Loss, and a Love Rekindled
As Ruth dropped onto Nora’s grave the flowers that Haydon had tied in a bundle for her, the sadness in her deepened. ‘Eeh, Nora, I miss you. What I wouldn’t give to be cuddled in your lovely soft arms at this moment. And Josh, me poor Josh.’ As she said this, she bent over as best she could and gently stroked Josh’s name, which was engraved above Nora’s. The sight of it brought him back to her.
Glancing around and checking that no one could hear her, Ruth did as she always did on her visits to the graves of her loved ones, and told them about little Josh’s antics and his progress in his lessons. ‘He’s getting on fine – he has your brain, Josh, and he is so funny. A proper comedian.’ As she moved on to tell them her worries, tears flowed as she related the news Seth’s letter had given her. Always at these times she felt comfort from sharing, and a feeling that Nora and Josh were listening and would find a solution, but this time her desolation didn’t lift. Drying her eyes, she turned away. She mustn’t despair. Haydon would sort out sommat for her.
A sound stopped her. Her name, softly spoken, in a voice that was so very dear to her. For a moment she thought she was hearing things, but then it came again: ‘Ruth. Ruth, over here.’
Peering towards a clump of trees, Ruth could just make out a shadow. Her heart jolted joy right through her. Lifting her skirt with one hand and leaning heavily on her crutch, she hurried towards the figure. But then stopped within feet of the Earl, as embarrassment and shyness overcame her.
‘Ruth, how are you?’
‘I – I, I’m fine, thank you, M’Lord.’
‘Just fine?’
Looking up into his face, Ruth saw a shadow of the man she’d known. She wanted to say she was sorry for his loss, but the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to berate him for not being truthful with her, but she felt suspended, unable to control her emotions.
As if not noticing his effect on her, the Earl carried on making light conversation. ‘I’d hoped you were really well. I’d heard such good things about your progress. The mill you bought is doing as well as those of the best of us. Funny that we’re now rivals in business.’
She didn’t want to talk about mundane things. She wanted to dispel the pain that she could see etched on his face, and could hear in his voice.
‘I’m sorry. I’m intruding. I know the sadness you are experiencing. I – I’m here to visit Lady Katrina’s grave; she – she lies in the crypt over there, with her late mother and her ancestors. You do know that I lost her?’
‘Yes, M’Lord. I just found out today. I’m reet sorry. She were a lovely lady. Is your babby doing alreet?’
‘Not really. Her breathing is weak. They say she – she—’
‘Oh, M’Lord, don’t. I – I knaw what you’re going through, but . . .’
His sobs undid her, and his bent body called to her. Getting to him as best she could, she touched his arm and held onto it, never wanting to let go.
Slowly he raised his head. ‘Oh, Ruth. Ruth, I’ve needed you so much.’
‘Don’t. Don’t, M’Lord. It ain’t reet.’ Her hand dropped to her side. ‘I’ve to go. I feel for you, and wish I could do sommat to help, but I can’t.’
‘Ruth, don’t go.’ She stood still. Then watched as he brought out a huge handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. ‘I’m sorry. My behaviour was appalling. It was just seeing you, when I’m so vulnerable. Forgive me.’
‘There’s nowt to forgive.’
‘You’re right. Does one need forgiveness for loving another, beyond anything you think yourself capable of? Because that’s how I love you, Ruth.’ His hand came out to her.
Compelled by a force she couldn’t fight, Ruth didn’t try to move when he stepped forward. Her body swayed towards his. His arms encircled her. This was where she was born to be.
‘Ruth. Oh, Ruth.’ His tears dampened her hair.
Neither of them saw the woman slip from the shadow of the Arkwright crypt. Her cough startled them. Ruth almost lost her balance, as the Earl let her go and swivelled round. ‘Marcia, what . . . ? How—?’
‘My Lord Rollinson, I came to visit my family’s grave, to be with my loved ones in a moment of peace. It is shocking in the extreme to find you, the so-called loving husband of my darling late sister, in the arms of a – a slut, when Katrina’s body is hardly cold! You disgust me.’
‘Ruth is not a slut, Madam; she is a friend who was offering me comfort. Something you haven’t even tried to do. Nor would I want you to.’
‘Ha! A friend, eh? You call that – that thing – a friend? She murdered your brother, and umpteen others, remember? The witch of Pradley! She’s your mistress. Go on: admit it. Well, we shall see how this will sit with my father. He can change his will yet, you know. I can still gain what is rightfully mine. Remember the clause that if you brought his beloved Katrina into disrepute, you would lose all? My husband will see to it that you do. Good day, My Lord.’
Fear held Ruth still. Was it all starting again? Would her presence always bring down wrath and bad fortune on others?
‘Ruth, I’m sorry. Ruth . . . ?’
Somehow she managed to move away from him. As she did so, she looked up at him and felt the pull of his dark eyes appealing to her, but she had to get away. She had to get to Amy and then home, before Haydon brought Josh back to her. She didn’t belong in the Earl’s world. She knew that. She only wished her soul knew it, too.
