The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules

‘Aye, dead as a doornail,’ Murgatroyd muttered tersely, his darkening face revealing his distress, which was most genuine.

For a split second Emma lost all power of speech. Her mouth opened and closed stupidly in her extreme nervousness and shock. Finally, she managed to say, ‘But she wasn’t badly when I left on Thursday afternoon.’

‘No, and she weren’t poorly yesterday either,’ intoned Murgatroyd in a woebegone voice. He looked at Emma with gravity, and for once there was no hostility in his manner towards her. ‘She tummeled down t’stairs during t’night. Broke her neck, so Dr Mac says.’

Emma gasped, and, reeling, she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. Her eyes, wide and dazed, were riveted on the butler.

Murgatroyd inclined his head in Annie’s direction. ‘Yon lass found her at five-thirty this morning, when she went up ter take t’ashes out of the grates. Stiff as a board the missis was. Lying at the bottom of the front staircase in the entrance hall. That she was, and in her nightclothes. Fair scared the living daylights out of yon Annie, who come running ter fetch me like the Divil himself was after her.’

‘It just can’t be so,’ Emma groaned, pressing her knuckles to her blanched mouth. Her eyes welled with tears.

‘Aye, horrible it was, ter see her lying there, her eyes wide and open and all starey like, and glazed. And her head dangling loose like a broken doll’s. I knows when I touched her she’d been dead for hours. Cold as marble, she was.’

Murgatroyd paused in his harrowing litany, and then went on, ‘I carried her upstairs, fair gentle like, and laid her on her bed. And she might not have been dead at all. She looked ever so beautiful, just like she always was, with all that golden hair strewn about the pillow. Except for her staring eyes. I tried ter close ’em. But they just wouldn’t shut. I had ter put two pennies on ’em, till Dr Mac got here. The poor, poor missis.’

The shaken and stupefied Emma dropped heavily into one of the chairs at the table. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she fished around in her pocket for the bit of clean rag that served as a handkerchief, and wiped her face. She hunched in the chair, so stunned and appalled she could hardly think. But gradually her composure returned, and it was then that she recognized she had grown extremely fond of Adele Fairley. She was doomed, Emma said to herself. And then she thought: I knew summat awful would happen here, in this terrible house, one day.

The silence in the sun-filled kitchen was leaden, broken only by the muffled sobs of the weeping Cook. After a few minutes, the butler emerged from his pantry and said, with sour bluntness, ‘All this ’ere weeping and wailing like a lot of banshees has ter stop, yer knows.’ He spoke to the room at large, his eyes sweeping over them all. ‘We have our duties ter attend ter. There’s the family ter consider.’

Emma looked at him alertly, thinking compassionately of Edwin and the grief he must be experiencing at the news of his mother’s untimely and shocking death. ‘The children,’ she said, through her subsiding tears, and blew her nose. ‘Do they know?’

‘Dr Mac’s talking ter Master Edwin in the library right this minute,’ Murgatroyd informed her. ‘I told Master Gerald meself, after I’d got the missis upstairs ter her room, and afore I sent Tom ter the village for the doctor. Master Gerald waited for Dr Mac, who dispatched him posthaste ter Newby Hall ter fetch the Squire home.’

‘What about Mrs Wainright?’ Emma ventured.

Murgatroyd threw her a scathing look. ‘Do yer think I’m a gormless fool, lass? I already thought of that. Dr Mac wrote out a telegram, and Master Gerald is ter send it ter her in Scotland, from t’first post office he comes ter that’s open.’ The butler cleared his throat, and went on, ‘Now, lass, let’s get a move on down ’ere. For a start, mash a pot of tea. The doctor needs a cup—’ He glanced around the room and his beady eyes settled on Mrs Turner. ‘So does Cook by the looks of it.’

Emma nodded, and hurried off to do as he had told her. Murgatroyd now addressed Cook in a louder voice. ‘Come on, Mrs Turner. Pull yourself together, woman. There’s a lot ter be done. We can’t all collapse, yer knows.’

Cook lifted her sorrowful face and regarded Murgatroyd fretfully. Her ample bosom was still heaving, but her sobbing had ceased. She pushed herself up out of the chair, nodding her head. ‘Aye, there’s the bairns ter think about, and the Squire.’ She wiped her damp and streaked face on her apron again, and then looked down at it, still shaking her head. ‘Let me change me pinny, and then I’ll start on breakfast. Not that I thinks anybody’ll want owt.’

