? If I’d durst open my mouth,
happen I’d have found myself straight in stir. Johnny had
gone off, and I knowed he’d mak’ certain he weren’t never
found. My poor Rosie were dead, and I had her babby to care
for.’

Emma lowered her eyes, bleakly accepting the logic of this.
If Uncle Randolph was indeed as ruthless and cunning as Ursly insisted, he could easily have found a way of silencing
any ill-educated poor woman who dared make trouble for him.

‘Are you not still afraid of my uncle?’ Emma said chokily.

‘Not for myseln, I’m not. But I’m feared for Seth. He sent
t’lad home as a warning to me not to talk out o’ turn. He put
that silver snuff box in Seth’s bed deliberate. I know him,
dearie. And if I mak’ trouble for him, he can have Seth
punished for the theft. But I can trust thee, can’t I, Miss Emma? Tha’ll not let owt bad happen to my Seth, promise me tha won’t!’

Emma had to drag her mind to what Ursly was asking. ‘Seth, no, he’ll be all right. He’s in no danger. But Ursly, I
don’t understand – why should Uncle Randolph want to ensure your silence when he can’t possibly be aware that you
know the truth of what happened that night?’

‘No dearie, it ain’t that at all! Happen he’d never have let me stay breathing if he thought I knowed ’twere him that
killed his brother.’

‘Not that? Then what else, Ursly?’

‘Nay lass, don’t ask!’

‘But I do ask! I must know. I insist that you tell me.’

Ursly stared back at Emma, screwing up her nearsighted eyes. Then, shrugging, she began to pound again with the
pestle.

‘Tha can insist as much as tha likes, dearie, but I’ll never tell ‘ee that. Never! I swear on my love for that poor dead
child lying there that never will tha drag it from me.’

A light collation of cold meats was served at Bracklegarth
Hall in the early afternoon, but no one had much appetite
and few words were exchanged across the table. When Chloe
rose to leave Emma hastily made to follow her, afraid to be
left alone with her uncle; afraid she might rashly fling at him
the accusation that he had killed her father. First, it was imperative to talk to Matthew. Until that was done, she must
somehow force herself to behave in a normal manner.

‘One moment, Emma. I’d like a word with you.’

She halted where she was, unable to turn round and face
him. Randolph came up behind her and the touch of his
hands upon her shoulders made Emma shrink away.

‘Your distress is understandable,’ he said softly. ‘I too feel
our tragic loss more than I can say, even though we have long been prepared for it. But life must go on. Remember, my dear,
you and I still have one another, and without Cathy we shall
be closer than ever.’

This time, Emma’s involuntary flinch was too marked for Randolph to disregard. He wondered again how much the
girl knew. That she knew something he was certain. Doubtless
she held him to blame for precipitating Cathy’s death by dis
missing Seth, but he thought there was more to it than that.
And whatever she had learned in the past hours could only
have come from Ursly. All these years he had suffered mis
givings about that confounded gypsy woman who had been
his wife’s close companion and confidante. What might not
Henrietta have conjectured and passed on to her? What had Ursly herself pieced together? Those squinting black eyes seemed to penetrate where no ordinary vision could, and for all her lack of learning her mind was uncannily perceptive. And now it looked as if he’d been right to mistrust her; as if
the old woman knew far more than he had ever feared. When
that infernal pedlar had seen him at the mill on the night of
Hugh’s death, he had not been alone. His claim was that he had been fornicating in one of the wool skips with Rosie, Ursly’s daughter. Did that trollop tell her mother what she
had witnessed? Happen she did. Almost for certain she did.

Yet in his mind Randolph still hesitated. If this was so, why
had Ursly remained silent all these years? Was it to safeguard
the old cottage she lived in on his bounty and the pension
he’d thought it prudent to pay her? But if she placed a value
on these paltry things, would she risk losing them now by telling Emma what she knew? It might still turn out that his
chance meeting with the pedlar on a dark, deserted road had
been the stroke of luck it seemed at the time. Made stupid by drink, the fool had boasted of the rich reward he would
gain by revealing what he knew. It had been so easy to step
in and double the sum Sutcliffe was going to pay him; to agree
to bring it within the hour to a quiet spot on the moor road. But instead of the hundred pounds in gold, he had armed
himself with a stout wooden club. It was all over in a couple of
minutes, and without a breath of suspicion directed against
Randolph Hardaker. That ought to have been enough. Per
haps he was imagining things. He must not act in haste.

