Grace : A Long Way Back (Book Two)

By Alison Edwards

July 1792. In Devonshire, nineteen year old Grace lives with her parents and brothers on their large farm. Grace’s father is a violent bully and her brothers follow in his footsteps.

When an old woman turns up at their front door, Grace’s mother lets her read her palm for money. After a lifetime of beatings, her mother’s state of mind is fragile. Grace feels suspicious and protective. An altercation with the old woman ensues.

Within hours a dreadful incident occurs and Grace’s life changes forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alison Edwards
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781838073534

Alison Edwards

Alison Edwards is a historical novelist currently working hard to complete the final book in her four part series A Long Way Back.Many years ago she used to entertain her children by making up little stories. These days her children are all grown up and she has more time to apply herself to her writing.A while back she began composing a short story for a national competition. She never got round to submitting the entry because she quickly realised her character, Sarah, deserved much more attention than the permitted two thousand wordsAlison describes herself as a private person who feels comfortable spending time in her own company. Yet she still looks forward the occasional evening with her family and closest friends. She prefers the countryside to the city and loves walking alone in the hills and along the coast.Her passion for writing can sometimes be all consuming. Sitting at her desk she often becomes so absorbed in her stories and characters that she loses all sense of the present. Many a time, she admits to putting down her pen and gasping in surprise at the view through her window. On a hot summer's day, she says she might easily expect to see snow on the ground like it was in the chapter she had just written.Alison is a big Brontë fan. Her favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

11 a.m. 24th July 1792, Devonshire

Standing at the table, nineteen-year-old Grace sang quietly as she scraped the butter over the slice of bread.

She glanced across at her mother and sighed. One hand rested on the loaf, the other gripped the bread-knife as she stood there staring into thin air. Grace thought she looked old that morning. Only a few summers ago, that greying hair matched her own shade of reddish brown. ‘I heard Father shouting at you last night,’ she said. ‘You should have left him sleeping down here.’

Her mother’s expression shuddered back to life and the knife sawed again into the crust. ‘If I had, he would have done more than shout at me when he came up.’

‘When I get married, I am going to choose a kind man, not an evil brute like him.’

‘Then at least some good has come of it.’

‘You should have married Uncle Mark. You told me he preferred you to Aunt Bella.’

‘You’ve seen how Mark is. He was that dull when he was young and I was a bit wild in those days.’

‘Until Father punched it out of you.’

‘Do not start, Grace.’

She said no more and resumed her gentle tune. A minute later she dropped the final slice of buttered bread into the basket and sighed. Her mother had drifted off again. ‘What’s wrong, Mama?’

‘I am all right. I was only thinking I hope your father doesn’t live to an old age. His father did not.’

Grace chuckled. ‘What did he die of?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I am talking nonsense as usual.’

‘Well you sit down for ten minutes in your armchair and enjoy thinking about nonsense. I’ll go get the beer ready.’

As she paced towards the open front door, the dogs barked in the yard. Stopping on the step, she looked out into the sunshine.

Up the yard an old woman let herself in through the gate.

‘Stay there or the dogs will have you!’

The old woman, a basket hanging from her arm, continued to approach.

‘Stay there!’ Grace cried again above the barking.

The old woman kept on coming. As she passed boldly between the two dogs, they fell quiet and walked behind her, wagging their tails. One stride from the front door, she raised her basket as if to show off its load of little wooden animals. ‘You wants to buy a pretty cat for tuppence?’ she said. ‘Or perhaps you wants a handsome dog like these lovelies? You can have two for thruppence. They bring you very good luck.’

‘What do you think you are doing? I told you to stay up there. If they’d have had you, it would have been your own fault. Now turn around and leave.’

Her mother pushed in beside her and the old woman’s eyes saddened. ‘Oh missus,’ she said, placing her basket on the ground, ‘your poor soul is troubled. I’ll tell your fortune for sixpence. Yes?’

To Grace’s dismay, her mother nodded.

The old woman grabbed her mother’s hands and examined the knuckles. ‘I can see you are a hard-working woman. You only ever thinks of others.’ She turned the hands over and stared at the palms. After a few seconds, she dropped the right hand and devoted her attention to the other. ‘You have children, is that right, missus? You loves your children. Their lives means more to you than your own. This is one of your children standing next to you.’

‘Obviously,’ sneered Grace.

‘And here I can see the number four. You have four children. And this is him, your husband. He treats you badly. I see a great weight on you for half your lifetime. This is how long you have kept a—’

‘I don’t want to hear about my past. Tell me about my future.’

The old woman glanced up at her mother and then gazed down at her hand. ‘Oh, missus,’ she said cheerily, ‘you are going to live to a good old age and you are going to have a happy future with many grandchildren.’

