Stolen Lives (The Alice Chronicles #3)

12

W hy don’t you come with me when I go out tomorrow?’ Ursula asks Alice as they sit at dusk in Ursula’s private parlour. Alice is leaning back in the window seat, watching the changing colours of the sunset, while Ursula works on her habitual embroidery, a band of crewelwork to edge a coverlet, as she has told Alice. ‘I shall be going to a few cottages near the dye works that are due for repair. We have been collecting the necessary materials here today.’ That is…’ She hesitates. ‘That is, if you do not mind passing the dye works?’

‘Mind? Why should I mind?’

‘I would not normally conduct my guests that way. We can use the coach and lower the leaves as we pass.’

‘I’ve never seen the dye works properly,’ Alice says, sitting up. ‘Will it be possible to actually go into one or two of the dye houses?’

Ursula looks dismayed. ‘It is not a suitable place for a lady.’

‘You mean it will be hot in there with the furnaces?’

‘The men…’ Ursula begins. ‘The men are not always fittingly clad, you understand?’

‘They strip off their shirts?’ Alice asks. Amused, she nevertheless suppresses the smile that threatens to break across her face. Ursula, she knows, does not easily accept unceremonious practices. ‘They do the same in the hay fields at High Stoke,’ she says, ‘and the women who work alongside them think nothing of it.’

‘I mean, they wear no stockings, no shoes. And only linen… nether wear,’ Ursula says, and even in the sunset light, the deepening colour on her face is apparent. ‘Indeed, some of them wearless.’

‘You must have been into the dye houses yourself if you know that, Ursula.’

‘I never did until after Rupert’s death, and then one day I went in all unknowing…’

Seeing the discomfiture persisting on her friend’s face, Alice relents. ‘Ursula, if they don’t mind, I don’t mind. I doubt I shall get close if there is a lot of dye splashing around.’

‘Well, if you’re sure?’ Ursula says. ‘I shall tell Wat to accompany you. At least it will give us both a rest from my vexed guests.’

‘Martyn does wallow in his poverty, doesn’t he?’ Alice agrees. ‘But I’ve not heard either of them offering regrets or condolences to Luella. Of course, baby Eleanor might actually inherit the lands, which could possibly dampen their sympathy. Helena is upset by the uncertainty, but Martyn was so bitter and abusive. Luella was speechless with hurt.’

‘I suspect it will be a few sleepless nights for all three while they wonder what Master Goldwoode has settled,’ Ursula says. ‘It’s hardly surprising it’s causing friction, with their conflicting expectations, but it will be resolved soon. I have discussed it with Luella. I will send Oz Thatcher in the morning to fetch the Will from Bristol. The stable boys can manage without him for a short while. He will be a few days on the road, of course, but hopefully within a week we shall know. Either way, it should help put humours back in balance.’

‘As to that,’ Alice says ruefully, remembering the scene in the hall, ‘I have been no help at all. It seems to me Martyn and Helena want a crowd, as though they view themselves as players on a stage. A third person sets them at each other. I sympathise with Helena but she does so make herself a slave to her brother’s demands. And I feel for poor Luella, but so far she has rejected my company.’

Thoughts about Luella’s antagonism still occupy Alice that evening as she sits in her chamber brushing out her hair before bed. A light knock comes on the door, breaking her musings. Luella herself stands in the passage, candle in hand. ‘Do I disturb you, Mistress Jerrard?’

‘Not at all. Come in,’ Alice says. ‘I’m just preparing for bed. Come and sit down.’

Luella latches the door and goes to sit on the window seat, putting her candle down beside her. As though she might have heard that earlier conversation between Alice and Ursula, she starts, ‘I fear I have shunned your company, but I realise I have made a grievous error.’

Alice waits, but when no clarification follows this laboured apology, she prompts, ‘In what way?’

‘I thought you and that man were married.’

‘Surely not! The thought of being married to Constable Nutley does not bear contemplation!’ Alice’s laugh stops abruptly at sight of the other. ‘Mistress Goldwoode? What is it?’

‘When you said your name to the constable this afternoon, I realised you were not Wat Meredith’s wife.’

