FATHER COLLINS FOLDED the letter. At Sally’s request, he’d read it aloud, tactfully omitting the reference to the solicitor. Before her lay the unopened envelope. They stared at it in silence.
‘What will you do?’ asked Maggie. ‘This changes everything, surely? Mrs Sharp didn’t leave it you to hurt Miss Sharp; she did it to protect her. And as it says at the end, well, she wanted you to have it for serving her well, lass, an’ all. Happen it’s her way of saying sorry for the way she treated you, for the burden heaped on you at finding out about the goings on betwixt the pair.
‘You were a true and loyal friend to Miss Sharp. Happen she were grateful for that, an’ all. Who knows what went through that head of hers? But you can be certain of one thing, now,’ she added, eyes gentle. ‘That money’s yours. You need feel no guilt in taking it. With no ill intentions in mind, I believe she wanted thee to have it, regardless. It’s there in black and white.’
Sally bit her lip. ‘The shop and everything else …?’
‘Mrs Sharp’s effects – the business, all monies and possessions – she bequeathed to her daughter,’ the solicitor confirmed. ‘As the beneficiary committed both murder and self-destruction, and without kinsfolk to contest entitlement of ownership, those effects revert to the Crown.’ He inclined his head to the envelope. ‘I received a letter from Mrs Sharp the week before her death. It was delivered to my home address, not to my office as one would expect.’
Sally closed her eyes. The letter she’d given to the maid – Mr Stockton’s maid, she realised. She’d never have dreamed it held this.
‘Inside was the envelope you see before you and the letter you have read,’ he continued. ‘There was a second, addressed to myself, containing instructions along with my fee. Our first meeting could have saved a considerable amount of time had I known … You see, the reason for my haste that day was that she instructed me to deliver this to you at her funeral. She was certain you would attend.
‘Alas, unrelated matters detained me and I was running dreadfully late.’ His countenance turned decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Mrs Sharp insisted discretion was of the utmost importance. She touched upon your marital difficulties and was adamant that your husband should not find out. Indeed, if she’d bequeathed this in her will, by law, ownership would have passed to him.’
Sally was stunned. ‘But how …? I mentioned nothing to her regarding my past.’
Mr Stockton smiled. ‘Who knows? Mrs Sharp was extremely astute, Mrs Swann. Maybe she guessed, or perhaps it was a mere suspicion and she decided upon this route for any eventuality.
‘In any case, it was a shrewd decision. The sum is yours without record of its existence, bar our letters. Only we in this room bear knowledge of it.’ His eyes softened as he studied her injuries, clearly guessing who had inflicted them. ‘As for myself, you need harbour no concerns as to my discretion. Once I leave this house, it shall be as though this meeting had never taken place.’
‘I second that notion,’ murmured Father Collins.
Too overcome with emotion to speak, Sally nodded.
When Mr Stockton took his leave, Maggie made a fresh pot of tea and the three of them discussed the day’s discoveries.
Sally prodded the envelope. ‘I’m still not entirely comfortable with this. I hardly knew her. I shouldn’t lay claim to her money.’
‘Whatever her failings, Mrs Sharp was no fool,’ Father Collins said quietly. ‘Had she not wanted you to have it, that envelope would not be lying there. You may not have known them a great length of time but you clearly made an impression upon both women. Furthermore, as Mrs Benson stated, you were a true friend to Miss Sharp.’
‘I could have been a better one, Father. Perhaps if—’
‘Alas, hindsight is an unforgiving mistress, my child. No one could have foreseen the outcome. You went above and beyond to help Miss Sharp – in death as well as in life. I am in agreement with Mrs Sharp; I too believe you have earned this money.’
‘I cannot fathom it. If she cared for her daughter as she claims, why treat her so abominably? It makes no sense.’
Father Collins steepled his fingers. ‘Many years ago, Miss Sharp spoke to me of her troubles. Naturally, priests cannot repeat, to anyone, disclosures made during the sacred act of confession.’ He paused. ‘However, my and Miss Sharp’s conversation took place not in the confessional box, but a pew by the altar.’