‘You’re lying,’ said Grace. ‘You did not see that. You didn’t see anything. Tell my future. And I want the truth or you’ll get no sixpence.’ She offered her left hand and the woman snatched it close to her eyes.

‘I do not like this,’ she said, poking her finger into the palm. ‘This should not be there. This stranger is a bad omen for you. I do not like these five dots and this line. Stay here in your house today. You must not look into the eyes of any person who is not known to you. There is evil about. Heed my warning. You must pay me my sixpence now.’

Grace tried to pull her hand away, ‘Go away, I’ll not pay for your lies.’

The old woman kept a strong grip and continued to prod the flesh. ‘One, two, three, four, five. Do you want five of your family to die in violence before their time? Pay me.’

‘Pay her now, Grace,’ pleaded her mother.

‘I shall not. If you do not let me go this instant, I shall strike you hard!’

‘A curse be upon you.’ With her dirty finger nail, the old woman raked two straight lines down Grace’s palm. ‘Beware the number eleven.’ Then she let go.

‘Get out now, you old hag, before I drag you across that yard.’

Back in the house, her mother fell into her chair. ‘She knew all about me, Grace. You should have paid her.’

‘She could have heard how many children you have and how Father treats you from anyone within ten miles of here. And there are no dots on my hand, look.’

‘It was only sixpence. These people have powers. Your Aunt Bella has her fortune told and she swears that every word—’

‘I am going to get that beer. You stay there for a bit and stop fretting about that stupid woman.’

Her mother stood up. ‘Wait! We’ll get the beer together and then I want you to stay at home. I’ll take it down to the hayfield.’

‘How are you going to carry four pails of beer and that big basket of bread?’

‘I’ll do two journeys.’

‘You’ll do no such thing. Do you want him to beat you? Do you?’

‘But you heard what she said about strangers.’

‘Enough about her. It’s all nonsense. Anyway I know all of them in the hayfield. But to please you, if we should see a stranger, I won’t go looking in his eyes. Come on then if you’re coming.’

Not waiting for her mother, she marched outside and on towards the windowless beer store, positioned at the shady side of the house.

Ten minutes later Grace stood by the table and looped the strap over the back of her head. Then with the bread basket hanging in front of her, she stepped towards the front door.

In the bright yard, a couple of yokes lay next to four pails of beer. Her mother stood over them, ignoring the dog that lapped at one of the pails.

‘Get off!’ cried Grace. The dog cowered, dipped his tongue one last time and fled. ‘Lift that yoke onto my shoulders, Mother.’

And so with the basket of bread before her and a pail of beer dangling at each side, she set off for the fields. Soon her mother waddled alongside, bearing her yoke and pails.

On they walked, stride for stride, past fields of crops and pastureland, the green hedge to their right rustling in the breeze. Finally their path ran steeply downhill. Halfway down the slope, her father’s huge grey head emerged from the sea of grass. ‘Hurry up!’ he called, striding towards the edge of the hayfield.

Her mother’s steps grew unsteady and beer splashed over the sides of the pails.

‘Mama, take your time. I’ll go first.’

With quick short paces, Grace hurried on down to her father. She stood while he plunged his mug into the pail and grabbed a handful of bread. As he slurped and chomped, two of her brothers approached. First came twenty-one year old Martin, tall, broad and brown-haired. Behind him, Nathan, only fourteen but nearly as big.

She refused to stand like a common servant, waiting for those two to help themselves. She unhooked the pails and dropped the bread basket to the ground.

‘Where’s my Sam?’ cried her mother. ‘He’s had nothing yet.’

Grace turned to see a dozen labourers gathered round her mother. ‘Sam’s coming now, Mama. Let me get that yoke off you.’

She had spotted her twelve-year-old brother’s blond head pop up from behind a haystack. He sauntered over and wrapped his arms round his mother. In height he looked almost her equal.

‘You’ve been asleep,’ Grace whispered.

‘I want to go home with you two.’

‘Let go of her then and I’ll see what he says. Father!’ she called. ‘Mama’s not well. I’m taking her back now. Sam will bring the pails and basket back when everyone has finished.’

He did not reply so she quickly ushered her mother away.

Soon they strolled together up the hill. One wooden yoke frame hung from each of Grace’s hands, the ropes and hooks dragged behind.

All of a sudden, her mother tilted her head. ‘I can hear somebody in the lane,’ she said. ‘Don’t come after me, it might be that stranger.’ Then she strode across the neglected ground towards the hedgerow.

With her heart pounding, Grace dropped the yokes and crept behind her through the weeds.

