Free Abigail Moor by Valerie Holmes Page A

than a laughing stock and I’d be an outcast from polite
society. That is the truth of it; he kept me at Beckton to protect
me from the harsh reality, my own truth. ” Abigail spoke the words
with bitterness.
    “Abigail! How
could you even think such things let alone say them! Your father -
yes, that is who he is - Lord Hammond has always been a father to
you in the eyes of the world and to you. It’s just as well he
cannot hear you or for sure he would take a turn for the worse,
lass.” Martha was waving an accusing finger at her.
    Abigail spun
around and stared at the flickering fire.
    “Then let us go
and deliver this letter to Mr Ashton straight away. Then, if we
return with him to the manor, all will be put right and we can send
Frederick on his way with a firm word in his ear!” Abigail stood
up, straightening her hooded cloak and arranging her bonnet.
    “I don’t like
this happening to us any more than you do. It isn’t that simple,
lass. Mr Frederick Hammond is a man of great influence; he has the
law on his side. He knows it well enough. He represents not only
your father as his son and heir but the law here too. If that piece
of paper your father has given you falls into his hands, he may
prove it false or something, or simply destroy it. What then? Lord
Hammond told me we was to deliver it, then take ourselves off
somewhere for a few months to see what was to happen next. Abigail,
if Mr Frederick Hammond can manipulate the situation to his
advantage you will have nothing, not even a life of your own to
live. I could be locked in that asylum, so called working, but as
damned as those inside. Or worse, for my part in all this he could
send me to the assizes. We’ve got to make the most of what we have
with us here.” She warmed her hands over the flames, not even
looking around at Abigail.
    “That may be
true and I wouldn’t put it past Frederick to do such a thing, but
we have to try and find our way to a happy outcome.” Abigail placed
her hand on Martha’s arm. “I need to know who I am, Martha! It is
my right!” Abigail did not raise her voice for she did not want the
whole tavern to know her business. She wanted this woman to tell
her everything she knew about her own past, no matter what it was.
Abigail’s instincts told her that Martha had somehow edited even
this version; she had more knowledge but for some reason was loathe
to share it. She looked around the gloomy room and felt
constrained. She was not used to pokey, grubby little rooms like
this. Everything and everyone seemed too close to her, except
Martha who seemed more distant than she had ever been throughout
Abigail’s whole life. Abigail then remembered Martha’s words. “What
abbey grounds?”
    “Sit down,
child.” Martha pulled the one chair in the room over to the fire
and then fetched Abigail’s luggage over. She sat herself on her
haunches and rummaged inside the bag.
    “I’m not a
child, Martha!” Abigail was only too aware that she was not yet one
and twenty, but she did not feel at all like a child - ignorant of
the world perhaps, but then that was different and to be expected
as she had been raised to be a lady.
    “Then don’t act
like one now!” Martha said sharply, and then almost immediately
tried to withdraw her outburst. “I’m sorry, but remember for the
next three months you are still officially one. So we shall not be
staying here very long as we must lose ourselves - somewhere.”
Martha pulled out the Bible and handed it to Abigail. “Whitby
Abbey, but it is of no importance.”
    Abigail took
the Bible and sat down on the chair. There was a knock on the door
that made her jump nervously.
    Martha put a
comforting hand on Abigail’s shoulder and smiled. “Come in.” She
looked down at Abigail’s worried face and explained, “I ordered us
some victuals.”
    A tray was left
on the small table. Martha went over to it and turned her nose up
at the roughly prepared food. “Cook would have had one