A Handful of Ashes

Thank God it wasn’t consumption, was Francis’s first thought. Nevertheless, Goldie was extremely ill. There was very little fluid in her lungs, which was a blessing. She had a dry cough, producing a minimum of mucus, but her muscles offered him hardly any resistance. Her skin was hot and dry, and when he gently pinched it between his finger and thumb it was slow to return to its natural state. Her stomach was beginning to bloat, too. She was suffering from dehydration and malnutrition.

Pneumonia was not always fatal, Daisy was living proof of that. But a body which had been deprived of basic nutrition had no strength to fight off infection, so became a breeding ground for all types of illnesses, which could easily be passed on to others. Until Goldie ingested some fluids, Francis wouldn’t even know whether her other organs functioned as they should.

If the air was humidified and he got plenty of fluids into her, with an infusion of savoury, willow bark and honey to treat her fever and cough, as long as bacteria didn’t take advantage of her weakened state she just might pull through.

Noah’s prognosis was a little less encouraging than his own. ‘As you’re aware, Francis, a patient with pneumonia can deteriorate very quickly. Goldie will need observing night and day. She already has pustules on her body, which indicate a bacterial infection in the blood. If that spreads to her lungs it’s unlikely she’ll recover. I would advise that she be nursed in the infirmary, for I’m not sure that your personal involvement will be in her best interest.’

‘You mean, you consider I’m not sufficiently recovered from my recent bereavement to cope. I assure you, I am, Noah.’

Miss Edgar exchanged a glance with Pansy, who stated firmly, ‘There’s no question of placing Goldie in the infirmary when we can offer her the best of attention here. We’ll all take turns looking after her, Papa. And a couple of the maids can help out during the day.’

‘Siana would have allowed me to help Goldie if she hadn’t been sent away.’

There was an awkward silence, one during which Francis tucked Goldie’s arm under the covers. He was astounded by the change in Daisy since he’d last seen her. It was as if he’d woken from a long sleep to discover everything had passed him by. How old was she now? Eleven years? Getting on for twelve? As far as he could see, her body remained undeveloped, but there were signs of a new maturity in her thinking.

‘I’m aware only that your services wouldn’t have been needed if Siana was still here, for she wouldn’t have allowed Goldie to remain at her brother’s house for such a prolonged length of time. Therefore, Goldie wouldn’t have been in the workhouse in the first place However, past action and the consequence of it cannot be undone, it can only teach us to act differently. When Goldie has recovered some strength, then that is the time for her to hear the exciting adventures of Daisy Skinner in London. Then, and only then, will I allow you five minutes with her each day, in the company of your elders. But what I’m interested to learn is the story of how you found her. Perhaps you could write me a journal of your time in London, so I can read it for myself every evening after dinner.’

Mrs Edgar smiled slightly at that, for she’d discovered Daisy’s secret journal and knew her employer would find it entertaining and illuminating reading. ‘I’ll provide you with a journal in which to record your adventures,’ she said, hoping Daisy would omit certain passages pertaining to herself in the new one.

Reassured that she wasn’t being sent away and, for once, the absolute centre of Francis’s attention, Daisy beamed a happy smile at him. ‘Perhaps I’ll become a famous author and write a play like William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.’

An ambitious project for a child who’d always found spelling a chore. Still, Francis nodded encouragingly at her. He’d always found Daisy’s nonsense refreshing and saw no harm in nurturing her various dreams for her future. ‘Yes, perhaps you will.’

The crisis came suddenly in the early hours of the morning. Goldie’s temperature rose alarmingly, causing convulsions. Miss Edgar roused Pansy, who in her turn roused her father.

Used to being woken from sleep, Francis came rapidly awake and emerged from his room a few moments later in his shirt and trousers, buttoning up his waistcoat.

The sounds of people rushing back and forth woke Daisy. Fear stabbed her to the core. Creeping from her bed she went to sit on the stairs, where the moon shone through the big window on the landing, making the colours glow. She was shivering all over, partly from fear for Goldie and partly from cold, though she never thought to fetch her robe and slippers.