At the hedge, her mother stopped and held up her hand. Stay there,’ she hissed, gazing down into the road. Then she spoke quietly. ‘It’s all right. It’s only Furlong. I don’t know the woman but they’re starting to walk away from us now.’

Grace stepped forward and peeped down into the road. ‘Look, Mama,’ she whispered, ‘she is carrying a little girl. Let’s wait here quietly till they’ve gone. I don’t think I’ll go out of the house again today.’

Ten yards away the woman in the lane spoke aloud. ‘Thomas, I wish with all my heart you had not made us do this. Here, take Annie until we get to the top of this hill.’

‘There is nothing to worry about. Mr Hockworthy will take one look at her and see she is not his.’

As Furlong reached for the child, a head of golden curls appeared over his shoulder. The tiny girl looked up with big beautiful eyes and Grace could not help but smile at her lovely little face.

CHAPTER 2

In the light of a candle, Grace pushed her rolling pin back and forth across the dough. She paused to inhale deeply in an effort to relieve the dizziness. She had not felt right since looking into the eyes of that little girl. She thought perhaps the old woman really had cursed her.

The front door opened. Martin walked in, plucking strands of hay from his hair. She looked anxiously towards her father, stretched out among the shadows but his snoring continued.

Her brother sat down at the head of the long table. ‘Do me summat to eat.’

‘Who’s you been with?’

’Keep your nose out of my business and do me summat to eat.’

‘Do it yourself. I’m not your servant.’

‘Don’t make me get up from here.’

She matched his stare. ‘Get up if you like. I’m not doing you anything.’

Her mother walked in through the rear door that led to the stairs. ‘Our Nathan has hit Sam again,’ she said. ‘He says he wants his own bed. Sam asked if he could sleep in my chamber.’

‘He’s a baby,’ said Martin.

‘I told him your father would not allow it.’

‘Do me summat to eat, Mother.’

‘Bread and cheese all right?’

‘Have to be, won’t it?’

Grace held the edge of the table and took another deep breath. Snatching up the first thin slice of butter, she placed it on her sheet of dough. She reached for another and another until she had covered half the sheet. As she folded the dough, she lifted her head and inhaled again.

‘What you looking at?’ said Martin.

Her mother rushed over to him, carrying his supper, ‘Hark,’ she said, putting the plate and mug in front of him, ‘I’m sure that’s our Sam crying again. He said he loved me when I kissed him goodnight.’

‘He’s a girl.’

‘You look pale, our Grace. Hark. Oh I wish our Nathan would leave him alone.’

‘I’ll quieten them both with this when I go up,’ said Martin, showing his fist. ‘And the old man’s thumped somebody by the looks of it.’

Grace followed his eyes to the settle and the big bloodstained knuckles that dangled to the floor.

Her brother spoke with his mouth full. ‘It’ll be him that gets thumped if he keeps leaving me to do all the work while he’s in The King’s Head.’

‘I don’t want to hear that talk,’ said her mother. ‘Don’t you think we've had enough of that in this house?’

‘Stop that stuttering. It don’t matter what you want to hear. He’s going to get it afore much longer. It won’t be the same as last time.’

Her father slurred a swear word.

Martin picked up his beer and his sandwich. And then after strutting out of the room, his footsteps pounded up the stairs.

As Grace rolled out the dough for the last time, her mother stood nearby and started cutting the beef for tomorrow’s pie.

‘All right?’ said her father, sitting up.

‘We’re all right, aren’t we, Mama?’

His voice sounded hoarse from sleeping off his drinking session. ‘What were you fussing about earlier?’

‘Father, she was not fussing. It was only conversation.’

‘You had better get out of my sight.’

Her mother glanced at her with a look that urged her to leave.

She wiped her hands and walked straight out of the room. Then as she paced across the dim hallway, her father’s voice carried through the half-open door.

‘Why did you ask me how long Helen Rose had been dead?’

Grace stopped to listen but could hear nothing except for the sound of the knife dicing the meat. She knew her mother must answer before his temper erupted.

‘Because she had your baby,’ she said at last.

‘What is going on in your stupid head now? There were no baby.’

‘I have seen it.’

‘There were no baby. What have I told you about lying to me?’

‘There was a baby. I saw her today in the lane.’

Then came the dreaded noise of him getting to his feet, followed quickly by the sounds of a slap and a metal blade clattering across the floor.

Grace stepped swiftly back to the door. The rapid movement brought on her dizziness and she grabbed the doorframe for support.

Her father had his back to her. With one fist, he held her mother upright by the chest of her gown. His other hand reached forward and stroked the reddened cheek. ‘You asked for that, Molly. ’Twere your own fault. Admit you lied to me.’

