Chapter Nineteen
A ndrew cast his gaze over the swelling crowd—Mr. Dodd hobbled across the field supported by his wife, while the Newnhams set out a blanket by the duck pond, watching their constantly increasing brood of children splash about by the water’s edge. Sammy Legge stood more quietly at the opposite edge, throwing bread into the pond, on which the ducks descended like a charging battalion. At the largest stall, surrounded by a throng of villagers, Mr. Ham served ale to the men, while Mrs. Ham served lemonade to the women and children.
Andrew smiled as he caught sight of Sammy snatching a mug of ale. The lad met his gaze, and Andrew folded his arms and arched his eyebrows. Sammy’s cheeks turned red and he scrambled away, dropping the mug, which bounced on the grass before settling beside Mrs. Ham’s foot.
And, of course, among the noise and laughter, Mrs. Fulford could be heard barking orders at anyone who cared to listen.
Mr. and Mrs. Gadd wandered about, their son by their side, though Frannie was nowhere to be seen.
And there was no sign of the one person he sought.
Where are you, Etty?
Since their last encounter, she’d attended church each Sunday, but always slipped out of the building before Andrew had the chance to speak to her, to apologize for both his forwardness the afternoon of the storm, and his lack of compassion when she’d revealed her past.
In truth, he did not blame, nor judge, her for her actions. In fact, he admired her honesty. Only a woman of the utmost integrity would make such a full and frank confession, with no guarantee of the listener’s understanding.
And he was determined to tell her the next time he saw her. Only the last time he’d gone to Shore Cottage, he’d received no answer, though he was sure he saw a curtain move on the upper floor.
But she was certain to come to the fete. Everybody came to the Sandcombe fete.
Little Gabriel would like the flags Mr. Fossett had set out on his stall. Mrs. Fossett had spent the past month making flags for the children, and Andrew had determined to buy one for the boy. He’d even picked it out—a rectangular flag of blue cotton, decorated with stars. Each time he spoke to Etty, he seemed to distress her even more than the time before. But with a gift, however trivial, perhaps he might be able to regain her trust and show that he was not like the others—that he cared not who Gabriel’s father was.
The boy couldn’t help the circumstances of his birth. Neither could his mother, the warrioress who protected and loved her son with a ferocity that Andrew could only admire.
It might not be much, but buying a flag for Etty’s son was the first step in rebuilding their friendship. It was an innocent act, a gift for a child, neither conveying emotion, nor risking Andrew’s heart. An olive branch—an offer of peace to symbolize the end to his judgment of her. If she didn’t take it, then he’d lost nothing, for it was not unreasonable to refuse an offer of a gift, and he could preserve his dignity without having revealed his heart again.
But if she took it…
You’re a coward, little brother.
He shook his head to dissipate his brother’s voice. Robert would have known what to do, most likely would have taken what he wanted—claimed Etty for his own, silencing her protests until she yielded, after which he’d have grown weary of her and moved on to the next woman.
Perhaps that was what Gabriel’s father had done—preyed on the desperation of a woman’s lot in life, promised her security, perhaps even marriage, merely to satisfy his carnal lust, then discarded her, abandoning the woman he’d claimed and the child he’d fathered.
What man would do that to a child of his own flesh?
Most sins could be forgiven—except those committed against one’s flesh and blood. Against sons, daughters…and sisters.
And wives. Andrew shivered as he caught sight of Ralph Smith standing on the edge of the field, a mug of ale in his hand, a dark scowl on his face. There was no sign of Loveday or her children, but if Ralph was occupied with the ale stall and his wife and children were at home, then they were safe from his bad temper—at least for today.
Perhaps that explained Etty’s absence, if she was with Loveday. She had quite taken the poor woman into her care.
Andrew could slip away and pay Loveday a visit, just to check whether she was well—whether they both were.
“Vicar!”
Damn.
Andrew recognized the voice. The last thing he needed was for Mrs. Fulford to appoint him as her foot soldier in her quest to assert her dominance over the entire village—which, for all her professions of raising funds for the needy, was her true purpose in running the village fete.
He caught sight of Mrs. Swain and her pupils. A gaggle of twenty schoolchildren would provide more than adequate cover for a lone vicar seeking sanctuary from a predatory female and her daughters of marriageable age.
But Andrew hadn’t considered the tenacity of a determined woman. Before he reached the schoolchildren, Mrs. Fulford appeared before him, out of breath, her eldest daughter by her side.
“Oh, there you are, vicar. Did you not hear me calling?”
I suspect they heard you all the way to Cromer.
“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Fulford.”