She remembered Siana sitting in this very spot, sometimes, looking with sadness in her eyes at the mother and boy in the stained-glass window. Her sister had told her once that the boy reminded her of her lost son, Ashley Forbes. She said she liked to imagine the woman cupping his head was Megan Skinner, their dead mother.

Daisy couldn’t remember Ashley Forbes very well. His death had coincided with Bryn coming into the house and the two boys always merged as one in her mind.

Where was Bryn now, and her sister? Did Siana feel unhappy living away from her family? Daisy knew she’d be left alone if Goldie died. Papa wouldn’t want her then, for he was not her real papa. Somebody called Bill Skinner was.

Daisy couldn’t remember either of her parents. Tears gathered in her eyes. It was hard being an orphan. She remembered Goldie was an orphan too, and Goldie didn’t even have a brother now. At least she had Josh, and a sister as well. Pulling herself up, she crept up the stairs and through the open door of the sickroom.

What were they doing to Goldie? She was naked and they were slopping water on her. Goldie began to moan and jerk. There was a horrible sound of chattering teeth.

One of the maids had told Daisy about the noise her father had made when he was dying. ‘It be called the death rattle,’ she’d said. ‘His eyes rolled up in their sockets and he foamed at the mouth. He looked something terrible, like a madman. His mouth was all stretched tight in an ’orrible smile and ’is teeth went clackity clack.’

Her attention drawn by the noise, Miss Edgar looked up, hurried over and guided her to the door. A hand in the small of her back gave a gentle little shove to propel her through it and towards her own room. ‘Go back to bed, at once, Daisy.’ The door closed, leaving her standing alone on the landing.

Panic filled her. She wanted her sister. Siana would make everything all right. She always did. Driven towards Siana’s bedroom for comfort, she found the door locked.

Not that it mattered. The keys were all the same, for she and Goldie had tried them all one wet day, locking every door. She took a key from the nearest door and inserted it in the lock. The bedroom door creaked as it opened, and she almost expected to see Siana sitting in front of the dressing table. The moonlight poured through the window, showing an unmade bed with Siana’s nightgown still lying where she’d left it.

The room was cold, it smelled stale and dusty. As Daisy picked up her sister’s nightgown a faint perfume of wildflowers and pine needles was released. Immediately, Daisy felt comforted, as if Siana was close to her.

Creeping under the covers she curled into a ball, hugging the nightgown against her cheek. ‘Siana, Josh told me you have a very rare sense given to a few special people, and sometimes you know things or are able to help people without being told. So please help Papa to save Goldie’s life.’

It was strange, but Daisy seemed to hear her sister’s voice softly singing a lullaby. With tears streaming down her face, she began to sing it softly, too. Siana had told her it was a very special lullaby, one their own mother had sung to Daisy when she was a baby.

‘Baby of mine, the sun has gone down and the shadows creep in like a mouse. But safe in my arms I’ll keep you from harm till the morning light blesses our house . . .’

As Daisy imagined Siana’s arms warm and comforting around her, peace gradually crept through her body, relieving the tension. ‘Come home to us soon, Siana,’ she whispered, just before she fell asleep. ‘We need you.’

It was first light. Francis gazed sadly at the tear-stained face of Daisy, who was curled up in Siana’s bed for comfort. He was racked with guilt, for his grief had caused him to lash out and, in his pride, he had punished the innocent.

He looked around him, at the dusty room, at the vase of wildflowers, now brown and brittle. The clock on the mantelpiece was quiet, the hands stopped at three minutes past four.

Did she still think of him, his beautiful, fiery peasant girl? He brought to mind the property in Van Diemen’s Land. Siana would like the countryside there, for its wild and rugged beauty would probably appeal to the pagan side of her.

Marcus Ibsen, he thought, then frowned. His son-in-law had made it clear that he admired Siana more than was healthy. A streak of something akin to jealousy crept into his mind. Damm it! He was a grown man, not a callow youth. Why did he still feel this way over a woman who had deliberately deceived him?

