The Other Cathy by Nancy Buckingham Page A

cunningly.
    ‘Where I were a’going, o’course!’ But her next words were serious enough. ‘It’s nobbut useless dwelling on what’s long past and done wi’, that’s what tha’s been telled, eh?’
    The seemingly innocent remark touched so close to the nub of Emma’s visit that her heart gave a sudden flurry. Ursly en quired what was troubling her, but she had a strong feeling that the old woman knew the answer already – or was she up to her guessing games again? In any event, Emma could no longer bottle up the questions she longed to ask. She began in a nervous voice, ‘Seth told me the other day that you warned him about bad trouble coming from somewhere far off. Were you referring to Matthew Sutcliffe?’
    Ursly calmly poured the tea into two kitchen cups, and passed one to Emma. There were no saucers and Ursly’s own cup had lost its handle. ‘But tha pays no heed to what I says, eh dearie? Like wi’ little Cathy’s birth, when you telled me I were talking nonsense. We’ll have to wait and see, eh? We’ll see what we shall see!’
    ‘Please answer me! What is it you know about Mr Sutcliffe? It’s important to me, Ursly. He claims he is an innocent man, wrongly convicted. He swears that he did not kill my father.’
    ‘And tha wants to believe him?’ ‘I don’t know what to think, ’ said Emma wretchedly. ‘And tha longs for me to advise thee to put thy trust in him?’
    ‘I want to know the truth, the truth! Should I hate him or  —’
    ‘Or what, dearie?’
    Challenged, Emma was thrown into a panic. She snatched up the hot tea and drank so deeply that she scalded her mouth. The brew was dark and bitter, one of Ursly’s herbal mixtures. But it was strangely soothing, and in a few moments she felt calmer.
    ‘He told me that during all those years he spent as a con vict, his sole aspiration was to return to this country and be revenged on the true culprit, to see that justice was done.’
    Ursly was scornful. ‘And what manner o’ use will that be to him? He’s served his sentence, and by all accounts come back home a rich man. There’s nowt to be gained by raking over old grievances, and no good’ll ever come on’t. Better for him to leave things be, and enjoy spending his brass.’
    ‘Then you do believe he is innocent!’  
    ‘   What I believe, and what tha believes won’t make no dif ference in the end. The path ahead is already laid down, wait ing to be trod.’
    ‘But where does it lead?’ Emma asked anxiously.
    The old woman cackled and picked up the pestle and mortar again.
    ‘Why ask me that, dearie, when tha scorns my powers? Tha’ll find out in good time, and happen it’ll be sooner than tha thinks. Now tha’d best be off before thy aunt finds tha’s been out riding alone, and tells thy uncle. Thank’ee kindly for the gages.’
     

Chapter Six
     
    While Emma was visiting Ursly on the moor, Matthew rode through the valley to Bythorpe. Leaving his horse in the care of a groom at the Waggoners’ Inn, he walked on to the farther outskirts of the village, where Blanche lived in a pretty Queen Anne house, discreetly out of sight of the grime and dinginess associated with the mill. He paused outside the wrought-iron gate, gazing beyond at the well-tended lawns on either side of the flagstone path edged with colourful herbaceous plants. Past a weeping ash tree he glimpsed a gazebo built into the boundary wall, its red brickwork almost concealed by the clinging ivy, its upper windows overlooking the lane at the rear. For a full minute he stood motionless, lost in thought, then with a sigh he proceeded through the gate to the front door, immaculate with white paint and surmounted by a grace ful fanlight. He lifted the lion’s-head knocker. The door was opened by a maid servant in a black stuff dress and a white cap and apron whose neatness was the strongest feature in her favour, for, as Chloe had once forthrightly remarked, she had been chosen for her age and