“Well, never mind that. I’m in need of you—or rather, my daughter is, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“How may I be of assistance, Miss Fulford?” Andrew asked.
“Elizabeth is in need of a companion. I cannot have her spend the day without one.”
Andrew glanced across the field to where Elizabeth’s sisters were wandering about, arm in arm. Mrs. Fulford followed the line of his gaze.
“Sarah and Caroline are undertaking something very particular, vicar,” she said. “I’m afraid Elizabeth is on her own, and we cannot have a young woman unaccompanied, can we?”
“Miss Fulford is quite safe here, Lady Fulford,” Andrew said.
“But it wouldn’t seem right, would it?” she said. “Sir John would say the same, and, of course, I’m sure the bishop would agree.”
I’m sure the bishop would agree. Six words that, put together, formed a thinly veiled threat to remove Andrew from office if he were to disobey his patron’s orders.
One day I’ll call you out on that, Lady Fulford.
But today was not the day. He could endure the eldest Miss Fulford’s company for the fete. And it would do the conceited little miss a world of good when she bore witness to his paying Etty attention when she arrived.
If she was coming.
He offered his arm to Miss Fulford, but before she took it, a scream rang out.
“Help—help us!”
A figure was running toward the field from the direction of the cliff path, arms waving.
“Help!”
“Frannie!” Mrs. Gadd cried, pushing through the crowd. “Dear Lord—it’s Frannie! William, Jimmy—come quick!”
Andrew began to move, but Elizabeth caught his arm. “Vicar, it’s just that Gadd girl. There’s no need—”
He shook off her hand. “There’s every need, Miss Fulford. Please unhand me.”
“Well, really !”
Ignoring her, he set off toward Frannie, overtaking Mrs. Gadd, who was already beginning to slow.
“V-vicar!” Frannie cried as Andrew approached her and took her hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“I-it’s L-Loveday,” Frannie said, panting. “It’s all my fault!”
“What is?” Andrew asked. Frannie burst into tears as Mrs. Gadd arrived, wheezing. Shortly after, her husband and son appeared.
“Fran—” Mrs. Gadd broke off, coughing.
“Now then, Peg, you’ll do yerself an injury,” Mr. Gadd said, taking his wife into his arms. “What’s all this about somethin’ being your fault, Frannie, love?”
“I-I’ve killed Loveday!” Frances cried. “Why do I kill everyone?”
“What nonsense is this?” Mr. Gadd said. “Frannie, love, you’ve never killed anyone.”
“I-I killed Freda,” she said. “Y-you all think it—and now I’ve killed Loveday.”
“ Freda? ” Mrs. Gadd shook her head. “Frannie, love, you never—”
“You never say it, but you think it—I know you do!”
“What about Loveday?” Andrew asked. “Frannie, what’s happened to her?”
The distressed girl turned her attention on him. “Sh-she’s drowned in the sea, vicar—and it’s my fault, because I told Mrs. Ward it was safe to swim.”
“Was Mrs. Ward with her?”
“She went in after her, and they’ve disappeared.”
A cold hand clutched at Andrew’s heart. “Etty—in the water?”
“Loveday was swimming, and the bad current came, b-but she tried to swim against it, rather than across, then she disappeared under the water. I wanted to go in after her, but Mrs. Ward told me not to. She said to stay out of the water while she went in. B-but now she’s gone also. I didn’t know what to do!”
“Where’s Gabriel?”
“Florrie’s with him—she’s minding him and baby Anna. It’s all my fault!”
“No,” Andrew said, drawing the trembling girl into his arms. “You did the right thing, coming to get help. Mr. Gadd, come with me. There’s not a moment to lose.”
“Right you are, vicar,” came the reply. “Jimmy, son, go and find Loveday’s husband.”
“Not him ,” Andrew said. “He’s—”
“He’s her husband, vicar, and has more right than you. Jimmy—go, now!”
“Yes, Pa.” The lad sprinted back toward the field.
“Where are they?” Andrew asked.
“Near the headland,” Frannie said, “wh-where you saw us swimming before.”
“Very good,” he said. “You’ve done well. Now, look after your mother—and don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
Frannie nodded, and Andrew sprinted toward the cliff path. Finally free of the obligation to assure others of that which he did not believe, he was able to succumb to the fear that gripped him when he’d first seen Etty swimming in the sea.
“Why?” he cried. “Dear God—why did it have to be her?”
As he approached the cliff top, he caught sight of three small forms on the beach below, by the water’s edge. Wails of despair echoed from below—three children in fear for their mothers’ lives. If for no other reason, he had to stem the tide of his own despair so he might give those poor children a sliver of hope.
