Read Online Anna Jacobs by Mistress of Marymoor - Free Book Online

here.” He pointed his forefinger at Bessie. “You may continue to call yourself my sister’s maid or anything else you like, but you are to be out of the village by nightfall. Don’t ever dare return to Newgarth or I’ll have you taken up for vagrancy.”
    Left alone the two women looked at one another in consternation.
    Bessie sobbed suddenly. “Oh, Miss Isabel, I’m so sorry. The words just jumped out of my mouth. I’ll go and apologise, beg him on my bended knees to change his mind.”
    Isabel put her arm round Bessie’s shoulders and drew her across to sit by the table. “No, don’t. He’d enjoy watching you grovel, but he wouldn’t change his mind. He wants to hurt me, has been doing it since I was a child. I never did understand why he hated me so much. And now—heaven knows why, we cost him little enough and I sew for them—he still has to bully us.”
    For a moment she sat in silence, and then said in a firmer voice than Bessie had heard her use for a long time, “We shouldn’t have stayed here when we found how he was going to treat us. It’s more than time for us to leave.”
    “Us? Both of us?”
    “Yes.”
    “But where shall we go?” Bessie asked in shock.
    “Where else but Marymoor?”
    “We’ve no money to hire a conveyance. You know how little there is left now.”
    “Then we’ll walk.” Isabel stood up and brushed down her skirt. “I can still walk as well as you.”
    “I can’t ask you to do this. Let me go and find this Marymoor and you stay here in comfort. I’m sure they’ll send for you when I tell them how things stand.”
    “No. We’ve been together for a long time now and we’re leaving together. He’s not going to separate us. No one is.”
    It was she who comforted the weeping Bessie as they started packing, she who led the way out of the cottage carrying a bundle containing clothes and a few other necessities.
     

Chapter 4
     
    The man who rode the scrawny old horse from Marymoor village to Sedge House, a tumble-down place on the edge of the moors, was an undersized and sour-smelling creature, but Seth’s eyes brightened at the sight of him. His master had been expecting someone for several days now, ever since Mr Elkin heard the welcome news that Ralph Jannvier was dying at last.
    He took the fellow straight to his master and concealed a snort of laughter as the poor sap gaped and was at first speechless. For Seth’s master wore clothing more suited to a London dandy than a country gentleman and his bearing these days was distinctly haughty.
    “Well, fellow?” Anthony Elkin demanded impatiently.
    The man jerked and said hastily, “Mr Simley says to tell you the old man’s dead, sir.”
    “Do you bring no note from Simley?”
    “No, sir. There weren’t time to write none. He says you’d best get over there as quick as you can. There’s a woman moved in, some friend of Pascoe’s, and he’s afeared the two of ’em are plotting summat.”
    “They can plot away. Ralph won’t have changed his will. He was the most stubborn old devil on this earth once he’d taken a decision. I’m his only legitimate heir.” Anthony narrowed his eyes as he thought on this, wondering if stealing the silver could have pushed the old fellow too far. No, surely not? He had left a letter apologising and promising to repay—as he had done. There were no other relatives left to inherit, but on reflection he’d been stupid. But when you’re desperate you don’t always think clearly.
    He turned back to the man, who was still hovering with a hopeful expression on his face. “Here.” A coin changed hands. “You go back and tell Simley I’ll set off within the hour.”
    While Seth ushered the messenger out, Elkin poured himself a glass of brandy and raised it to his image in the tarnished mirror hanging crookedly over the smoke-stained fireplace. “To the new master of Marymoor! And may I not spend another night in this hovel.” He drained the glass and tossed it