Page 65 of Dare it all for Love

“Wait… Mr Oak,” Florence said, hurrying after him. “I believe I owe you an apology. I am very sorry I accused you of hurting Henry and… and I’m sorry for being so rude. I know I was wrong, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Mr Oak’s expression did not change, but he gave the barest shrug of his shoulders.

“Least said, soonest mended,” he said, and turned and walked off.

Florence sighed and turned back to Henry. “Honestly, I know he’s your friend and I know I behaved badly, but really he’s dreadfully hard work.”

Henry grinned at her. “You’ll get used to him, love. He’s a good fellow beneath the surly exterior.”

“A long way beneath,” she grumbled.

A moment later Mr Oak escorted Susan into the parlour and they made room for her. She looked pale and wan, her bruises standing out in livid patches.

“I’m sorry, Mr Stanhope, Miss Knight, for all the trouble that’s been caused,” she said, looking utterly miserable. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this, I swear. I had no intention of anyone getting hurt.”

Florence nodded. “We believe you, Susan. Just tell us what happened.”

Susan hesitated, looking around at all the grand people surrounding her. She seemed to shrink in on herself.

“Your grandmother was a wise woman, was she?” Pippin asked, her expression warm and full of compassion.

“Y-Yes, missus,” Susan said, looking grateful there was someone less daunting to speak to. “Though she didn’t like to practise no more. Didn’t like teaching me neither, though I nagged her something fierce. Said it had brought us nowt but trouble. Which is certainly true.”

“She told you a secret,” Dharani said, her sloe dark eyes sharp as a blackthorn bush.

Susan swallowed and looked from her to Pippin. “Oh,” she said. “You’re—”

Dharani waved an impatient hand at her.

Susan took a deep breath. “Yes, she told me a secret when she was dying. She told me that my great-great-grandfather was the same as Mr Stanhope’s. His blood.”

Henry closed his eyes and damned his long dead ancestor, who seemed to still be causing trouble from the grave.

“He was a wicked man,” Susan went on, giving Henry an anxious glance though her chin was up. “A smuggler, and he seduced my great-great-grandmother, even though he was a married man, and she was only seventeen. She worked here, in this house, and she even helped him on the runs sometimes, looking out for the Revenue. When she got with child he abandoned her, told her to get out of the house. So, she cursed him for his cruelty and said he’d suffer the consequences. She was angry, see, and afraid, but nothing went right for him after that, so he accused her of witchcraft. Everyone knew she was a healer like her ma before her. People always went to her for help, but they turned on her quick enough, accusing her of terrible things, of consorting with the devil.”

Pippin nodded sadly. “I’m so sorry, Susan.”

“Oh, God. She was Mary Thompsett,” Henry said, putting his head in his hands, realising the story Mrs Simmons had told Grace and Florence was all too true.

“Who is Mary Thompsett, Henry?” his sister asked, her expression full of misgiving.

“You’d best listen, Harry,” he said grimly. “I don’t think our family is going to come out of this covered in glory, though.”

Harriet swallowed but listened attentively as Susan carried on.

“They let Mary have her babe, then they hanged her. Her sister took the child, and eventually she married and had a daughter of her own—my grandma, that was—but the shame of it lingered. People can be nasty, saying things, you know. My ma hated it. It made her angry and Gran said she was a bit of a wild one. Anyways, she got herself in the family way, with me, and….”

The girl swallowed, her eyes filling with tears. Silently, Henry reached for his handkerchief and passed it to her.

“Tell me the rest, Susan,” he said gently.

Susan wiped her eyes and gave a resolute nod, smoothing her rumpled skirts with shaking hands. “Ma worked here at the Hall too, though my gran didn’t like it. Well, there’s not much else roundabouts is there? It’s here or the big house. Ma would never say who the father was, but Grandma thought it was one of the grooms. So she came here, to see him, to insist he do the honourable thing, but your father was here, sir, and he overheard them arguing. So he… he told Gran her daughter was a whore, and he’d not have her working here no more.”

Harriet made a sound of distress and covered her mouth with her hand. Susan carried on, the revelations relentless, but Henry needed to know all of it, for how else could he make amends?

“Ma died when I was born and Gran couldn’t work ’cause she had me to mind, so she couldn’t pay the rent no more. So, your pa turned us out of our cottage. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of the old earl, Gran said we’d have both starved. Lord St Clair let Gran do mending—she had a fine hand with a needle—and he gave us somewhere to live. When I was old enough, he gave me a job at Holbrook. I’ve always been very well treated, too. Your father was a very kind man, my lord. You’re very like him, too,” she said to Jasper, who smiled warmly at her.

Henry’s throat tightened, his stomach twisting with revulsion. His father had been a cold man, more interested in things long dead than his family, but Henry had never realised how cruel he could be. Perhaps having their parents absent for most of their lives had been a blessing for both him and Harriet. The St Clairs had taken them in too, and the old earl had given Henry a better example of what a father ought to be. He met his sister’s eyes, knowing she was realising the same thing.