the Saldens in you.’
Agnes lowered her gaze first, as Betsy stared unbelievingly at her aunt. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ she said, fixing Agnes with the midnight blue of her eyes.
Ignoring her question her aunt said, ‘He looked at me with your eyes once, until that night, crazy with drink, he bedded her.’
‘Who? What are you talking about?’ She gripped her aunt’s arm until she made the woman wince.
‘Get off. You’ve inherited his temper too. I don’t know why you’ve come back here today, you never had time for any of us before—’
‘What did you mean about his eyes and the Saldens? What are you hinting at?’
In her frustration she pinched her aunt’s arm even harder and the woman pushed her roughly away. ‘He was mine until she let him have his way with her. Just that once and I’ve hated you ever since.’
Wrenching herself free Aunt Agnes turned her back and went out of the room. Betsy stood perfectly still, a thousand thoughts chasing themselves around her mind. Not a touch of the Saldens in you … the night he bedded her …
Who? Her mother. The venom in Agnes’s voice made her shiver. Did that mean she had a different father from the others? Is that why she was always treated so badly?
She hurried after her aunt, determined to find the truth. She caught up with her in the kitchen. Everyone else was in the other room, chatting and reminiscing with each other as they ate and drank. ‘You must tell me – you’ve said too much not to finish now. Who was my father, why did my mother hate me so?’
With her back to the door in an effort to prevent her aunt’s escape, her breath suddenly coming in short sharp bursts and her lovely eyes glittering with passion, she faced Agnes.
‘Keep away. Keep away from me or I’ll scream and they’ll all come running. They know what he was like and you’ve inherited it. You’re not one of us, you never have been.’
Betsy took a step closer. ‘Go on.’ It didn’t sound like her own voice and Agnes looked round, but they were completely alone.
‘All right. I vowed never to say but you’ve asked for it. Your father was my lover before he was hers. He took her one night in a drunken stupor. She did everything she could to lose you but nothing worked. When you were born she made us all promise not to tell the truth of the affair. You were her last fling – you were forced on her and she never forgave you or him. Now let me out of here.’
‘One more question, then I will,’ Betsy said with authority in her voice. ‘Who was he? What was his name?’
‘I can’t – I won’t tell you.’
‘You will tell me. I have a right to know.’ She took a step towards her aunt.
‘All right, all right. His name was Choicely. He was the son of Sir Benjamin Choicely of Eccleton.’
Betsy realized that she was holding her breath and she let it go now in a rush of release. Moving from the door she waited until Agnes had scuttled through, then she sank on to the nearest chair.
Daniel found her there a few minutes later. ‘I wondered where you were,’ he said, ‘suddenly I couldn’t see you anywhere in the room. Are you all right?’
She grabbed his hand, ‘Yes, I’m fine, Daniel, but let’s go home now. I’m tired.’
He looked at her closely, but she turned her gaze away from him and stood up. Hand in hand they left the kitchen. She refused to return to the parlour where her brothers and sisters,aunt and uncles and cousins were. The din they were making was so great that none heard or saw Betsy and Daniel as the horse and cart rattled across the cobbles.
‘Do you want to tell me what’s happened?’ Daniel said once they were moving gently through the countryside.
‘When we’re home. I can’t talk about it now,’ she managed before lapsing into silence. He whipped the horse into a trot, anxious to get her back.
She told him that evening. He held her close and said it didn’t matter, she was Betsy, her own woman, that
Agnes lowered her gaze first, as Betsy stared unbelievingly at her aunt. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ she said, fixing Agnes with the midnight blue of her eyes.
Ignoring her question her aunt said, ‘He looked at me with your eyes once, until that night, crazy with drink, he bedded her.’
‘Who? What are you talking about?’ She gripped her aunt’s arm until she made the woman wince.
‘Get off. You’ve inherited his temper too. I don’t know why you’ve come back here today, you never had time for any of us before—’
‘What did you mean about his eyes and the Saldens? What are you hinting at?’
In her frustration she pinched her aunt’s arm even harder and the woman pushed her roughly away. ‘He was mine until she let him have his way with her. Just that once and I’ve hated you ever since.’
Wrenching herself free Aunt Agnes turned her back and went out of the room. Betsy stood perfectly still, a thousand thoughts chasing themselves around her mind. Not a touch of the Saldens in you … the night he bedded her …
Who? Her mother. The venom in Agnes’s voice made her shiver. Did that mean she had a different father from the others? Is that why she was always treated so badly?
She hurried after her aunt, determined to find the truth. She caught up with her in the kitchen. Everyone else was in the other room, chatting and reminiscing with each other as they ate and drank. ‘You must tell me – you’ve said too much not to finish now. Who was my father, why did my mother hate me so?’
With her back to the door in an effort to prevent her aunt’s escape, her breath suddenly coming in short sharp bursts and her lovely eyes glittering with passion, she faced Agnes.
‘Keep away. Keep away from me or I’ll scream and they’ll all come running. They know what he was like and you’ve inherited it. You’re not one of us, you never have been.’
Betsy took a step closer. ‘Go on.’ It didn’t sound like her own voice and Agnes looked round, but they were completely alone.
‘All right. I vowed never to say but you’ve asked for it. Your father was my lover before he was hers. He took her one night in a drunken stupor. She did everything she could to lose you but nothing worked. When you were born she made us all promise not to tell the truth of the affair. You were her last fling – you were forced on her and she never forgave you or him. Now let me out of here.’
‘One more question, then I will,’ Betsy said with authority in her voice. ‘Who was he? What was his name?’
‘I can’t – I won’t tell you.’
‘You will tell me. I have a right to know.’ She took a step towards her aunt.
‘All right, all right. His name was Choicely. He was the son of Sir Benjamin Choicely of Eccleton.’
Betsy realized that she was holding her breath and she let it go now in a rush of release. Moving from the door she waited until Agnes had scuttled through, then she sank on to the nearest chair.
Daniel found her there a few minutes later. ‘I wondered where you were,’ he said, ‘suddenly I couldn’t see you anywhere in the room. Are you all right?’
She grabbed his hand, ‘Yes, I’m fine, Daniel, but let’s go home now. I’m tired.’
He looked at her closely, but she turned her gaze away from him and stood up. Hand in hand they left the kitchen. She refused to return to the parlour where her brothers and sisters,aunt and uncles and cousins were. The din they were making was so great that none heard or saw Betsy and Daniel as the horse and cart rattled across the cobbles.
‘Do you want to tell me what’s happened?’ Daniel said once they were moving gently through the countryside.
‘When we’re home. I can’t talk about it now,’ she managed before lapsing into silence. He whipped the horse into a trot, anxious to get her back.
She told him that evening. He held her close and said it didn’t matter, she was Betsy, her own woman, that
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