Emma lowered her eyes and stood irresolutely, hoping to
make her escape.

Randolph said steadily, ‘You look right done in, lass. Come
to my study and we’ll take a glass of port wine together.’

She looked up and he thought he saw fear flicker in her
eyes. ‘No, Uncle, I —’

‘I insist. It’ll do us both good.’

Though Emma sought desperately for a plausible excuse, she could find none. But she was saved by the butler’s en
trance. Hoad informed his master that some neighbours had
called to offer their condolences; would he be good enough
to join Miss Hardaker in the drawing room?

‘Please, uncle, I don’t want to see them,’ she said, grasping
her chance.

‘As you wish, lass. I’ll not be too long, and then we’ll have
our little chat.’

As Emma went upstairs her footsteps led her automatically
to her cousin’s room, but on the threshold she stopped in dis
may. It was a dead Cathy who lay there upon the bed. Only
now did the full reality of her loss strike through, and she was
shaken by a rush of tears.

Uncle Randolph had been the first to arrive at Ursly’s cottage, bringing the wagonette to bear Cathy’s body home.
He had been swiftly followed by Bernard, and Emma was
thankful she could go home in Bernard’s gig. The news of
Cathy’s death had spread quickly, for Jane and Blanche were already commiserating with Chloe when they arrived. If any
one noticed Emma’s nervousness and agitation it was at
tributed to the morning’s tragedy and her personal grief.

The pendulum clock on the landing chimed and, with a
start, Emma realised it was half-past three. What was she
thinking of dithering here? This past half-hour Matthew
would have been waiting at their rendezvous in the grove of
silver birches; could she reach him before he gave her up and
went away? Not on foot, Emma realised; but if she hurried
there might still be a chance on horseback.

The stable yard was deserted. Not wasting time looking for Joseph, she saddled Kirstie herself and in scarcely three minutes was heading along the valley road at a fast trot, which
became in the last couple of hundred yards a full gallop.

She was too late. Dismounting quickly, she slipped in among the trees searching for Matthew, calling his name. But there was no answer. Bitterly disappointed she returned to the road, taking a last look round. High up among the fir trees that dotted the valley slopes she glimpsed a movement, a man
on horseback. Emma waved frantically with her white hand
kerchief, but Matthew didn’t once glance back as he crested
the rise. Briefly he was silhouetted against the cloud-massed
sky before vanishing from Emma’s sight. Without pausing to
consider she set her mare to follow him, urging Kirstie up
the steep incline with all speed. Even so, it was ten minutes
before Emma reached the spot where Matthew had dis
appeared, but to find no sign of him. She headed at once for
the dark bulk of Black Scar Rocks, deciding to ascend the
crags and thereby gain a wider prospect. Kirstie needed no
guiding up the rock-strewn path that twisted between the
huge gritstone boulders, its peaty surface muffling the sound
of her hooves. At the foot of the Abraham Stone Emma slipped
from the saddle and hastened to the summit by the stairway of
natural steps.

The fierceness of the wind whipping at her flimsy skirts took Emma by surprise. It was cold up here, but no matter.
She would stay only long enough to ascertain Matthew’s
whereabouts. Standing on the flat-topped boulder with her
back to the precipice, she scanned the barren acres of moor
land. Apart from grazing sheep, and a red grouse that
skimmed above the heather uttering its raucous cry, there was
no movement anywhere. If Matthew was for the moment con
cealed from view in one of the small ravines, he must soon
reappear. Emma remained at her vantage point, waiting hope
fully. The minutes went by and still there was no sign of
him. The late September sun’s pale warmth was torn away by the pitiless wind, which rushed past her face in an icy stream.
There was no hope, she thought despondently, she must give
up and go home, and find some other way of getting in touch
with Matthew.