‘Cruel – ah, yes! Cruel indeed. A cruel man, he is,’ Duncan mumbled, still not quite finding the thread. Before him, the girl shook and wept. She raised trembling hands to her face, and seemed to think hard.
‘You spoke of… my parents, sir,’ she said at length. ‘Do you know… something of my mother, then?’
‘Your mother? Hmm? A fine lady, yes, and a great beauty, is she not? My son is deep in love with her, though he is less in age than you, I would say. But there are few that would not find her lovely.’
‘You know who she is, my mother? How do you know, sir?’ Alice grasped at his hands imploringly. ‘Was her name Beckwith?’
‘Beckwith? Beckwith – no, indeed. I do not know the source of that name – your wet nurse, perhaps.’ Duncan shook his head and smiled at the girl because she seemed sweet, and in distress. He patted her hand. ‘There, there. Dry those tears, young miss,’ he said, having forgotten why she might be crying.
‘I have so many more to shed, sir,’ Alice whispered. ‘I can scarce bear to think how many.’
‘Oh come, now – why so? You are young and fair, and your parents are wealthy. And though you be a secret and a shame, see how bonny you are! You are not to blame, miss, no indeed.’
‘I am a shame, sir? You know this? Am I a shame to my lady mother – is that why she knows me not?’
‘Forsooth, how can you not be? For no woman in history lay willingly with her own sire, and I declare that Mrs Alleyn is no different – for I saw them, miss – how I wish I had not! I saw him about his blasphemy, and I saw how verily disgusted she was.’ Duncan shook his head, but it made the ground lurch and his stomach heave, so he stopped.
The girl had gone very quiet, very still.
‘I… I don’t understand,’ she said, but from the way she gasped out the words, robbed of breath, it seemed that she’d begun to. Duncan had the vague and disquieting sense that he’d said too much.
‘Hush and do not tell!’ he said anxiously. ‘Good girl, good girl. It is a very great secret. Even from the other servants, from which a house usually has none. Only I have found it out.’ He tried to tap the side of his nose but missed; tried to smile but could not. ‘But take heart, child. You’ve not yet grown into all of her beauty, but you may yet, and who could have guessed so fair a maiden could come from so foul a union? You have her blue eyes, and though her hair is dark and shines so well, still I have heard that a good many men prefer a fair head, such as yours. So weep not, dear girl, weep not.’ He waved his arm magnanimously and threw himself off balance, staggering. Alice Beckwith was staring straight ahead, abject, her face a sketch of perfect horror. Duncan could not fathom her distress but he somehow felt he’d been the cause of it. ‘May I help you at all, young lady?’ he said tentatively.
‘No, sir. You have helped me enough,’ she said, in hushed and deadened tones.
Duncan Weekes was watching Rachel, bleary-eyed and hunched in on himself. Rachel’s stomach was turning with nerves and disgust.
‘You mean to say, you believe that Alice was Josephine Alleyn’s child… sired by Lord Faukes, her own father?’ She swallowed, and tasted something bitter in the back of her throat.
‘She was special to him. She was dear to him.’
‘That is no proof,’ Rachel said, her voice choked. I am an abomination. ‘Josephine Alleyn speaks very highly of her father. She reveres his memory, and their good name.’ My mother has lied all her life.
‘I drove her to the church when he died, Mrs Weekes,’ Duncan said gravely. ‘She shed not a tear for him, and as I drove her home when he was safe in his grave she wore a smile behind her veil. She wore a smile, and was less sorrowful than I ever saw her previous.’ He took without asking. And this is Jonathan’s family.
‘Oh, God. But… I cannot believe it – not of Mrs Alleyn! And you told Alice this?’
‘You need believe nothing of Mrs Alleyn. She was innocent and helpless. You need only believe it of Faukes, and there’ll be women a plenty that will vouch for his character; for what he wanted he took. And, God forgive me, I did – I told Miss Beckwith.’ Duncan’s chin sank to his chest, his mouth wrenched down at the corners by misery. He’s good now he’s dead. Rachel remembered Starling’s words. Alice would never have left me to Lord Faukes. Duncan coughed painfully; wiped his mouth with a filthy handkerchief. ‘I heard she ran off, not long afterwards. I heard she ran off to who knows what fate, and from the look on her face when I spoke to her… I ask you, who could blame her? That poor girl.’
For a long while, the pair of them sat in silence. Rachel could hardly believe all she’d been told, but a dark thought was growing in her mind, unbidden and irresistible. Grief and violence often go hand in hand in a man. And if she told him this about his family – and hers – how strong must his grief have been? It was hot and stuffy in the inn but Rachel shivered. She would have been his aunt and his sister both, if it’s true. But what proof is there, other than this old man’s guess? There could be no proof, she realised then, other than to hear it from Josephine Alleyn herself. No proof because it is all a mistake and supposition, and it is not so? No proof because Alice was a foundling? And I know, yes I know, who lost her.
‘Where was Alice before Faukes brought her to Bathampton? And how could Josephine have borne a child before she was wed, and it be kept a secret?’ she said. Duncan raised his shoulders wearily.
‘Who can say where the babe was? Somewhere else, with a wet nurse paid to keep her lip buttoned. The year before… the year before Josephine was wed, Faukes took her to Scotland for half a year. The retreat was to help them both recover from the continued grief of losing Lady Faukes, it was said. But there could have been another reason, too. The timing of it, from the age I took the Beckwith girl to be, would have been fitting. When they returned to Box she quickly wed and made her escape.’
‘She told me…’ Rachel swallowed. ‘Mrs Alleyn said to me that those two years she was wed, and away from Box, were the happiest two years of her life entire.’
‘Well might they have been, poor accursed lady.’
‘But why would she return to her father, then, when she was widowed?’
‘What he wanted, he took,’ Duncan said softly. ‘She was always in his power. Always.’
Just then, a voice behind her shocked Rachel even more than the story she was learning. It was loud, and incredulous.
‘What the bloody hell is this?’
‘Mr Weekes, I-’ Rachel gasped. She struggled to her feet; the chair legs and her skirt and the table seemed to catch at her.
‘You what?’ Richard’s eyes were flinty with anger.
‘Now, my boy, you must not chastise…’ Duncan Weekes began. He tried to rise but couldn’t. Richard caught Rachel’s arm in an iron grip and towed her towards the door.
‘Let go!’ said Rachel.
‘Richard, you mustn’t be sharp with her!’ Duncan called after them, weakly. Richard swung back to point a trembling finger at his father.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ he said, and Duncan fell into fearful silence.
They burst from the inn onto the cold, grey street. There was no more sleet, but the fog that had barely lifted all day was like a wet, frigid blanket.
‘What have you been doing?’ Richard took both of Rachel’s upper arms and hauled her close to him. ‘I forbade you to know that man, and yet here I find you, fast friends!’
‘He is my father now, too, Mr Weekes. And he is poor, and sick, and I am fond of him! We need to send a doctor to him, and soon. He is not a bad man,’ said Rachel, indignation making her brave. She could feel Richard’s grip bruising her arms, crushing the flesh down to the bone.