Francis didn’t want to think about Siana’s deceit, because it brought Bryn to mind.

He was about to go and tell Miss Edgar he’d found Daisy when a streak of sunlight lit on a shard of glass scattered on the dressing table. The piece of paper lying next to it caught his attention. Siana’s parting letter, the one he hadn’t been able to bring himself to read. It was yellowed now. No doubt it contained an elegantly penned apology, for she was nothing if not eloquent, despite her lack of early education.

He stared at it, curiosity tugging at him. Finally, deciding that whatever Siana had had to say to him then, couldn’t possibly affect him now, he crossed almost impatiently to the dressing table and picked the paper up, his fingers trembling as he unfolded it.

Dearest Francis,

I have no excuse to offer you, but you must know I deceived you for the best of reasons. When you allow yourself the time to think about this, you, with your generous heart and your compassion for those less fortunate than yourself, will understand. I was driven by love, love for Maryse and for a helpless infant who was faced with a future of hardship, or no future at all.

I hope you can find the charity in your heart not to withdraw from Bryn the only possession of real value a parent can offer a child, the feeling of being loved.

My dear love, I cannot bring myself to regret my action. Bryn eased my heartache when I was grieving for our own dead infant. He is part of my heart, for Maryse lives within him. If I’m to be sent away, please be kind to this child, who is innocent of any wrong and should not be punished for the sin of his father. His mother was truly blameless.

Francis, I understand your anger. Know I will love you always.

Siana.

Damn this woman of his for trying to manipulate him! She wasn’t even sorry for what she’d done. God, how miserable he’d been without her.

Marcus had said he’d offer Siana a home at Cheverton Manor. How dare he try to come between husband and wife? That would make a fine scandal in the district, his wife living with another man. Be damned if he’d have it. He didn’t trust Marcus, and he was aware of the nature of his wife. Would she accept Marcus for the ease it would bring her? Would she seduce him with her eyes and body, as she’d often seduced Francis himself? He felt sick at the thought.

He remembered the softness of her, the way she teased him and laughed, her eyes sparkling. Then there was the pliant softness of her mouth when he kissed her. Sometimes, he remembered, she grew restless at being housebound and her eyes would turn to the hills. She would walk for miles and come back refreshed, her cheeks aglow and the mystery of the earth in the soft, mossy green of her eyes. Siana was his enchantress and he loved her. Dammit! He did still love her, despite her deceit.

But now he could do nothing more useful than to examine the depths of his own heart, and wait.

Daisy sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her hair was a tangled flaxen mess from where she’d tossed and turned. She gave a small cry when she saw him.

From her heart came a plaintive plea. ‘I want Siana to come home. I miss her.’

He shook his head, grinning with his own sense of jubilation. ‘She’s out of danger now. You can see her later on.’

Scrambling from the bed Daisy ran across the room and hugged him tight. ‘I knew you’d make her better, Papa. I told her so.’

‘Thank you for having such faith in me,’ he said gravely, for he was aware the girl needed a great deal of reassurance, despite her bravado. ‘It’s going to be several weeks before she’ll be strong again, though. Come on, we must let Miss Edgar know you’re all right. She’s going frantic because she thought you’d run away.’

‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to hide. I was worried about Goldie and I just wanted to be close to . . . someone.’

She gave a little smile. ‘I dreamed that my sister sang me a lullaby, like she used to when I was small.’

‘Aye, you would remember that.’ He ran a finger down her pert little nose, remembering hearing Siana sing it. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to Miss Edgar before she calls out the constables to search for you. You won’t be punished.’

He handed Daisy over to her governess and made his way downstairs. It appeared to be a cold, bright day outside. The sun shone through the hall window, sending rainbows of light into the dimmest corners.

Opening the front door Francis stepped outside to take a deep breath of the crisp air. It was early, frost rimed the shadows on the lawn. Illuminated by the rising sun, the colours around him sparkled and shone, as if they’d been freshly painted onto the earth.

