Read Online Abigail Moor by Valerie Holmes - Free Book Online Page B

warm,
dry and rested, for the last part of my journey was far from
comfortable.”
    “Oh!” her voice
was brighter, if not surprised. “How can I repay you, though?”
    “I did not ask
you to. You can go straight to sleep and give me some peace because
I have a long journey to London tomorrow.”
    She sat hugging
her bundle as he sorted out the room and had his bag carried for
him upstairs. There were no servants’ cots but there was a big
armchair by an open fire. He asked for extra blankets and two bowls
of warm water, towels and soap.
    “Molly, you
sort yourself out. I will be downstairs long enough for you to
freshen up, dry your hair and make yourself comfy in the chair.”
She nodded. “Don’t touch my things, Molly. I’ll show you trust.
Cross me once and I will have you arrested, and I would not look
back, understand?”
    “I won’t, sir.
You is kind and I need a friend.”
    He smiled at
her and left. Joshua took two steps along the corridor when the two
ladies that had joined the coach at The Cruck Inn stepped onto the
landing. He stepped aside. The maid frowned disapprovingly at him;
the pretty young woman smiled, discreetly. When he returned, the
girl had curled up on his bed. He scooped her up in his arms and
placed her carefully down on the chair by the fire. Nestled under a
blanket, Molly slept on.
    Abigail stared in disgust at the old, threadbare hangings around
the four poster bed. Then tried to fix her maid with as firm and
adult gaze as she could. “Martha Napp, now we have some privacy at
last. As we rest you must tell me who I am. I cannot wait a moment
longer. I need to know the truth!” she demanded.
    The gentleman
had taken her mind from their situation. He seemed a decent person,
but she wondered what he was doing with such a young waif in
tow.
    Martha dropped
their bags down on the bare wood floor and walked over to the small
fire which had been lit to air the room. It failed miserably. The
room smelt stale and fusty. Old drapes were nailed to a beam, as
opposed to hung at the ill-fitting window, and swung back unevenly,
to be held in place by worn out ties.
    “There’s no
good getting all angry at me, Miss Abigail.” Martha was most
indignant.
    “Why ever not?
There seem few others who I can be annoyed with and you have
secrets I wish to share. You have lied to me for as long as I have
known you. My whole life is not what I thought it was. I have no
idea who I am or where I came from. Everything I thought was true,
all I believed was so, has no truth in it at all. Was my mother a
lady or a...wanton woman? I have a right to know and I must be told
the truth for I shall never have peace in my heart again if I do
not.” Abigail could not remember ever speaking to Martha in such a
way, but she felt it was not only essential that she assert herself
before she started her new life, but necessary to relieve the
desperation she felt building up within her.
    “Everything
that’s been done in your life was done for your own good – and
what’s more, my girl, what’s done is done and can’t be changed. If
it has been so important to you, why has it taken you to your
twentieth year before raising a question about it?” Martha’s colour
was high; her ruddy cheeks betrayed how upset she was by Abigail’s
change of manner. “You always thought you were from a place where
you had been left as a babe.”
    Abigail,
however, was determined to find out the truth. How could she be her
own person and survive in the world if her real identity was being
kept from her. Nothing made sense to her anymore; it was as if she
had lived a lie, a life that was, apparently, not rightly hers.
Frederick’s words echoed in her mind; he had referred to her bad
blood. Was it true? How was she to know? Martha knew, and Abigail
stared sternly at her.
    “Because I
believed I was from a workhouse where there were no records of who
my parents were. Because I believed you would tell me if there was
more to tell and