‘Father?’
‘Under Church regulations, confidentiality of disclosures depends upon whether they are made in private or in public. Anything disclosed in settings where others may reasonably overhear, as in this case, could be seen as without intent to confidentiality …’
‘Do you have something to tell me concerning Miss Sharp?’
‘Some would deem it was with confidential intention … However … in what Miss Sharp revealed, and her reasons for doing so, the intention was simply, I am certain, to rid herself of the burden she’d carried for so long. I am equally certain that, in telling you, I shall not come to regret it.
‘It has no bearing on anyone connected; no harmful actions can result from the telling. It may bring you, however, if not comfort then closure. Not to tell you would be an unnecessary cruelty.’
Sally touched his arm. ‘I give you my word it shall go no further.’
Drumming his fingers together, he met her gaze. ‘Are you aware Miss Sharp had a child?’
She knew her expression was answer enough. ‘Father, are you certain—?’
‘Quite. What I am about to reveal may pain you. Are you sure you wish to hear it?’
She and Maggie glanced at each another then nodded.
‘While growing up, Miss Sharp was close to her mother. Her father showed her little interest but it didn’t unduly bother her. Love she lacked from him, her mother more than made up for.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Forgive me for what I am about to say. I would not do so if it were not paramount to the events which followed.’
As he sought the right words, a knot of dread formed in Sally’s stomach. This must be what Pru almost confided to her … She fumbled for Maggie’s hand.
‘When Miss Sharp reached adolescence, her father became attentive, affectionate. They would take walks together or, in inclement weather, play cards by the fire. Upon discovering her love of literature, he began inviting her to his study, where they pored over books for hours. The indifferent father was gone and Miss Sharp was delighted.
‘Eager to retain this new relationship, she was blind to the fact that time spent with her mother dwindled. And her pure young mind was unaware that this was what he wanted. As she and her mother’s closeness decreased, her relationship with her father took on an altogether … different nature.’ He paused, shook his head. ‘Barely a month into her fourteenth year, she was with child.’
Sally screwed her eyes shut, heard Maggie mutter angrily.
‘Confused and afraid, Miss Sharp withheld the truth, and Mrs Sharp failed to see who had fathered the child. She discovered, upon informing her husband. She expected him to be as devastated as she – yet instead, he took the news calmly, dismissing her suggestion that their daughter be sent away to give birth and that the infant be adopted.
‘He insisted she stay, that they would raise the infant as their own. Mrs Sharp’s world shattered, with the terrible realisation. He denied her accusation of incestuous acts and, threatened into silence, so too did Miss Sharp.’
‘Eeh, the poor, poor lass,’ Maggie murmured.
‘Mrs Sharp, too,’ added Sally. ‘Dear God, what a dreadful thing for a mother to discover.’
‘Miss Sharp said her mother was never the same. Half mad with grief, with little choice but to accept his decision, she shut herself away. Despite Miss Sharp’s pleas, she refused to see her. Until, that is, her pains came and she was forced to deliver her daughter’s infant.’
Sally covered her face with her hands. Her words weeks before …
‘Never in my life had I prayed as fervently … I waited, waited, watching that chest rise and fall. And as the new day dawned, I knew He would not claim her …’
She wasn’t referring to Pru, at all. She’d prayed not for her daughter’s death, but for her release from the ill-gotten child. The secrecy, all those unanswered questions. Everything was falling into place.
‘Despite her loathing for her father, Miss Sharp loved her daughter on sight. She was adamant that she would raise her and – perhaps afraid that refusal might loosen her tongue – he agreed. He devised a plan. The family would relocate and Miss Sharp, an early bloomer much older looking than her tender years, would pose as a young widow.
‘The very next day, his brother in Ancoats passed away, bequeathing him everything. It was perfect timing; they left Shropshire and took ownership of the pawnbroker’s. Weeks later, Mr Sharp suffered a fatal blow to the head. Police surmised he’d likely disturbed a break-in during the night. No one was ever brought to justice. Miss Sharp suspected that a break-in never occurred.’