The world looked different to him today. The thin finger of a sunbeam touched against his face and pulled him into its golden light. He closed his eyes, allowing it to fill his body as his skin absorbed its warmth. He laughed for the first time in many months, feeling enriched by it, then turned and went back indoors. He would breakfast with his family today, then visit his patients.

It was with a lighter heart that he set out on his visits to the sick and afflicted. Abbie Ponsonby of Croxley Farm was pregnant again, despite his advice to the contrary. He smiled to himself, wishing there was some way to control her fertility. Abstinence obviously was not an option. All he could hope for was that Abbie’s age would take control of her fertility after this one.

After that came Reverend Richard White, whose condition had been worrying Francis for the past few months. The reverend was showing increasing signs of advanced heart disease and he needed to rest. He must talk to his second cousin, who happened to be the reverend’s superior, if he saw him at Christmas, and see if an assistant could be obtained for Richard.

But the church was part of the Cheverton Estate and perhaps Marcus Ibsen wouldn’t be prepared to fund an assistant. Not that the man was in residence so he could not be asked in any case.

The size of the congregation had fallen since Siana’s first husband, Edward Forbes, had died. The rule for compulsory church attendance by the estate workers had been done away with. Francis knew Richard was not well off. If the church decided to retire him, where would he go? He should, perhaps, broach the subject with Richard before he talked to anyone else.

The reverend was asleep in his chair in front of the fire when Francis reached the rectory.

Rosie, Siana’s former maid until Francis had summarily dismissed her, stiffened, casting a reproachful glance his way when he walked into the kitchen. She was just putting the kettle on the hob. ‘I’ll fetch you in some tea when it’s ready, Dr Matheson.’

‘The reverend is asleep. I don’t want to disturb him. How has he been over the past few weeks, Rosie? Has the tincture done him any good?’

‘Aye, it helps when he gets puffed. If you asks me, he’s not long for this world and he knows it. He misses her, who was here before me. But I don’t know why he should be so taken with her. Some people are put on this earth to be destructive, and that Welsh shrew was one of them. I told him, “You had a lucky escape, for she had her clutches into you, all right.”

‘“Now, Rosie,” says the reverend, “be charitable. Miss Lewis didn’t know the trouble her words would cause.”

‘“Then she should’ve been charitable herself and sewn her mouth shut,” I told him. For that interfering spinster forced herself on to others as family, when she wasn’t invited. She broke the hearts of some good people around here, them whom I loved. Her wicked tongue deprived some innocent cheils of their parents, too.’

Her voice lost its fierceness and she dabbed a corner of her apron against her eyes. ‘Though I daresay I shouldn’t be saying it to you, Dr Matheson, you being the husband of my former employer. I miss my girls something terrible. Though, mind you, I wouldn’t desert the reverend in his time of need. A nice gentleman he be, though lonely.’

‘Miss Goldie, Miss Skinner and Miss Matheson are now back home at Rivervale House,’ Francis said awkwardly, for he hadn’t considered how his actions would have affected others. ‘Goldie has been very ill. If you wish, you may visit them in a week or two.’

Rosie stared rather damply at him through her dark lashes. She was a tall, plain-looking woman of late middle age. Francis had never noticed her much before. Vaguely, she reminded him of someone else. A smile parted her lips and her amber eyes began to shine. ‘Thank you kindly, sir, I should certainly like to.’

‘Born to a maid up at Cheverton Manor and farmed out to one of the village women. My mother ran off to London when I was five, and I never saw her again. I never knowed who my father was, either. The old squire, he who was father to Edward Forbes, fetched me back to Cheverton Manor when I be just twelve years old, and I was put to work to earn my keep. Very nice he was to me too, said he wished he had a daughter just like me. The poor old gent died not long afterwards.’

Noblesse oblige, thought Francis. The responsibility of a true gentlemen. But where did Bryn fit into such a moral convenience? Should he bring up the lad as a groom or a gardener? Was there even room in his house for the consequence of a violent assault on his daughter? If there was, how could the truth be kept from the boy? There were things Francis thought he must think about without being too hasty in reaching a conclusion.