‘Master Meredith? You’re right, I am not married to him.’

‘But you know him.’

‘He works for Mistress Cazanove. Perhaps you did not know? What is this about, Mistress Goldwoode?’ Alice asks, cautiously probing.

‘Can you just call me Luella?’

‘Of course. And I am Alice.’

‘Wat Meredith was known to my father,’ Luella says. ‘Do you know aught of his past?’

‘I know only that Wat came here about a year or so ago. He was Rupert Cazanove’s body servant, and I never met him until last winter.’

‘Then you do not know his life before he came here,’ Luella objects.

‘You’re right, I don’t. What I do know is that Wat served Master Cazanove, who was known for being neither a kind nor a tolerant master. You call Wat “that man”, but I have heard and seen only good of him.’

‘Then let me tell you the truth about him,’ Luella declares. ‘In the course of business, my father often trusted him with confidential commissions. One day, Father entrusted Wat with a large sum of money and important papers, and bade him call on a certain merchant to transact some private business with him. Wat had done the same sort of thing before. This time, he did not return.’

‘Why?’

‘He stole a man’s horse and his purse and made off. He was caught at the gates of the city when the man raised a hue and cry. Worse, the business Wat was sent to transact had not been discharged, and the money he was to hand over was still in his possession.’

‘I cannot believe it!’ Alice declares. So Luella’s hostile look at the inn was directed not at herself, rather at Wat who was standing next to her. But Wat Meredith a thief? ‘So what happened to him?’

‘He was convicted, sentenced to hang. Until I saw him with you at the inn I thought he was dead. Somehow he must have escaped and made his way here.’

‘Do you mean, from Bristol? I know your late husband was from there,’ Alice says. ‘You are, also?’

Luella nods. ‘My father owns ships. He runs them out of Bristol.’

‘And so your husband knew your father through their businesses?’

‘Yes, he imported dye stuffs in Father’s ships. That is how my father came to introduce him to me.’

‘And your father introduced you to Wat likewise?’

‘Oh, no. My father would not have. Wat was a clerk. I saw him at our house.’

‘When he came for confidential commissions from your father,’ Alice offers.

‘Yes…’ Luella hesitates. ‘Precisely that.’

‘He was highly trusted, then?’

‘Two whole years we trusted him.’

For Alice, it makes little sense. ‘I don’t understand. Was there perhaps a misunderstanding in the case? Are you sure the jury found him guilty?’

‘Yes, guilty on all counts. My father told me.’

‘It just seems so out of character.’ In her mind, she tries to suppress Wat’s words. The things I have done.

‘The breach of trust was crushing,’ Luella says, ‘for my father.’

‘I can believe it, but what happened to Wat to cause him to step outside himself?’

‘He broke faith!’ Luella declares. ‘I cannot forgive him!’

‘ You cannot forgive him?’

‘That is, my father…’

‘What was the faith he broke with you, Luella?’

Luella Goldwoode, wife, mother, widow, in a moment becomes a young girl again. Her face crumples and she sits rocking herself, eyes tight shut, silent tears squeezing out. Then it all comes out, a stream bursting its banks. ‘I was not quite truthful. He lived with us in our house. I saw him every day. We spoke discreetly at opportune moments.’

‘You loved him?’

A shrug. ‘I thought I did. I knew it would be difficult because my father would never allow such a match. Wat had no money, you see?’

‘Did Wat love you?’ she asks Luella.

‘He said he did. I believed him. But after all we had shared, he deserted me without a word. He’d have got clean away if the hue and cry had not been raised so quickly. It still hurts.’ Luella wraps her arms round herself as though to ease the pain of betrayal. ‘I do not believe he is capable of love, only the semblance of love for his own gratification.’

‘You will let your parents know he is found, I assume?’

Luella hesitates. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘Why not?’

‘My father went to the hanging. When he came back he was very satisfied; he told me he saw them drive the cart from under him.’ Alice flinches as Luella goes on, ‘But how could he have seen that, when Wat is alive now? If I tell him Wat is alive…’ she stops.

‘You think it might expose your father to some fresh distress?’

‘He might think he is being accused of a lie. Why would my father lie? That’s what I cannot understand.’