He made his way down the path, stumbling halfway but picking himself up, ignoring the tear in his breeches. Then he sprinted across the beach, his feet sinking into the sand.
Florence Smith stood clutching her baby sister, little Gabriel clinging to her skirts, his mouth wide open in an O as he wailed into the air.
“V-vicar!” Florence cried. “My m-mama!”
“Where did you last see them?” Andrew asked.
She pointed out to sea. “In that direction.”
Andrew’s heart sank. Florence pointed toward the center of the current—a patch of dark water, clouded with churned-up sand that formed a break in the waves. Not even the strongest swimmer could have fought against it. But if there was the slightest chance they were still fighting for their lives, then he had to take it.
He unbuttoned his jacket and dropped it on the sand.
“Vicar, no!”
He turned at Mr. Gadd’s voice, to see the man stumbling toward him, Ralph in his wake.
“Papa!” Florence cried.
“What the bleedin’ hell have you been doin’, you foolish brat?” Ralph said.
“There’s enough of that, Smith,” Mr. Gadd said. “We need to find your wife.”
“The stupid slut will ’ave drowned herself by now—leavin’ me with them two brats to feed,” Ralph growled. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Just what you’ve always done for them,” Andrew snapped. “Nothing.”
“Why you…” Ralph approached him, fists raised, but Jimmy Gadd interrupted him.
“Look! Pa, vicar—look over there!”
He was pointing out to sea, where an object bobbed in the water along the shoreline.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Nothin’ but flotsam, son,” Mr. Gadd said.
The object moved, splitting into two, then Andrew caught the white flash of an arm.
“Etty!” he called, sprinting along the beach. “Over here!”
He reached the water line and splashed into the sea, the waves rippling around his feet. Then she rose from the water, a sea goddess, her mouth set in a determined line as she clung to Loveday’s limp form.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” she said. “We’re safe now.”
“Ma’am?” Loveday’s eyes fluttered open.
“Hush,” Etty said. “You need to rest.”
She stumbled forward, and Andrew rushed toward her, breaking her fall and drawing her into his arms.
“Etty!” he cried. “Oh, Etty—you have no idea how relieved I am to see—”
“Take care of Loveday,” she said.
“But you’re exhausted.”
“I’m not the one in need of help,” she said, panting. “I’ll be fine. Loveday needs you more.”
Andrew lifted Loveday into his arms, his heart aching at her slight frame, then he waded back toward the shore, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Etty followed. Loveday clung to him as he set her down on the beach, but before he could return for Etty, Mr. Gadd had waded in and was already placing his jacket over her shoulders, ignoring her protests.
“Foolish lass,” he said. “But brave, goin’ in after Loveday in those currents.”
“Anyone would have done the same, Mr. Gadd.”
“That’s where ye’re wrong, lass,” he said. “Jimmy, give Loveday yer jacket, there’s a good lad.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Ralph growled. “Get yer filthy hands off my wife.” He gestured to Loveday. “Woman, come here—ye’ve caused enough trouble.”
“Mr. Smith, I don’t think—” Jimmy began, but Ralph struck out and clipped the lad around the ear.
“That’s enough, boy!” He grasped Loveday by the arm and yanked her toward him. She stumbled against his chest and gave a cry, cowering. “Foolish little slut!” he snarled. “And to think—everything I’ve done for you!”
“What have you done for your wife, Mr. Smith?” a sharp voice asked.
Despite her fatigue, Etty was striding toward him, determination in her expression.
“Not enough by the looks of it, if she’s tempted into sin by the likes of you,” Ralph spat.
“Tempted into sin?” Etty said, tilting her head in the manner of a duchess. “What nonsense! Unless you believe taking a picnic by the sea to be an act of debauchery.”
“Don’t play the high-and-mighty with me, woman,” Ralph growled, releasing Loveday and approaching Etty, his brutish, thick-set body towering over her. “I know all about you—the village harlot, ye are, inviting all manner of men into yer home. Disgusting, it is, and now ye’re tempting my wife to stray from the path again.”
“Again?”
“Aye,” he said. “I always knew my wife was a slattern, but I took her on nevertheless. Much good it did me, being saddled with her brats.”
“Ralph, no—” Loveday began.
“Silence, slut!” Ralph roared. “So help me God, when I get ye home, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Etty interrupted. “Beat her again? Throw her against the door then terrify her into telling the world she fell, thus concealing your savagery?”
“She’s my wife—I’ll do what I fucking well want with her!”
Andrew flinched at the profanity.
Etty curled her hands into fists and stepped toward Ralph until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “You think just because you’re bigger than your wife that you can brutalize her?”