He heard Richard give a rattling cough. So there was fluid in his lungs, as well. He must check the man’s ankles to see if they were swollen.

Rosie began to butter some scones, which she served up with blackberry conserve and some bread and butter.

‘I can always put the reverend in the infirmary towards the end, Rosie,’ he said quietly.

‘There be no need for that, sir. Most likely the reverend will go easy in his sleep one night. When he can’t get up the stairs, I shall have his bed brought down to the parlour. He can shuffle to the church with my help on Sundays and has all the sermons the Welsh spinster wrote for him.

‘Fire and brimstone, they be, and he lacking the energy now to deliver them as he should. That Wynn Lewis had the gift of the gab all right, and an evil eye to go with it. When she dies, no doubt the horned man will have her basting on a spit over his coals, and good riddance to her, if you asks me. I hope she burns to a crisp for what she set in motion.’

Francis tried not to laugh as he said ironically, ‘You’re a good woman, Rosie.’

Her smile told him she was pleased by the compliment. ‘Folks is as folks does, I always say. Now, off you go, sir, and take a glass of sherry with the reverend. He needs the company.’

So Francis spent a good two hours being company, for there was really very little more he could do for the reverend, except make him comfortable and listen to him talk about the past.

‘I made a mistake not marrying again after my wife died,’ Richard said with a sigh. ‘A man shouldn’t journey through his life alone, but should have a good woman and children to fulfil him.’ His eyes met those of Francis. ‘I helped Edward Forbes deceive Siana into marrying him. It has long been on my conscience.’

‘I’m not your confessor, Richard, and I know when you’re leading me somewhere I don’t want to go.’ Francis growled, realizing he was condemning himself with his own words when he stated, ‘Siana was happy in her short first marriage. Edward convinced both himself and her that she was loved. Thankfully, he didn’t live long enough to disillusion the faith she had in him.’

‘The dogma of the church annoys me. I’ve seen too many innocents die of disease brought about by lack of food, hygiene and shelter. There is too much hypocrisy in this good Christian country of ours.’

‘Man is born of sin and you’re angry because you’re unable to acknowledge your own hypocrisy. Siana is part of you. She’s the beat of your heart, the warmth in your arms, the fire in your loins. Siana loves you. Don’t throw that away, Francis.’

Francis managed a smile. ‘I didn’t realize you were prone to such poetical turns of phrase, Richard. But please, kindly keep your parson’s nose out of my personal business and concentrate on regaining your health.’

Richard chuckled. ‘You don’t fool me, Francis. And since the Lord has me marked, I will disregard your advice by saying exactly as I please. I must admit, though, it’s gratifying to discover you’ve regained some of your fight.’

‘Such pride, and from someone who professes to be but a poor servant of the Lord,’ Francis mocked. ‘If God exists, I doubt whether you’re that important to him, my friend.’

‘I doubt it too, but I prefer to believe in life after death, then I’ll know my time on earth counted. Rest assured, when I arrive at my destination I’ll tell Maryse your grief for her was so profound, it excluded those who loved you most.’ With that, Richard’s eyes drifted shut and he began to gently snore.

Francis said softly, ‘Dammit, Richard, I’ve never been able to win an argument with you. Don’t do me any favours, for I’m doing a good job of pricking my own conscience at the moment.’

He didn’t win that argument either. Richard died peacefully in his sleep a week later.

The new incumbent appointed by the bishop arrived in time to conduct Richard White’s funeral. He was to be buried next to his wife.

Reverend Samuel Brannan was thin and upright. He had a kindly smile, a plump, pious-looking wife, two daughters and two sons.

The whole parish attended the funeral. After the funeral service the new reverend smiled benignly at the congregation. ‘It seems my predecessor was well loved in his parish. So if any would like to speak on his behalf, please come forward.