‘Dr Mac might want a bite,’ Murgatroyd said. ‘I’m off up ter see him now. And ter draw the curtains. We must show the proper respect for the dead.’

Cook, who was changing her pinafore, said quickly, ‘Did yer send Tom ter the village ter get Mrs Stead? Ter lay the missis out? She’s the best by here for that job.’

‘Aye, I did that.’

At the mention of her mother’s name a flicker of comprehension entered Annie’s deadened eyes. ‘Yer’ve sent for me mam,’ she said slowly, rousing herself from the stupor that had enveloped her for the last few hours.

‘I did, Annie,’ Murgatroyd asserted. ‘She should be here any minute, and yer’d best look a bit more lively, afore she does arrive. She’s got enough on her hands with the laying out. She don’t needs ter be worrying about thee, lass.’

The cook shuffled over to Annie and put her arms around her, looking down into the girl’s pale face. ‘Do yer feel a bit better, luv?’ she asked solicitously.

‘Aye, I thinks so,’ Annie mumbled. ‘It gave me a right fright,’ she gasped, ‘finding the missis like that.’ Her shaky voice cracked with emotion, and finally the tears suppressed by shock flowed unchecked.

‘Have a good cry, luv. Get it out of yer system, afore yer mam gets here. Yer don’t want ter be upsetting her, now do yer, luv?’ Annie buried her head against Cook’s comforting body, sobbing softly. Mrs Turner patted her shoulder and stroked her hair, murmuring kindly to her, and with motherly concern.

Satisfied that a degree of order had been restored, Murgatroyd turned on his heels and swiftly mounted the stairs. First he would consult with Dr Mac, to see if he had any further instructions, and then he must go around the house, drawing all the curtains, shutting out the light until after the funeral, as was the custom in the North after a death in the family.

Emma made the tea and they sat drinking it in silence, all of them subdued and sorrowing. It was Annie who finally spoke first. She looked at Emma across the table and said, ‘I wish yer’d been here this weekend, Emma. Then yer’d have found the missis instead of me.’ Annie’s eyes widened. ‘I’ll never forget that look on the missis’s face. Like she’d seen summat horrible afore she fell.’

Emma stared at Annie through narrowed eyes. ‘What on earth do yer mean?’

Annie gulped. ‘It was like she’d seen – seen one of them there abominations me mam says walks over t’moors at night,’ Annie said, dropping her voice.

‘Now, Annie, shut thee gob, lass. By gum, I won’t have no fanciful talk about the spirits of the dead in this ’ere house,’ Mrs Turner snapped. ‘All them silly village superstitions. Stuff and nonsense, if yer asks me.’

Emma scowled. ‘I wonder what Mrs Fairley was doing? Coming downstairs in the middle of the night. Murgatroyd said she’d been dead for hours. She must’ve been wandering around at two or three o’clock in the morning.’

Annie volunteered quietly, ‘I knows what she was doing.’

Both Mrs Turner and Emma stared at her in surprise, and with expectancy. ‘And how do yer knows, Annie Stead?’ asked Cook imperiously. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, yer were fast asleep in yer room in the attic. Or yer should’ve been.’

‘Aye, I was. But it was me that found her. And there was broken glass all around her body. From one of the best wine goblets, it was. She was still clutching part of t’stem, and there was dried blood on her hand, like rust, where she’d cut herself.’ Annie shivered at the remembrance, and whispered, ‘I bet she was coming down ter the library ter get herself a nip, ’cos I’ve sme—’

‘Murgatroyd didn’t mention no broken goblet ter me,’ interjected Cook peremptorily, glaring at Annie.

‘No, he wouldn’t. But I saw him sweeping it up, ever so quick like,’ Annie replied. ‘He thought I hadn’t seen it ’cos I was scared stiff.’

Cook continued to glare at Annie speechlessly, but Emma sucked in her breath, recognizing instantly the veracity of everything Annie had said. It was the most obvious explanation. ‘Yer not ter repeat that ter anybody, Annie. Yer hear what I say? Not even ter the Squire,’ Emma cautioned gravely. ‘What’s done is done, and the less said, the better.’

‘Emma’s right, luv,’ said Cook, recovering herself. ‘We don’t wants no nasty gossip in the village. Let the poor missis rest in peace.’