‘I can’t answer that, Luella,’ Alice tells her. ‘But you must let him know that your husband is dead.’

‘Perhaps not even that. Then I can simply live quietly somewhere with little Eleanor. You live quietly with Sam, I hear.’

Her innocence dismays Alice. Gently she suggests, ‘He will find out sooner or later, Luella. Probably sooner, since Master Goldwoode seems to have been a friend of his.’

A troubled look clouds Luella’s face. ‘I suppose so. But if Martyn is right and inherits all, my father might order me home. I don’t want…’ Again, Luella stops.

‘You don’t want to go back to your parents’ home?’

‘Father always intended me for Master Goldwoode. He and my mother pushed hard for my agreement. I held out as long as I could, but in the end… When I married, I thought Father would be pleased and things would go back to the way they were when I was little and he was so fond. But he told me I had kept Master Goldwoode waiting shamefully long and was lucky he had not been put off by my pride. If I have to go back home now, I don’t want Eleanor to grow up under such oppression.’

‘Will he not be pleased to have you once more under his roof?’

More tears fall. ‘I bore a daughter, not a son… and if Martyn is right and I bring no inheritance either…’ The sentence is left hanging.

‘What of your mother?’

‘She is still fond, but she always takes my father’s part. She writes me correct letters full of advice about virtue and submission, and never any mention of blessings from my father. So you see why I do not want to write, at least not until I am assured of Eleanor’s inheritance.’

There is nothing Alice feels she can add to what she has already said. Silence falls between them, while she reflects that Luella’s fate depends cruelly on the Will of a husband who displayed only harshness in the face of baby Eleanor’s crying. How much more tolerant might he have been if his daughter had been a son? How much more secure would Luella be now if that had been the case?

Luella is the first to speak. ‘But I had to warn you about Wat Meredith. Knowing what I now know, I feel so ashamed. I wrote to him, you see?’

‘To Wat? When?’

‘When I heard he was taken I wrote to him in the jail. I told him… I told him I loved him, I believed in him.’

‘How did he reply?’

‘He didn’t reply.’

‘Perhaps he did not receive it.’

‘Three letters I wrote!’ Luella bursts out. ‘Three! The waiting woman took them herself to the jail. She had known our secret some time and was sympathetic. Three! The last one he sent back torn in pieces.’

‘This was before you married Master Goldwoode?’

‘Of course! I only agreed to marry him after that third letter came back. I knew then that Wat had fooled me and cared nothing for me. There was no other offer likely for my hand; my father had virtually confined me to the house. It was marriage or desolate spinsterhood.’

‘Did your husband know of your former affection for Wat?’

‘No, never. And from the day I married I was never by word or deed unfaithful to my husband.’

Goldwoode was so much older. Did she fall for comely Wat because marriage with ancient Goldwoode threatened? What was the real relationship between Wat and Luella? Her tale of his behaviour is so unlike anything Alice imagined – but Luella clearly did as much as she could to communicate her devotion.

Luella breaks into Alice’s chaotic thoughts. ‘I did not choose my husband, but he was untiring in his suit, in his belief that I would eventually turn to him.’

The questions crowd Alice’s mind. Why did Wat plan to leave Bristol? If he had some feeling for Luella, why put that at risk by stealing? And why desert her, just like that? Why not let her know he had escaped? How could he love her if he ignored letter after letter, and worse, showed such contempt for her heart’s outpourings by tearing it up? If there was no feeling on his side for her, had never been in all the months of his employment with her father, he could long since have arranged to live elsewhere, or at worst, found another master. Though that would have denied him the opportunity for his theft, of course. And then, again, it all comes back to the question – how to align the Wat Meredith Alice knows with the Wat Meredith Luella describes?

‘In fairness to my husband, he put no pressure on me; he waited patiently until I was ready to accept him,’ Luella continues. ‘When Eleanor was born he was rapturous. That was when he told me he was leaving all but the business to her.’

Alice is half-listening, contemplating an unwelcome idea in her mind. As soon as Luella saw him at the inn, Wat must have realised his past had caught up with him. And again his words echo. The things I have done .