Hope - Lesley Pearse [87]
‘I can’t tell you anything. I didn’t see her go. I only found her note.’
The faint whine in his voice alerted Nell that he was lying. ‘Liar!’ she shouted, the candle jiggling in the candlestick because she was shaking with rage. ‘There’s a lot more to it than that, I know there is.’
His hand came up before she even saw it move and slapped her hard around the face. ‘I will not be called a liar, and I’m glad the bitch has gone,’ he hissed at her. ‘So get out of here. You’ll find the sodding letter on the dresser.’
When he moved as if to hit her again, Nell turned tail and ran back downstairs, suddenly all too aware she was on dangerous ground. She heard the bedsprings creak as he got back into bed, and all at once she was crying as if she would never stop.
She found the letter, and held it close to the candle to read it. There was no doubt it was Hope’s writing; she had a bold, clear hand, the only handwriting Nell had never had any trouble in reading. She read it four or five times, but with each reading she became more puzzled.
Her own reading and writing were rudimentary, and if she had to write a letter she couldn’t manage more than bald statements which never conveyed her feelings or any kind of description. But Hope had always been able to write as if she was speaking. When she wrote to James or Ruth her letters were always vibrant accounts of all the family and village news. This letter could have been written by Nell herself, except there were no spelling mistakes.
‘I am leaving with a soldier.’ Hope wouldn’t say just that; even if she were in a hurry she’d have put some kind of reason, a description of him or his name. ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’ It wouldn’t be Nell’s anger she’d worry about, only her heartbreak. Where was the sorrow at not saying goodbye, or the knowledge she would be letting everyone down? ‘You can have my things and the wages owed to me.’ Hope wouldn’t bother to say that, she would take it as understood. Just as her apology at taking one of Nell’s dresses was unnecessary.
Later, Nell got into Hope’s old bed in the little room. It felt cold and damp with lack of use, but it was far better than sharing a bed with Albert.
She remembered now the words she’d had with Hope the day before she left with Lady Harvey. Hope had said she had as much chance of finding a sweetheart while at Briargate as she did of becoming Queen. She wouldn’t have said that or looked so glum if there had been a young man already on her mind.
Nor would she have left a letter here for Albert to read. She would have left it in her room at the big house. In fact, if she had been running away she wouldn’t have come here at all in case she ran into Albert.
Like a beam of light in a dark room, suddenly Nell could guess how it all came about. Hope wasn’t running away, she’d come here to tidy up, just as Nell had asked her to do. Albert had probably come in while she was here, and perhaps Hope scolded him about the mess. And he hit her.
Nell could almost see the scene playing out in front of her: Albert losing control completely, but then realizing Hope would tell Baines who would then tell Sir William.
That was why Hope’s letter was so strange. She’d written it all right, but coerced to do so by Albert. She might have agreed to leave Briargate just so he’d stop hurting her, but how could he let her go? She would have run straight to Matt.
All night Nell lay awake staring into the darkness, terrifying visions of Albert strangling Hope consuming her. She desperately wanted there to be another explanation, but what other one could there be?
Soon after the clock downstairs struck four she heard Albert come creeping out of the room next door. She braced herself, thinking he was coming for her now. But he crept on down the stairs, and just a minute later she heard him go out of the front door. That was further confirmation of his guilt. If he’d had no part in Hope’s disappearance he wouldn’t creep around, nor would he go out over an hour early just to avoid seeing her.
Nell’s cheek throbbed – she