was erected to mark Jessica’s grave. It had been commissioned by Mr Forrester and carved in the shape of an angel from finest Italian marble, and was a fitting tribute to the young woman over whom she would now watch for all eternity. The sweet-faced angel appeared to hover, her marble arms held out protectively over the body of the soul that she guarded. Behind her, her wings stretched high towards the sun, making it seem as if she was about to take flight. At her feet was a plaque with an inscription carved into it, which read:
Jessica Amelia Forrester 1810–1830
Beloved daughter, sister and mother
Always remembered
Forever in our hearts
As the small group assembled there stared down at the snow-white lilies that had been heaped upon the grave, each of them was silent, locked in their own thoughts.
For Amy, who was leaning heavily on her crutch, there were deep regrets for the fact that she had never been privileged to know her mother. For Molly, sorrow that she had not been able to save the poor soul that she had found in the church doorway on that long-ago Christmas Eve. The master and mistress had their own feelings to deal with. But the one who was hurting most of all was Adam. He knew only too well that, had it not been for him, things might have turned out very differently. It was a truth that he would have to try and live with for the rest of his life.
Still, at least there was one feeling that they all had in common – and that was relief. Jessica could now rest in peace.
Behind them, the stonemasons who had erected the monument were busily loading their tools on to an open-backed cart, keeping the noise they made to a respectful minimum. Mr Forrester broke away from the little group to congratulate the men on their craftsmanship, giving them a hefty bonus. The men tipped their caps and mumbled their thanks as the gentleman turned and made his way back to the graveside.
It was then that a spasm of coughing wracked Molly’s old frame and Amy placed an arm about her shoulders, waiting for the bout to pass.
‘I think I ought to be getting Gran home now,’ she said, unable to keep the worry from her voice. ‘I did tell her not to come out today. The cold air always sets her cough off.’
Molly’s eyes were streaming from the violence of the attack she had just endured, and now Josephine stepped forward and asked her, ‘Why don’t you and Amy come and stay up at The Folly with us, Mrs Ernshaw, just until your cough has eased? I could get our doctor to take a look at you.’
‘That’s very good o’ yer, ma’am,’ Molly answered, thumping her chest, ‘but I’ll not take yer up on the offer, if yer don’t mind. Soon as ever I get back to me own fireside I’ll be fine.’ Even so, she allowed Josephine to take her elbow and lead her back to the carriage. The two women were completely at ease in each other’s company now and had been ever since Molly had stayed at The Folly following Amy’s tragic fall.
Amy cast a last look at the grave before limping after them. The doctor that Mr Forrester had sent for from London had been to see her earlier in the month to measure her up for her new leg. He had returned two weeks later with the finished article, and ever since then Amy had practised on it every spare minute she had, determined that she would walk down the aisle on Mr Forrester’s am when she married François. Her leg had thankfully healed well, but since trying the wooden replacement she had been in extreme pain. The wood had rubbed against the tender skin to the point that Molly had begged her to leave it off, but Amy was determined to walk again without the use of her crutch.
The scar on her face had also healed well, but she would never again be the unblemished beauty she had once been, as she knew only too well each time she looked in the mirror. Still, she supposed that things could have been worse; at least she had survived. But how would François feel when he saw her? Her fiancé was so handsome and could have had any woman he chose. Would he still want her when he saw that her face was now permanently scarred? She could