“She’s my wife! She vowed to obey me.”
“And did you not vow to keep and protect her?” Etty asked. “Do you think beating her into submission is protection, Mr. Smith? Or is it merely the act of a coward, a man who has failed in life, who seeks to improve his sense of self-worth by crushing that of another?”
“My wife is a whore. She needs correction.”
Etty let out a snort. “Your wife is no more of a whore than any other woman.”
“Aye,” Ralph said, “and all women are whores.”
“Including maidservants who are raped by their master?”
“Mrs. Ward!” Mr. Gadd said. “I hardly think that’s—”
“You hardly think that’s what ?” she replied. “A subject for polite conversation? Why not? Is it perhaps because men such as Sir John Fulford hide behind the veneer of polite conversation so that they can force themselves onto vulnerable young women in their power then throw them out, leaving them to die in childbirth, or worse—surrender to marriage to a brute who spends their entire married life blaming her for the actions of another?”
She reached toward Ralph and grasped his lapels. “Men like you disgust me,” she snarled. “Rather than lay the blame at the feet of the perpetrator, you content yourself with wallowing in self-pity, blaming your poor wife for having been violated by another. And yet you—and others like you in this godforsaken village—see fit to fawn over Sir John, touching your caps and bobbing curtseys as he passes by. What’s it to you if he violated your wives, or your daughters? You see it as a necessary sacrifice so that you might continue to live your lives in peace—sending a virgin to be slain by the dragon.”
“Mrs. Ward—” Mr. Gadd began, but she interrupted him.
“And as for you , Mr. Gadd, do you consider yourself blameless? Your own daughter Freda was destroyed by the very man you serve, and though you profess to love the child she bore, in your heart, you blame her. You might not tell her, but she feels it. Frances is your granddaughter—and yet you also see her as the child of your daughter’s rapist.”
“You evil woman!” Ralph said. “Spreading your poison around the village. You’re not proper Sandcombe—you weren’t born and bred here. You’re not one of us and you never will be.”
“If being ‘proper Sandcombe’ means permitting violation, rape, and brutality, then I am glad to be a misfit!” Etty cried. She gestured toward Andrew and Mr. Gadd. “ All of you share the blame for the sins in this village. You may satisfy yourselves that you are not the perpetrators, but turning a blind eye when you know something is wrong is the worst sin of all—because you should know better. You should all know better!”
What a warrior she was! A lone woman, slight of frame, standing up to a brute with a ferocity unmatched. A champion for those for whom nobody else spoke, freely and without agenda. Fearless and honest—with no thought for her reputation, or safety, in her quest for justice.
Andrew was never more in love than at that moment.
Then she swung her arm and punched Ralph in the jaw. He staggered back under the force of her blow, lost his balance, and fell into the sand.
Etty blinked and stared at her fist, incredulity in her eyes.
Then a wail rose. Andrew turned to see Frannie standing beside her mother, her face ashen.
She had heard every word.
“Frances…” Etty whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Mama,” Frannie said, “i-is it true?”
Mrs. Gadd stood trembling, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “Frannie, love…”
“Are you satisfied, Mrs. Ward?” Mr. Gadd said. “Is this what you came for, to unearth secrets which are none of your business—secrets that destroy families?”
“Your family was already destroyed by Sir John,” Etty said. “And he’ll continue to destroy it. Is that not why you were so desperate for Frances not to go into service? For fear that she’d suffer violation at the hands of her—”
“No!” Mrs. Gadd sobbed. “Do not say it!”
“Why, because you wish to deny it?”
“No! Because I cannot bear it! Why must you speak of such things?”
“Because it’s better if the truth were not kept hidden!” Etty said. “Deception only leads to misery.”
“Then what would you have us do, Mrs. Ward?” Mr. Gadd asked. “You may come and go as you please—you’re an outsider. But those of us who have lived in the village all our lives, and our parents and grandparents before us, where can we go?”
“You fight the injustice,” Etty said, “and you protect the innocent, even if that comes at the price of hardship to yourself. Not because it’s the easy thing to do—but because it’s the good thing to do.” She glanced toward Andrew, a plea in her eyes.
“Mrs. Ward is right,” he said. “We have all failed innocent young women such as Loveday and your Freda, Mr. Gadd. Perhaps it’s time we stopped concealing the truth and did what was good.”
“Vicar, there’s nowt you’ve done wrong,” Mr. Gadd replied.
