The Secret of Pembrooke Park(134)

Harriet slowly shook her head, eyes distant in memory. “The first few miles were sheer torture, poor Harold crying out at every jarring bump and turn.” Her voice cracked. “But then he grew quiet, and that was even worse.”

Tears filled Abigail’s eyes to hear the pain in Harriet’s voice, though the woman’s eyes remained stoically dry.

“Suddenly the gamekeeper yelled down to us from the coachman’s bench. ‘A rider! Galloping fast!’”

Mother cried and braced Harold as the driver urged the horses to speed, cracking his whip and shouting. I reminded myself that Father’s horse would be tired having just returned from a distant hunt. At least I hoped so. I remember praying then, as I’d failed to do before. “Please let us get away. Don’t let him catch us.”

“But the gamekeeper shouted that he was gaining on us. So much for prayer, I thought. I strained my ears and heard the beating of hooves. But then a minute later, I heard them no more. Perhaps in my fear, I only imagined him that close. Perhaps it had only been the rumble of thunder.”

Abigail suggested, “Or perhaps God answered your prayer after all.”

Harriet shrugged. “If so, then why didn’t he answer my prayer to spare Harold?”

“I don’t know. He . . . died in the carriage?”

Harriet nodded. “He breathed his last as we were crossing the bridge into Bristol. We stopped to bury him there. I was afraid it would give Father time to change horses and catch up with us. To kill us all. But the gamekeeper escorted Mother into a disreputable-looking public house, and she came out a quarter of an hour later—her hand no longer bearing a wedding ring but instead a gun.

“‘Let him come,’ she said grimly. And I knew she would not hesitate to use that gun if need be.”

Harriet paused to gather her thoughts. “Miles sat silent and stone-faced throughout the entire journey. Mamma, in her grief, all but ignored him. Perhaps by her silence, her neglect in absolving Miles from guilt, he felt she held him responsible for his brother’s death. I tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but I don’t think he really heard me. Later, when Miles’s odd demeanor continued, Mamma did try to talk to him, but by then the impression was set, and it didn’t seem to do any good.” Harriet’s brow furrowed, then she visibly shook off her troubled thoughts.

“The gamekeeper had a wife and child in Ham Green, not far from Caldwell—therefore he couldn’t be gone for long. So we left him at a coaching inn with enough money to see him home. We hoped my father would not learn of his absence before he could safely rejoin his family. But if asked, he could honestly say we’d gone on without him and he didn’t know where we were headed. Of course, I don’t think Mamma knew either. Before he left, he taught Miles how to handle the reins, and Miles himself drove until we reached the next village and found a postilion to hire.

“We kept moving for days. Staying only one night in any one place, until the money Mamma had been squirreling away began to run low. Every day she read all the newspapers she could find, in coffee houses or from refuse bins, or buying them if she couldn’t procure them another way. But we never saw a word in print about my father. We knew that if he died, the news would be reported. So we assumed he still lived, probably at Pembrooke Park.

“After some time had passed, Mamma finally wrote a letter to the gamekeeper using the name Thomas, asking for news of ‘his employer’ and directing him to write back in care of a Welsh inn.

“I still have his reply,” Harriet said, tugging open her cinched reticule. “I thought about sending it to you earlier, but doubted it would make any sense to you.” She extracted a letter from the bag. “Here.”

The yellowed paper was addressed cryptically to H. J. Thomas, in care of the Bell, Newport, Wales.

To whom it may concern,

I am in receipt of your inquiry. My employment is, at present, of an uncertain nature.

The estate where I have been serving is currently closed and shuttered. Abandoned, by all appearances. I’ve had no word from my employer. Nor has anyone of my acquaintance seen or heard from any of the family. It is assumed that they have gone off together for some reason. The carriage is gone, as was my master’s horse. However, the horse returned riderless a few days later, and I have taken the liberty of selling it in payment of wages owing. I trust the mistress would approve.

Even so, I judge it premature to consider a return to a previous situation at present. It might be wise for all parties to remain where they are for now.

I hope this satisfies your inquiry.

Sincerely,

JD, Ham Green, Caldwell

Abigail looked up. “It’s written in a bit of a code, isn’t it? In case the letter was intercepted?”

“Yes. The gamekeeper was more clever than I would have given him credit for. He knew what my father was capable of, after all, and had his wife and child to think of. And as my father’s fate was uncertain, he wrote to tell us basically, to stay where we were.”

Harriet sighed. “I confess I thought, even hoped, my father was dead. But Mamma . . .” She shook her head. “She was unwilling to risk it. Afraid he was biding his time somewhere, plotting his revenge. So we stayed in Wales, using the name Thomas, hoping to avoid being found. Only Miles kept the Pembrooke surname. But he left us to join the navy when he was still very young. We didn’t see him for years.”