The Earl didn’t try to stop her. When she got to the horse and trap that had brought her here, she didn’t speak to Denzal, the lad who did odd jobs for her and acted as her driver. He knew where she needed to go next, and he was used to her being distressed when she came back from visiting the graves.
The jolting of the trap usually soothed her, as did going through the busy streets of Blackburn, but today nothing could settle her. Did that really happen? Did the Earl really tell me he loved me? She knew she should be feeling happiness coursing through her, but instead she felt afraid and despairing.
Lady Marcia and her husband had a reputation. The two of them were ruthless. They were driven by greed, and took what they wanted by any means they could. Lord Bellinger had owned three mills, and now he owned five. The two he’d acquired had been taken by treachery. One, as she understood it, had been by means of blackmail. Haydon had told her the story. A fellow investigator, whom he knew well, was engaged by Bellinger to find everything he could about the owner of the mill, a John Brazin. The man had a large family and adored his wife, but Lord Bellinger had enticed him to one of the brothels and had then proceeded to extort money from him, on the threat of Lady Marcia telling Mrs Brazin. The poor man committed suicide, leaving debts that his wife couldn’t cope with. Lord Bellinger stepped in and bought the business, before anyone even knew it would be for sale.
The other mill he’d snapped up after a mysterious fire had destroyed the looms and the owner couldn’t afford to replace them. Haydon was convinced the fire was started deliberately. He’d made it his mission to keep an eye on Lord and Lady Bellinger, as he feared they might do harm to Ruth one day. Oh, dear God, have I just given them their chance? Naw, don’t let it all begin again. Terror streaked through her as Lady Marcia’s words resounded in her ears: The witch of Pradley.
Naw . . .
Frederick paced the bedroom in the west wing of his father-in-law’s house. His pain for Ruth filled him with guilt. How could he even have considered doing what he’d done? Because he had to admit he’d deliberately stepped out of sight when he’d seen Ruth arrive, and had then crept over to the trees to watch her. And now his actions had put Ruth in danger. Oh, he knew that he, too, stood to lose a lot. Marcia would have a field day, but that didn’t worry him as much as he feared for Ruth.
Marcia had never released him from the jealous spite she’d shown at Katrina winning his hand, when she herself had held such hopes of becoming his wife. Good God, the very thought of such a match fills me with horror, and yet I might well have fallen into it, if Bertram had lived.
Now he’d given Marcia what she’d been waiting for – a stick to beat him with. His heart felt heavy at the thought that her beating might be aimed at Ruth, as Marcia knew that’s where she could hurt him most. Influencing her father to change his will would be a blow to him, but hurting Ruth in any way would be unbearable. Why? Why does this feeling for Ruth still consume me? I loved Katrina – I did!
Seeing the bed that had been at the heart of all their love and passion, Frederick crumbled. The soft feather mattress received him as if it was Katrina holding him. Sobs racked his body. His heart was broken, and yet it held hope. It was a contradiction that was tearing him apart.
A sharp, angry-sounding knock on the bedroom door woke Frederick from the exhausted sleep he’d succumbed to. As he lifted his heavy, pounding head, it pained him to call out and ask who it was, as he already knew who it would be.
The door opened. ‘What the bloody hell have you been up to? Is it reet what Marcia says: that you’re having an affair with that woman who murdered your brother? Good God, man, I’ve allus had you down as a decent bloke!’
Frederick dropped his head in his hands.
‘I take that as an admission then? And I thought you were different from the rest of your lot.’
This was said in a voice that conveyed deep regret. When Frederick lifted his head, it was to see Arkwright slumped in the high-backed chair that stood by the window and had been Katrina’s favourite. She’d sat there for hours, watching nature play out in the huge garden. Or delighting in watching the now ten-year-old Rosina playing with her dolls, innocent of her true parentage, accepting him as her father, with a love that he returned as if she were indeed his daughter. The picture triggered Frederick’s grief once more, and more tears fell from his gritty eyes. Rosina was the only child to survive from the four pregnancies that Katrina had had.
He stared at his father-in-law. Unable to speak, he shook his head.
‘What, man? Are you saying it isn’t true?’
Taking a deep breath, Frederick at last found that he could answer. ‘It isn’t true. I remained loyal to my dear Katrina, and I mourn her loss. My heart is breaking. You know that I was very fond of Ruth, and her sister, and I helped them all I could, after the dreadful things that happened to them as a result of the accident that took my brother. But that was all I have ever done. Today I came across Ruth when I was at a very low ebb. She comforted me. Nothing more. However, I can see how it looks, but I am trusting that what you know of me, and what you know of your youngest daughter, will show you the truth of the situation.’
‘Are you daring to blight the only kin I have left in the world? How dare you? Aye, I know Marcia has her faults – that’s if you can call getting what she wants in life a fault – but she don’t tell lies to her father. You, on the other hand, are like all toffs: so far up your own backside that you think you can ride roughshod over everyone you consider beneath you!’