Her mother’s eyes rolled. ‘You’ll beat me whatever I say,’ she mumbled.

‘Why do you have to keep making me angry?’

‘Oh hit me again if you are going to. Or better still, kill me!’

In an instant the back of the hand that had just caressed her face, smacked it. This time he let her fall to the floor.

Lying on her side, she stared up at him and said, ‘Why did you have to lie with her, Robert?’

‘Because she were young and lovely.’

‘You used to say I was lovely.’

In a second he was on top of her, and she was on her back.

‘I’ll take you if only to shut you up.’

Grace put her hand across her mouth. She felt sick. Her legs became unsteady.

As her father grunted, her mother’s gaze remained fixed on the circle of candlelight on the ceiling. Then her eyes turned towards Grace. ‘Get off me!’ she screamed. The fingers of one hand crawled across the floor as if feeling for the knife that lay only inches from her grasp.

With all her heart, Grace willed her to reach it but her head spun and her eyes began to close. Everything went black.

Somewhere in the depths of her mind she heard her father growl, ‘I said I’ll take you,’ and then the fading cries of her mother, ‘No! ‘No! No! …’

Molly Gamlin lay there, breathless and soaking in his hot blood, and for the first time in long years, she wept in his company.

CHAPTER 3

At noon the next day, Grace’s whole body shook as she walked through the front door of Dormlea Hall.

‘Follow me,’ said Mrs Richards, an upright person of fifty. Grace knew her as a servant of high ranking to the Johnson family.

She had never experienced such brightness within the confines of four walls. As she paced behind the woman, she kept her head well down to avoid the light from those tall windows.

In a state of numbness, she found herself seated alone in a dim corridor.

The noise of footsteps startled her. She looked up to see her mother approaching. With her hands tied together, she wore a gown that did not belong to her. A large man held her arm above the elbow.

‘Mama!’ she cried, springing to her feet.

Mrs Richards ran from behind her mother. ‘I told you to keep quiet and not to move. Now sit down or I’ll have you thrown out.’

Her mother’s face looked pale but she smiled lovingly as she passed. From her seat Grace craned her neck to watch her disappear into a nearby room.

The door banged shut.

Mrs Richards stood over her. ‘Stop crying!’

Grace could hear herself sobbing but had no control over the noise. She held her breath but the whimpering continued in the back of her throat. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help it.’

The woman looked at her in disgust but the sound of further footsteps prevented her from speaking. Down the corridor, Sir Gerald Johnson strode forward. Although beyond middle age, he remained elegant in his movements. Two other gentlemen walked closely behind him. As he drew near, he halted and ushered his companions on through the door.

‘She won’t be quiet, sir,’ said Mrs Richards. ‘I’ll take her out now.’

Standing over Grace, Sir Gerald spoke softly, ‘I know this is awful for you, but for your mother’s sake, you must show strength and courage. It will do her no good to see you in such a state. Do you think you can be brave, my girl?’

As he put his hand on her shoulder, she felt the convulsions easing. ‘I’ll try, sir.’

‘I’ll give you a minute to fully compose yourself. Then Mrs Richards will bring you in and you may sit quietly in the corner.’

‘Can I sit next to my mother?’

‘That will not be possible. There must be no contact until this hearing is over. Afterwards, I might be able to let you have a few minutes alone together but that will depend entirely on what is said in there. Be kind to her, Mrs Richards.’

When Sir Gerald passed through the door, the woman continued to glare at her but did not speak until a minute had elapsed. ‘Come on in then now,’ she said.

To the right, two windows lit the room. Grace took a seat beside the door as gestured by Sir Gerald, who sat at the centre of the long table at the other end of the room. Her mother sat only a few feet away from her but the large man stood between them.

‘Molly Gamlin,’ said Sir Gerald, ‘in twenty years service as a Justice of the Peace, I have never known a crime as serious as this. These two gentleman seated alongside me are also Justices. To my right is Mr Davis. To my left is Mr Hale.’

Mr Davis, a stout red-faced man, stared unflinchingly at her mother. Mr Hale looked much younger than the others. With a quill in hand, he scribbled furiously.

‘Now, Mrs Gamlin,’ continued Sir Gerald, ‘I wish you to understand that we have the legal right to detain you here, and you should know that subsequent to this hearing, you will be committed to the County Gaol. Then a date will be set for a trial at the assizes.