‘You mean …?’
He nodded solemnly. ‘She never questioned her mother. They simply erased him from their lives. However, they could not dismiss him completely. Miss Sharp bore no resemblance to her father, but her child did. As she grew, so too did the repulsion Mrs Sharp felt for this constant reminder of the husband she loathed.
‘This put heavy strain upon mother and daughter’s delicate relationship. The stronger her hatred grew, the more Miss Sharp defended her child. The devastating event which later occurred ensured reconciliation remained a lifelong impossibility.’
‘Are you referring to the child’s death?’
‘Indeed. Shortly before tragedy struck, she’d asked about her father. Mrs Sharp reacted badly to the innocent question and struck her. Miss Sharp warned her mother that if she ever laid a hand to her child again, they would leave and never return. Fearful of being alone, Mrs Sharp vowed to treat her granddaughter better. She was true to her word and the child warmed to her.’
‘And just when their relationship was blossoming … Oh, how very sad. How did she die, Father?’
‘She drowned while out making purchases with Mrs Sharp. Miss Sharp had remained behind to see to the shop. Watching them leave hand-in-hand, she was hopeful, for the first time, about the future. Her dreams soon crumbled. Her mother returned in a dreadful state accompanied by a constable, who revealed the child had fallen into the canal.’
‘Dear Lord, how?’ Sally whispered.
‘Mrs Sharp said it happened in the blink of an eye. She tried her best to save her but the child’s heavy skirts sucked her under. Mrs Sharp almost suffered the same fate; the constable heard her shouts and dragged her out just in time. A party of men searched the waters to no avail. The child had vanished.
‘It broke Miss Sharp completely. Her mother offered comfort but, eaten up with grief, she rebuffed her. Mrs Sharp ceased trying, became distant, embittered. The strokes, which later left her body useless, further warped her mind. Her behaviour became increasingly volatile. You are aware of the incident involving her previous employee?’
Sally nodded numbly.
‘As for Miss Sharp … Her father, mother, child – all contributed to her mental decay. I pray she’s now at peace.’
For several minutes, Sally struggled to digest the harrowing tale. Did Agnes taunt Pru the day they died? She’d the cruellest tongue when the mood took her. Perhaps she mentioned the child and Pru snapped? Or was it a remark about her father? she wondered, recalling Agnes’s scathing comment:
‘What he saw in her, I will never know.’
Sadness constricted her chest. It was as though, over the years, Agnes convinced herself that the blame lay with her daughter. Pru referred to the secret plaguing her as ‘my sin’, said that she’d made but one mistake; was it that of trusting her father? Did her mother convince her, too, that the fault was hers? It was such a tragic mess.
Her granddaughter’s demise clearly tipped Agnes over the edge of insanity. To witness, yet be powerless to prevent, such a thing would make a lasting impact upon anyone. As for dear, sweet Pru … It was a miracle she remained sane as long as she did.
Sally felt an overwhelming urge to be near them, tell them she understood.
‘May I walk with you, Father?’ she asked when he rose. ‘There’s something I must do.’
‘Of course, my child.’
‘Aye, lass, you go,’ said Maggie, guessing her intentions. ‘I’ll mind Jonathan.’
Drawing her shawl low to cover her injuries, she followed him out. A stirring of hope fluttered. God willing, this visit would lay her guilt to rest. Afterwards, she’d light a candle for Pru’s daughter, she decided. And she’d say a prayer that all three had found peace. Each deserved nothing less.
She sighed at the thought of the envelope. Agnes’s letter had swayed her somewhat, it was true, and yet … She was certain of only one thing: if she did accept, fortune’s hand wouldn’t touch her alone. Used wisely, that money could change her loved ones’ lives for the better, too.
By the time she reached the church, her mind was set.
Passing through the gates, she smiled. She’d made the right decision.