“Isn’t there?” Andrew said. “I have delivered sermons, pontificated on the morals of the world. I might have delivered a gift or two to the needy. But what does that all achieve? All I am doing is easing the suffering of a few souls in the village, rather than striving to put an end to the cause of their suffering. If I act within the boundaries set by my patron, am I not perpetuating the wrongdoing? I have no right to remain in this village if I stand by and do nothing.”
“Ye’re a fool, vicar.”
Andrew turned to see Ralph struggling to his feet.
“No doubt you’ve been tempted by the village whore. It’s not you who should leave Sandcombe—it’s her .”
Ralph curled his hands into fists, then he cocked his arm back and advanced on Etty.
“No!” Andrew rushed toward him and grasped his wrist.
“Leave me be, vicar,” Ralph growled, wrenching himself free. “It’s time someone taught this interfering tart a lesson.”
“Do it, then!” Etty said. “Flatten me with your fists and show the world what you really are!”
Ralph grinned and flew toward her, fists raised. But before he could strike her, Andrew stepped between them. Fueled by anger and his fear for the woman he loved, he thrust his fist upward and connected with Ralph’s jaw. Ralph’s eyes widened, surprise in their expression. Then, with a sigh, he crumpled to the ground.
Etty let out a groan, and Andrew turned to see her nursing her fist. He approached her and took her hand, and she let out a low cry as he brushed his fingertips over her knuckles where the skin was broken and already darkening.
She drew in a sharp breath and began to tremble.
Andrew pulled her into his arms, and she softened in his embrace while a sob escaped her lips.
“Oh, Andrew, forgive me!” she cried. “I-I shouldn’t have said such things. Poor Frances—I-I didn’t know she’d returned. I’m so sorry!”
Mr. Gadd approached his wife and embraced her. Then he crouched beside Frannie and drew her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, sweet lass,” he said. “Your ma and I love you, no matter what. Isn’t that right, Peg?”
Mrs. Gadd nodded, then burst into tears. “Oh, Frannie, my sweet child!”
“B-but you’re my—”
“I’m your ma ,” Mrs. Gadd said. “And don’t let nobody tell you otherwise. I may not be yer real ma, but I love ye every bit as much as if ye were. It matters not if ye’re a child of my flesh. What makes a family is them that love each other. We love you, our Frannie. And our Freda would have been ever so proud of you!”
Sobbing, she drew Frannie into her arms.
Mr. Gadd approached Andrew and Etty, his mouth set in a firm line.
“Don’t blame Mrs. Ward,” Andrew said. “She’s the best of all of us. If you wish to harm her, you’ll have to come through me. She has saved a life this day, and for that, she must be honored.”
“Aye, she’s saved more than one life today, I’ll reckon,” Mr. Gadd said. He placed a light hand on Etty’s shoulder, and she blinked, her eyes glazed with fatigue. “Aye, ye’re a brave lass, all right. A good lass. Credit to the village, ye are, for all that brute Smith might say.”
Andrew glanced at Ralph’s limp form.
“Never you mind him , vicar,” Mr. Gadd said. “We’ll take Loveday and her girls in tonight. He can rot in the sand, for all I care. I reckon ye need to get Mrs. Ward home.”
“Gabriel…” Etty whispered.
“Your son’s fine,” Mr. Gadd said. “Loveday’s Florrie’s got him.”
Etty glanced toward Loveday, who had joined her children and was clinging to them as if her life depended on it.
“Sweet heaven—what have I done?” she whispered. “Those poor girls. I had no right to say such things.”
“You said nothing that was untrue,” Andrew said, dipping his head to kiss her hair.
“Andrew, I…”
“Hush, my love,” he said. “You were right in that it’s best not to deceive.”
She lifted her gaze to him, her eyes filled with love, and his heart soared. To think—together they could change the world, if only she would accept him.
He brushed his knuckles against her cheek, and he winced at the sharp sting. She caught his hand, her eyes widening.
“Your poor hand!” she said. Then she dipped her head and brushed her lips against his knuckles. “Is that better?”
“Oh yes, my love,” he whispered. “You make everything better, my darling.”
“Mama!” a voice cried, and he turned to see Gabriel toddling toward them. Andrew stooped to lift the boy in his arms.
“I think ye’d better take Mrs. Ward and young Gabriel home, vicar,” Mrs. Gadd said. “We’ll take care of Loveday and her young ’uns. And I hope ye’ll not object if Frannie comes home with us tonight, to be with her family. I think, today, Mrs. Ward has shown us what a family should be. Them that love each other.”
Holding Etty’s son in one arm, Andrew held out his free arm to her, and she took it. Without protest, she let him steer her onto the path heading toward Shore Cottage.
Mrs. Gadd was right. It was time to learn what a family should be.