The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,136

the rushing sound of the water reminded me of angel wings, though I was sure no angel would await me after I had committed the sin of taking my own life.

The chill striking into my bones through my thin stuff house dress woke me, shivering, to my purpose and I began to climb onto the broad wall.

I did not see or hear Neville’s chaise turn away from the main road and stop nearby, or his running feet as he reached me just in time to snatch me back from the brink.

I struggled and begged him to let me go and when he would not, told him the reason I could not bear to live and that this was the only course open to me.

His face changed and darkened in a way I had never seen it before and he seemed for a moment unsure what to do, his hands still gripping me tightly, while I pleaded with him to let me go.

Then, perhaps seeing that I was beside myself and determined in my purpose, he declared he would take me with him and carried me off to his chaise.

It was a moment of impulse born from his kind nature, for his action was bound to get back to his father’s ears. But during that journey I remained in such a state of shock and deepest despair that I barely took in his promise to look after me.

But this promise he carried out, as best he could, though his father immediately cut off his allowance. He established me in lodgings near the garrison, where he could visit as often as his duties allowed …

And later, when his regiment was sent to Portugal, he left me such money as he could and swore he would send more to support me – and the child that was to come.

After his departure I felt very alone and all too soon his letters ceased to arrive, so that I knew not what had happened, but feared the worst. Finally, a brother officer, who knew my situation, came to inform me that Neville had been killed in a great battle.

All too soon, my means were exhausted and, great with child, penniless and desperate, I felt my only course was to return to Jericho’s End, for I could not take my own life when that would mean ending that of my innocent babe, before it had even begun.

I will spare you the difficulties of my journey there, in the dead of winter, but suffice it to say that my father refused me admittance to the house and threatened to set the dogs on me should I not depart forthwith, despite its being by then dark and the snow starting to settle.

I trudged on to Risings, for surely the master would take pity on my plight?

The butler denied me entry and told me to be gone, but beyond him I caught sight of the family leaving the dining room and, with one last desperate surge of energy, managed to slip past the butler and make my plea for help to Mr Lordly-Grace.

On my knees, I begged him to assist me, for the sake of the child, but he sneered and said there was no place for bold-faced strumpets in his house and told the servants to throw me out.

Half-fainting, I heard Susanna’s horrified voice speak my name falteringly … and then the deeper, once-familiar voice of Richard Grace, saying, ‘Why, it is little Lizzie – and come to this pass, poor child! Cousin, you cannot mean to throw her out in this weather. After all, the child—’

‘May or may not be my son’s by-blow,’ said the master harshly. ‘But it is nothing to me – the wench has made her own bed and must lie on it. Remove her at once,’ he ordered.

‘I wouldn’t turn a dog out in this,’ said Richard Grace, and I felt strong arms catch me as I fell into a deep faint and knew no more, until I regained my senses, to find myself lying in a warm bedchamber at Old Grace Hall, being tended by the familiar, kindly old housekeeper.

She said her master had told her that although I had behaved foolishly, I should be given all care until the child had arrived – and perhaps brought on by my travails, I gave birth to a fine boy only a few days later.

When I had recovered, Mr Grace came to talk with me and proposed that I remain at Old Grace Hall