‘I have a report here from Mr Furlong, a surgeon from the village of Thorverleigh. In it he states that the deceased, Mr Robert Gamlin, was stabbed at least four times in the back with a wide blade, and the fatal wound punctured his heart. When I spoke to you earlier, you admitted that last night, the 24th of July, at approximately half an hour past ten o’ clock, you did stab your husband, Robert Gamlin, several times with a meat knife until he was dead. Such a knife, heavily stained with blood, was subsequently retrieved from the floor close to Mr Gamlin’s body. Now is your chance to explain why you committed such an act. A written record will be taken of whatever you say and that will be made available to the court in Exeter. I urge you to tell the truth. Would you stand up?’

‘I cannot stand, sir, I shall swoon if I do.’

‘Then you may say your piece from your seat. Why did you kill your husband?’

‘He grabbed me, sir, and he hit me so hard that I was knocked to the floor. And then he was on top of me and… forgive me, sir, he was raping me. I wished he had killed me now.’

‘Did you fear for your life?’

‘I did, sir.’

‘Madam,’ said Mr Davis, ‘you are a liar. Your husband was a man of great size and strength. Had he wished to kill you, he could have done so. And do not say he was raping you for there is no such thing between man and wife. Would it be correct to say you stabbed him to death while he asserted his marital rights?’

‘Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir. I regret what I did, but he had beaten me and forced himself upon me so many times before. I could not take any more.’

‘Molly,’ said Sir Gerald, ‘no man with consideration for his wife’s feelings would force himself so, but in the eyes of the law–’

‘But in the eyes of the law,’ interrupted Mr Davis, ‘he was taking that which belonged to him. And it is only the law with which we must concern ourselves today. But regardless, there is no way of knowing whether these alleged beatings ever took place. Poor Mr Gamlin is no longer here to speak for himself. And in any case, some might say the fact that this woman ultimately committed murder proved she was unstable, and so she needed correction.’

‘Begging your pardon, sir, I did not need correction. I was an obedient wife. He needed no other reason than a bad mood or too much ale to beat me black and blue. One time, he cut my head open with the plate for serving his dinner too cold, and another time, he broke my thumb for using too much salt. Sir, you can ask anyone in our house.’

‘So you say, so you say. The fact remains you have taken the life of the man you promised to love and serve. For a wife to kill her husband is an act of treason. You, Mrs Gamlin, can expect the noose, though five or certainly ten years ago, you would be burned at the stake for this crime. Sadly that punishment has been discontinued.’

Sir Gerald sighed. ‘Mr Davis,’ he said, ‘I cannot take issue with you on the point of law, but for pity’s sake, let us not lose sight of our humanity. Lawful or not, it was wrong of a man of his size to use his full force against his slender wife. And if, as seems likely, Mrs Gamlin goes to the gallows then she should be reassured that she was ill treated by the one man who should have used his great strength to protect her, not harm her.’

Mr Davis replied, ‘Noble sentiment indeed, sir. However it is the points of law and its due process we are here to follow, nothing more, nothing less. And this woman, by her own confession, murdered her husband. It will be up to Justice Buller to confirm her fate, though it is surely a foregone conclusion.’

‘I accept that, sir, but she is not in front of Buller yet, and in my house, I would suggest that a moment of compassion would not go amiss. Mrs Gamlin has devoted a lifetime of good honest hard work to her family. And now repenting as she does for that single awful deed, I can only pray the Lord sees fit to forgive her when she stands before him. For earthly courts can only apply the letter of law, it falls on a greater and wiser power to pass judgment on her eternal soul.’

The third gentlemen, Mr Hale, looked up and from his writing and spoke for the first time. ‘Sir Gerald, the facts have been established without doubt. Mrs Gamlin has stated her reasons for having committed the crime. As we remarked earlier, the Summer Assizes is due to sit Monday next. Time is of the essence and I think we should close now.’

‘Very well, Hale. Molly Gamlin, a note has been made of everything you have said. A full record will now be formally written up. Then I shall sign the document along with the gentlemen here present and yourself. All papers will be sent to Exeter within the hour. Then later this day, you shall be escorted to the County Gaol, and there you shall await trial for the murder of your husband. Do you understand?’

‘Sir, I wish you to only write down that I confess to murdering my husband. I wish to take back everything I said. I wish to offer no reasons. I will only sign my name against that. I want to accept my fate without any fuss in court.’

Grace raised her hand. ‘I wish to speak, sir.’

‘No,’ said her mother. ‘I want no more to be said.’

‘But, Mama, I must tell them about what I saw, and about what I heard, and about the little girl in the lane.’

‘I said no! That is the end of it.’

‘So be it,’ said Sir Gerald. ‘Take her away now.’

As soon as her mother had left, Grace stood up. ‘Please, Sir Gerald, can I speak to you in private.’

‘I am afraid not. This hearing is over. Your mother’s