Betrayal of Innocence Read online

  BETRAYAL OF INNOCENCE

  By Valerie Holmes

  Illustrated cover design by Jan Marshall

  BETRAYAL OF INNOCENCE

  Copyright 2012 Valerie Holmes

  Smashwords Edition, 2012

  All Rights Reserved

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  BETRAYAL OF INNOCENCE

  Lydia works hard at Bagby Hall to keep her father, an ailing tenant, from the poorhouse. She is racked with guilt as she has to watch her friend, Georgette, being abused by Lord and Lady Bagby. Lydia longs to aid Georgette as she fears her life may be in danger - but how? The arrival of the mysterious doctor, Samuel Speer, adds to her dilemma as Lydia's concern for her friend grows.

  Chapter 1

  “Father, I promise that I will try to call again tomorrow.” Lydia kissed her father’s brow then tucked his blanket gently but firmly around his legs.

  “I’m no use to anyone. You should put me in the workhouse and be done with it, girl.” His brow creased. It was a pained expression, which she was used to seeing regularly now.

  His words caused Lydia pain, but she knew they were genuine, heartfelt and not merely spoken to gain sympathy. “You are too weak! They wouldn’t have you.” She tried to smile at him, but there was no humour in her words.

  “I’ll never do that to you, Father. You’ll become strong again. Doctor Brown has told us so.” She kissed him once more. “We’ll be together soon, you’ll see.” Lydia sounded confident, because in her heart she believed her own conviction, even if she could not quite see how.

  “We can always pray it is so. You put me to shame; you have so much faith and I so little.” His large frame slumped in the chair.

  “Father, you are ill, so it is not lack of faith that holds you back, but your poor health.”

  “Go, lass, and I’ll be fine. Don’t listen to the mumblings of an old fool.” He forced a smile onto his pale face.

  “I will be back as soon as I can be - tomorrow most likely...” Lydia answered. She watched him nod at her.

  “Morning, dearie.”

  The smile soon dropped from Lydia’s face when she heard the high trill voice of Muriel Hardiman. However, she could not help but notice the look of relief on her father’s face as the woman bustled into the cottage. She was grateful for it, but jealous of her growing friendship with her father.

  “How are we today then? Nice to see you smiling again. Need more of that we do.” Muriel smiled fleetingly at Lydia, as she passed by her in the doorway. She walked straight over to Lydia’s father and asked him, “Feeling any better, Thomas?”

  Her father shrugged dismissively, his eyes focussing on the pot that she placed on the hearth.

  “This’ll warm you up. Our Arthur brought us in a big hare. I saved some for you, Thomas. A man needs a good meal to sustain his strength.” She turned and looked at Lydia who was still standing on the threshold.

  “Go on, lass. You don’t be worrying about your pa now. You go and get on. We’ll be fine, won’t we Thomas?” she smiled warmly at Thomas.

  Lydia nodded and reluctantly set out from the small old cruck-built cottage where her father had lived all his working life, and headed for the servants’ quarters at Bagby Hall. Her heart felt heavy with worry for him, but underneath another emotion was rising within her. She felt ashamed of it because she had much to thank their neighbour Muriel for; yet still resentment - an evil brew, gnawed away at her mind – bringing in her darkest thoughts, because the hearth had always been her mother’s place and. Therefore, should not be Muriel’s.

  One year had already passed since her death and shortly after her father’s health deteriorated so quickly that he couldn’t work the land any longer. Week in, week out, he seemed to lose his strength despite his medicine. He was now beyond his middle years and Lydia reluctantly admitted to herself was now ageing fast, but it was so hard for her to take on both of their well-beings because he had always been so strong. It was all she could do to keep up with the payment for his medicine to Doctor Brown, and pay the rent on the cottage to the estate of Lord Bagby. Thank goodness that Cook at the Hall was a kindly soul and a good friend to them. She helped a lot by giving her vegetables needed to make the basic broth on which they relied – the occasional hare stew did not sustain them, no matter how well meant it was. If she could just work long enough at the Hall to pay off the arrears on the rent that he owed since father had stopped farming, then she could find a higher position perhaps as she knew her letters and numbers, as her father had taught her.

  As Lydia approached the Hall, day was just dawning. She thought she saw someone or a movement by the chapel doorway. The small church of St Aidan nestled in its own garden to the right of the castellated Hall. She stopped and stared for a moment trying to make out a shape, but saw nothing other than a squirrel run up an old oak tree in the distance. Lydia crossed over the cobbled stones that led to the kitchen entrance at the back of the Hall.

  “Thank goodness you’re here at last!” Cook ran over to greet Lydia as she entered.

  “Why what’s wrong, Cook?” Lydia asked, as she removed her shawl and folded it neatly, placing it on a shelf by the door.

  “Lady Bagby wants to see you as soon as you arrive back from the dairy.” Cook nodded to her as a young maid left the kitchen with a tray set for Lord Bagby.

  “The dairy… yes, right… Thank you… again. Churning butter?” Lydia asked, wondering how involved Cook’s lie had been, covering for her, as she was supposed to stay in the servants’ quarters, especially now.