Annie nodded. ‘I promise not ter tell owt.’

Emma sighed and was thoughtful. Then she looked pointedly at Cook and said, ‘It’s right funny, when yer think about it. First Polly died, then me mam, and now Mrs Fairley. All in just a few months of each other.’

Cook returned Emma’s concentrated stare. ‘It’s said, in these parts, that everything goes in threes.’

The funeral of Adele Fairley took place later that week. The Fairley mill was closed for the day, and all of the workers were in attendance, along with the servants from the Hall. The small cemetery adjoining Fairley Church overflowed with the villagers, the local gentry, and friends of the family from all over the country.

Two days after the funeral, Olivia Wainright left for London, accompanied by Edwin. Exactly one week later Adam Fairley departed himself, journeying south to join his youngest son at his sister-in-law’s Mayfair town house.

Ernest Wilson was left in charge of the mill, much to Gerald Fairley’s secret delight. For the callous, brainless, and irresponsible Gerald, quite unmoved by his mother’s death, thought only of the infinite opportunities which now presented themselves. He fully intended to assert himself at the mill, and stringently so, in his father’s absence, which he fervently hoped would be prolonged.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#ulink_18a32670-2c6e-5ef6-927b-a9f2c0c2f411)

On a warm Sunday afternoon, in June of the following year, Edwin Fairley set out from Fairley Hall for the moors. He carried a picnic basket in one hand, laden with all sorts of delicious tidbits from Cook’s groaning pantry, and in the other a sack containing some gardening implements and a few necessary items.

He and Emma had some hard work to do at Ramsden Crags, a task they had been planning for several weeks. Because of the inclement and frequently rainy weather, they had had to postpone this venture several times. On Friday, when Emma went home for her weekend off, Edwin had walked with her as far as the Crags. They had made an assignation to meet there at three o’clock today, the weather permitting.

And the weather does permit, Edwin thought. He glanced up. The pale sun was continually flitting in and out from behind the patchwork of grey and white clouds that littered the powder-blue sky, but there was no hint of rain. Even the light wind barely rustled the trees and the translucent air was so mild it was almost balmy.

Edwin purposely avoided the stables. A few minutes earlier, when he had gone down to the kitchen to collect the picnic basket, he had observed Annie Stead and Tom Hardy chatting and laughing together in the yard. They were courting, so Emma had informed him, and it was more than likely they would have paid no attention to him whatsoever, as immersed in each other as they appeared to be. On the other hand, he did not want to put them to the test, for he had no particular desire to arouse even their mildest curiosity. Not that it was unusual for him to picnic on the moors, but the sack might create a flicker of interest. He walked swiftly through the walled rose garden and out under the clump of old oaks. In a short time he was across the Baptist Field and mounting the slope rising on to the flat plateau of moorland and the narrow track that ran all the way to the Ghyll, and Ramsden Crags beyond.

Edwin breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the pure air, which was so much more bracing on this higher ground. His health was now fully restored and he felt vital again. At the beginning of May he had caught a summer cold, which had settled on his chest and developed into a bronchial condition. After two weeks in the school sanatorium he had been sent home to recuperate at the insistence of the school doctor.

Tom Hardy had driven the carriage over to Worksop to collect him, since his father was away, not an unusual circumstance these days. As far as Edwin could ascertain, his father made only periodic trips to Fairley, when absolutely necessary, and was often in London, or travelling on the Continent attending to unspecified business. However, his father had engaged a tutor for him, so that he would not fall behind in his studies. Although Edwin was a disciplined student, and perfectly capable of working alone, his father had wanted to be certain he sustained his brilliant scholastic record. It had been decided he would go to Cambridge when he was eighteen, to study for the bar under the Downing Professor of English Law at Downing College. Edwin and the tutor were alone at the Hall, except for Gerald and the servants. Edwin did not mind. Actually, he rather relished it. He was pretty much left to his own devices, except for the mornings of intense study with the tutor. Gerald ignored his existence, and barely addressed a remark to him. He was far too busy. Because the mill in Fairley, and the other two in Stanningley Bottom and Armley, took up most of Gerald’s time, the two brothers only saw each other at meals, and not always then. Sometimes Gerald took one of Cook’s packed lunches to the Fairley mill and ate there, an idea so unpalatable to Edwin it positively nauseated him.