Rudd Ponsonby shuffled self-consciously from his seat. ‘I don’t be much of a speechifying man, but I’d like to say my piece. The reverend was a right nice gentleman. Kind and helpful he was, to me and my family both. I hope God has a special place for him in his heaven.’

‘Amen,’ someone in the pews shouted out. ‘The reverend give me some coal from his own cellar when I didn’t have a ha’penny to my name.’

‘And he gave me a dinner every night, when I was alone with the horses at Cheverton Manor,’ a tall young man said, determined not to be outdone. ‘Up till then I was eatin’ oats and straw.’

‘Didn’t do thee much good, did it?’ someone said. ‘You’m be as tall and as thin as a willow stick.’

‘I hears ’im neigh when the moon’s full, Rob. And ’is eyes be all of a pucker.’

‘It must have been all the horse manure he was standing in that done it. Some say ’tis good for making roses grow, but ’e don’t look like a rose, do ’e, Tom?’

‘Not ’zackly, lessen that bit of fuzz be a flower blooming on his upper lip.’

The new reverend rose hastily to his feet, saying authoritatively, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I would ask you to show respect for the dead. Pall bearers, perhaps it’s time to take the coffin to the graveside.’

Mrs Brannan sniffed, shepherded her children in front of her and headed back towards the rectory, a determined look on her face.

So many lives gone, Francis thought a few minutes later, gazing around him at the several Skinner headstones, a family to whom Siana claimed kinship through Josh and Daisy. In the fenced-off area, there were Siana’s first husband, Edward Forbes, and young Ashley, the son Siana had borne Edward. How it must have torn her heart out to have lost that son. And their daughter, Elen, buried on the Welsh hillside where she’d been born.

His own daughter Maryse was with her mother. A sob caught in his throat. For years he’d mourned his first wife, despising his own inability to save her life. It was Siana who’d brought him back to life. Her devotion to her sister and her brother, in spite of the despair of her destitution, had filled him with an admiration which had swiftly turned to love.

Siana had strength. She would still have that strength as she waited for word from him to come home. But would she come home to him now, after all this time? His woman had a mind of her own and acted on it. And there was Marcus to think of, a man of singular attractiveness, with whom Siana had formed a strong bond of friendship. How she’d laughed off his jealousy when he’d mention it. But would she still be laughing now?

The graveside prayers had been said, and a fine drizzle drifted down from a grey sky. People set off on wagons, horses and by foot, to get home before darkness fell. The road would be churned up by nightfall.

‘There will be no formal reading of Reverend White’s will,’ he said. ‘He didn’t have a great deal, but his late wife’s dowry had been invested since their marriage and has grown into a useful sum. There are only two beneficiaries. One is Bryn Matheson. Richard suggests the legacy either be used for a decent upbringing and education, or be held in trust until the boy comes of age. The decision is yours to make. I’d be much obliged if you would step into my office the next time you’re in Poole, Dr Matheson, so the sum can be handed over.’

‘Your wife, Siana Matheson. The reverend has left her his entire library. He said he couldn’t think of anyone better able to appreciate his books. You should arrange for their removal from the rectory as soon as possible.’ Tipping his hat, the lawyer hurried off towards his rig, leaving Francis staring after him.

So, Richard had allowed him the last word on Bryn, after all, and in more ways than one. But Francis wasn’t sure he was ready to pronounce it.

On the way home he stopped to pick up Rosie, who was struggling along the road hefting a heavy bag.

‘That new reverend’s wife couldn’t wait to get rid of me,’ she said. ‘Packed my bag herself, she did, and left it in the porch. She said she and her daughters are quite capable of doing the housework and it was best I leave now. That be after making me scrub the house from attic to cellar last week and polish all them windows. She didn’t even pay me my wage. Bleddy hippocratics, that’s what they be.’ Sitting on her bag she buried her head in her hands and wailed, ‘What’s to become of me?’

Jumping down from the rig, Francis helped her to her feet then picked up her bag and threw it into the buggy. ‘I’ll make sure you get your wage, Rosie. And you’ll come home with me, where else would you go?’

13