  “If you like, my dear. We didn’t get that far. She don’t care what you’re doing as long as you’re there when she calls for you… you weren’t, by the way.” Cook beamed a sympathetic smile at her friend. “Best be going up before she sends the dragoons out searching for you.” Cook stopped smiling and Lydia wasted no time in running up the servants’ stairs to the back corridor on the first floor of the Hall.

  Georgette Davey entered the large oak panelled corridor as Lydia appeared at the top of the narrow stairs. Lydia took a second look, surprised, as she looked unbelievingly at the state of her friend and former governess of the Hall, Georgette. The poor woman was pale, drawn and had no business being where she could be seen in such a way. Lydia rushed towards her and couldn’t help being overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness. Georgette had always been so carefully well turned out.

  Downstairs, Constance, Lady Bagby left the library, crossing the large hallway, and started to ascend the main staircase to the oak landing. Lydia heard the movement of her lady’s fine silk skirts as she approached; each step becoming clearer, meaning only one thing - that trouble was approaching and poor Georgette was in no condition to hurry back to her room before being seen. Lydia ran over to Georgette who was leaning unsteadily against the oak-panelled hallway, her hand automatically resting on the unborn child who kicked energetically within her. Lydia knew she should not be there but, as the birth approached, the solitary life Georgette had had, coupled with her increasing fear as her time neared, must have made her put all reasoning aside.

  “You know you’re not allowed to come out of your room, Georgette!” Lydia Fletcher spoke quietly, but firmly, not just out of concern for her friend’s condition, but for the impact it could have on her own precarious position. Sorry she may be for the poor woman who had played so easily into the perilous hand of Lady Bagby, but she too had more to consider than herself. She had to keep her father out of the workhouse or debtor’s prison if that was what those in charge wished. Should Lady Bagby discover Georgette had wandered into the corridor that led straight to the upper central landing, they would both be in for a sharp rebuke. Constance, Lydia was well aware, was not a lady who took kindly to her orders being disobeyed. Georgette was intended to be spending her confinement in secret, locked away in an unused room at the back of Bagby Hall.

  “I was restless, Lydia. The pains, they’re growing stronger and I was all alone.” With each spasm, Georgette stopped to catch her shortening of breath. “I feel frightened – it’s like an oppressive darkness, a gloom that comes over me. Lydia, I can’t help it, I’m really scared. I just feel like something’s going awfully wrong. I don’t know what, but it is, I can sense it!”

  “Hush your mouth, Georgette Davey. If anyone were to hear you they’d be thinking that you’re a witch, talking about premonitions and seeing things. I can’t do with people thinking they ‘sense’ things. You’re just imagining it. It’s part of your condition - that and too much time on your hands.” Lydia realised she was being harsh, but she had to talk sense into her friend before her mouth made her situation more precarious than it was. If she could only keep the woman calm, for both their sakes. Then Lydia smiled sweetly at her, remembering the poor unborn baby within her friend. “Besides you’ve had too much learning for a woman, giving you such ideas.” Georgette managed a small laugh at Lydia’s words, because that was a long-standing joke between them. Both women had had an education and both had been told at different times how it was wasted on a woman, giving them foolish ideas.

&
nbsp; “Honestly, Georgette, all women fear the first time that they give birth. It’s natural.” Lydia tried to smile and give some confidence to Georgette, but what she was really thinking was that Georgette’s instincts were more astute than the young woman had realised. She had more to worry about than presenting the world with another bastard. Lydia prayed her friend carried a boy child. Every night, she prayed it would be, for it was the only way she could be saved, and at least the baby would have a good life.

  “What do you think you are doing here, girl?” The sharpness of Lady Bagby’s voice shook Lydia, and so did Georgette’s reaction as she physically jumped back a step. Lydia put a protective arm around her to steady her.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Bagby, I…” Georgette tried to explain to her beautiful young mistress why she had ventured outside the room, hoping it seemed that she would appeal to her better nature. Lydia could have told her she was wasting her breath, as Lady Bagby didn’t have one. Instead, she doubled up with a sudden pain, so intense that each wave that followed threatened to bring the troubled young woman to her knees.

  “Must I keep you under lock and key?” Constance snapped at her, glaring at Lydia who had begged her mistress not to lock her in when she had first put Georgette into secret confinement. Lydia was glad it would be over soon. She could not keep up the deception much longer. “God”, she prayed to herself, “just let it be a boy!”

  The anger in Lady Bagby’s words had obviously made Georgette feel ashamed. Lydia looked on in despair as her friend’s face flushed red.

  “You are an ungrateful wretch!” Lady Bagby continued.

  She looked upon her, as a bully would their weakened victim, using the power and position she held over her with malicious intent... She still continued to harangue her.

  “Did you not realise the stupidity of your actions. Have I not been kindness itself to you? I should not have to converse with servants let alone allow a bastard to be born in my home! If your presence here was discovered, I would have no choice but to turn you out for the harlot you have proven to be, for that is what you would be labelled by every decent member of society - the governess who had fallen so low, that she carried an illegitimate child!” Lady Bagby’s sniffed as if disgusted at the thought.

  Georgette gasped at the harshness of the woman’s words.