This hurt Frederick. He knew this was the opinion Arkwright had held of him in the beginning, but he’d thought that over the years he’d gained his respect. Well, he would command some now.
‘Marcia isn’t your only kin. You have three grandchildren, Sir. Two of them sired by that scoundrel Bellinger. Granted, you never see one of them, as Marcia leaves her son with her in-laws’ nanny, and my only child is fighting for her life, but they are your kin, coming from your daughters.’
‘Two of them! Good God, what are you saying, man?’
‘“My Lord”, to you, Sir. And you know very well what I’m saying. Marcia was at pains to inform you, the day after my wedding. She knew what had really gone on. And it is obvious to all that Rosina was sired by Bellinger. She is the very image of him and his family.’
The moment the words were out, Frederick regretted them. Not only because they were a betrayal of Katrina and Rosina, whom he loved dearly and looked upon as his own child, but because Arkwright was struggling to breathe and his face had turned a horrible purplish-blue.
Rushing over to him, Frederick loosened Arkwright’s collar. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, that was unforgivable of me. Please forget I ever said it. No matter what happened, Katrina and I were very much in love and had forgiven – and from the very beginning had been understanding of – each other. There was nothing we didn’t share.’
Arkwright calmed. Gradually his breathing became normal. Frederick poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the table next to the chair. ‘Drink this, Sir. It will help.’
After a sip, Arkwright studied Frederick for what seemed like an age. Neither spoke. It was for Arkwright to decide how he would accept what he’d been told.
When he did speak, it was to say, ‘That bastard!’
‘Exactly. There isn’t another word for him. You know how Bellinger operates.’ Frederick wanted to say that Marcia was no better, but he’d learned his lesson. Where the Arkwrights of this world were concerned, blood really was thicker than water.
‘It seems to me that you’re all the same. Marcia says you were holding the – the . . . witch-woman as if you were lovers. What do you have to say about that then?’
Frederick hung his head. It was time for the truth, no matter what the consequences. At the end of his telling, relief flooded through him. He no longer had to deny Ruth.
‘Good God! And Katrina knew?’
‘She did. She understood, but she also trusted that I would do nothing about the way I felt. And she knew that I loved her deeply, and Rosina, whom I accepted as my own.’
‘I’ve never known the like. Well, Rosina ain’t yours; and if the poor mite in the nursery don’t make it, then you’re nowt to this family. I should start packing, if I were you. I’m not condoning your way of acting under my roof.’
‘No . . . No, you can’t. It’s ridiculous. It’s inhumane. Rosina is my daughter. I won’t let you separate us.’
‘Won’t let me! By your own admission, the child isn’t yours. But she is my grandchild, and I don’t intend to let her anywhere near the likes of you ever again.’
Defeated, Frederick crossed the room and sank back down on the bed. The reality – that this man had never liked or respected him – was etched into the words he spoke and in the look of hatred on his face. What this would mean for his own future, he couldn’t comprehend. All he could see was the black hole his life would be, without his little Rosina.
Left in the room on his own, he tried to absorb the shock of what had happened, and its implications. He was still by no means a wealthy man. No property had been officially handed over to him, and wasn’t due to be until after Arkwright’s death. Yes, he was in a better position than he had been, when he first came into this family. Katrina had used her personal money to revive his estate, and had even bought back some of the land for him. But he still numbered only five tenants who were bringing in revenue and paying regular rent. It had been the generous allowance made to him by Arkwright that had kept them, and the estate, together. And the awful thing was that Arkwright no longer needed him. He had only needed Frederick in the first place because he’d wanted a lord in his family, to lift his status for his beloved late wife, Lady Veronica. But he now had a lord in Bellinger. And Bellinger had risen in standing over the years and was even accepted at court now. Something Mother was powerless to stop, though she had vowed she would. But how could she, given that Bellinger had married her best friend’s daughter – the hateful, scheming Marcia. And now Bellinger was successful and thriving, whilst others waned. Oh God!
Wearily getting up and crossing over to Katrina’s chair, he sat down in it, hoping to feel some comfort from it. Looking out of the window, he saw Simon Bellinger’s carriage arriving. Marcia was already here. No doubt Marcia had sent a messenger to Simon to come as quickly as he could. She must have known how fragile the relationship was between himself and Arkwright. She had probably been working away at eroding it, without him realizing. And here he was, thinking he’d done a good job in the mill and had Arkwright’s respect and liking. How wrong he was.
Across the lawn a squirrel scampered up a tree, no doubt after acorns to stock his winter bed with. What of my winter bed? What of the rest of my life?
Shaking himself out of his morose mood, Frederick decided to go and sit a while with his new baby girl. A little nameless child – his only child? No, he mustn’t think like that. Arkwright was in a temper. He’d calm down and realize the cruelty of what he’d said.
As he went towards the nursery, he knew that he would name the child Katherine, the English version of Katrina. Some peace rested in him at this decision. His little daughter was no longer someone he hadn’t connected with. She was his life. God, let her live. Please let her live.