  “But…” Georgette turned to face her, with a hint of defiance showing in her eyes.

  “Don’t think for a moment that you could get away with serving a bastardy order on my dear husband.” Lady Bagby’s eyes stared directly and accusingly at Georgette’s.

  “I wouldn’t do that, but you know that the child is his,” Georgette replied.

  Lydia wanted to intervene and rescue her friend from Lady Bagby venom, but she dared not. Lydia hated the feeling of being a coward in any way but she too was in a very precarious position.

  “For propriety’s sake he could never admit to it. Do you think they would believe that he had succumbed to your charms? Think, woman, you are a fallen wench, and my husband is a gentleman.” Lady Bagby stared hard at Georgette, who shrank back from her gaze. “You would be declared ‘mad’ before you even made the charge a formality. You were seen talking to the groundsman on many an occasion!”

  “But it wasn’t like that; I mean… he is just a friend.”

  “I have no wish to know how it was! Spare my feelings on this matter, please. Have you no respect at all?” She turned her head away as if the vulgarity of the topic was too much for her, and then turned around again to face Georgette accusingly. “Or do you think only of yourself and your own bodily desires?” Lady Bagby emphasised the last word.

  Lydia braced herself. She silenced her tongue before it placed her in as much danger as the poor naïve Georgette. Lydia thought her mistress was the biggest hypocrite she had ever met. Lydia worked for her loyally even though she felt she had sold her very soul to the devil, because her father relied on her to earn their keep.

  “How else could you prove the child was his?” Lady Bagby continued to chastise Georgette, who was nearly in tears. “No, Davey, you have been blessed with my kindness and charity. Now return to your room and do not venture beyond it again!” Lady Bagby pointed to the door at the end of the corridor. “Return without further comment!”

  “But, please… it feels like being in gaol,” Georgette tried to explain her actions, to gain her mistress’s understanding.

  None was forthcoming. The lady merely pointed again towards the door of her room. Georgette lowered her eyes slightly. “Then pray and give thanks that you have not ended up in one.”

  “I’m sorry, milady. I was not thinking.” She had no more fight left within her.

  “Well, now we have established that fact, please do as I say!” Lady Bagby’s dark eyes peered into the moist pools of Georgette’s until the woman turned dejectedly away. Slowly, she managed to straighten up and return to her room.

  Lydia walked with her, determined that one day soon she would find a way to unseat the woman. She had position and was rich beyond Lydia’s dream but a harder hearted wench Lydia had never met.

  Georgette slowly made her way down the corridor. Lydia cupped her elbow, letting go only to open up the door. Georgette took one step towards her bed, tripped on the clipped rag mat and fell to her knees with a deafening scream of pain. She heard the door slam shut behind them.

  Lady Bagby had left when Georgette was still on her knees on the old clip mat. Lydia had to leave her for a few minutes to fetch and carry water to the room. When she heard the key turn behind her on her return a cold wave of fear swept through her.

  “No!” Lydia muttered to herself, but Georgette was making too much noise for the word to be heard. They were both locked inside the room. The labour had begun, she thought. Lydia busied herself with the near hysterical woman. She had helped a horse to foal once, but she had no birthing experience with women.

  The pain of the following hours melted away into one long nightmare of existence. Lydia and Georgette were trapped in a battle of survival that only the cry of a new-born baby would finally end.

  What seemed like an age later, a baby’s head finally emerged. Lydia breathed deeply, almost as deeply as Georgette did.

  “Push, Georgie, push!” Lydia issued instructions as though she had delivered many a child - instinct replacing fear, then… finally, the babe slipped out onto the bedding.

  “It’s a girl!” Lydia exclaimed. Her worst fear had been realised. What would save Georgette now? She had no idea. God was her only hope, if he had heard any of Lydia’s prayers.

  “What did you say?” The faint voice of Georgette made her feel angry at her lack of sensitivity. Poor Georgette, she thought. She was an innocent pawn in all of this, so beautiful, so intelligent, yet so stupidly naïve. A girl of her breeding deserved better, Lydia thought.

  “Look, Georgette, you have a beautiful girl.” Lydia, the only servant trusted with the knowledge of Georgette’s confinement, held the child up to face her mother as she raised herself on the small bed to see the beautiful baby – her own little bastard.

  “I’ll call her Jessica, Lydia.” She smiled, visibly exhausted and in need of a deep sleep.

  As the baby cried, the door was unlocked and opened. Lady Bagby stood silently in the doorway.

  “Is it over?” she asked, without coming into the room.

  Lydia saw her wince as she stood looking around. Lady Bagby covered her mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief after glancing at the sodden, bloody cloths that lay in a discarded heap on the floor.

  “Yes, milady. Georgette and the baby are both well,” Lydia answered not wanting to answer the next question that she knew would come.

  “What is it, Fletcher?” Lady Bagby demanded to know.

  Lydia hesitated and muffled her words so her reply was inaudible.

  “I have a beautiful daughter, milady,” Georgette announced excitedly, raising the child in her arms. “Look, Lady Bag…”

  The door banged shut leaving Georgette stunned, staring beseechingly at the face of her only friend.