‘What do you mean?’
Miss Petherbridge lifted her chin and studied her down the length of her nose. ‘Your mother was raped by a Brockenshaw.’ Her hard grey eyes lit up at Grace’s reaction. It goaded her on. ‘She was rutted like a pig and you are the end result.’ She raked Grace’s body with a disdainful sweep of her eyes. ‘You think you’re special. Too good for the likes of my family. Well you are wrong, young lady. You carry the shame of violence and degradation,’ her eyes lifted to her auburn hair, ‘and your ancestry is on view for all to see.’
My father is not my real father?
Grace was aware of movement around her as people drew forward to listen. It felt as if they were sucking the air from her as she found it hard to breathe. Her mother stepped in front of her to protect her. She would set the woman right and deny her vicious lies. Grace braced herself, confident that the woman must be mad. Her mother did not speak at first, but only stared at the old woman, her body trembling as if she was cold.
‘I hoped to see some kindness in your eyes,’ her mother finally said. ‘Something I could reach out to.’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘But I see nothing.’
Miss Petherbridge did not reply.
Her mother drew closer. ‘You knew at the time, didn’t you?’ she whispered.
Grace did not want to hear any more, yet, as before, she could not turn away.
‘You are evil and wicked,’ continued her mother, her voice rising in anger. ‘I say it isyouwho should carry the greater shame, for youknewwhat he did to me and didn’t lift a finger to help.’
The villagers around them fell silent at her mother’s accusation, their expressions a mixture of pity and embarrassment for her mother — and to Grace’s horror, repulsion for her. Grace’s legs grew weak and threatened to buckle as she realised the heavy stigma she now carried.
‘Home! Now!’ ordered her mother, taking charge. ‘Ann, take Grace’s other arm and help her.’
Her mother and sister guided her out of the church grounds and onto the road that would take them back to Kellow Dairy. Grace’s memory of the journey home would always be hazy, like a distant dream of shapes and sounds. She was aware that her mother and sister were on either side of her, as she could hear their hushed, heated voices nearby. Their presence was reassuring as she no longer felt part of the world, as if something inside her had been stripped from her by the woman’s venomous tongue. Her life had been a lie, a strange voice in her head repeated over and over. Her father was not her father and a vile act of violence had created her. She was the spawn of a monster — a festering secret — a walking reminder of an unspeakable act. She had lived in her parents’ house and eaten at their table. How could they bear her presence? She should be sobbing withdespair or screaming in anger, but she did not have the presence of mind to do either. She just wanted to die and forget that she had ever been born.
* * *
Grace sat in her bedroom alone, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her auburn hair lay about her shoulders, glinting like copper in the candlelight, as the green eyes of a haunted woman stared back at her. The evening had finally come to a close and all the family secrets were exposed, and left to fester in the setting sun. How do the Kellow family move on from here? How does she live her life knowing that everything she held dear had been based on a lie?
The events of the evening still felt raw. On returning home her mother had sent Ann to fetch her father.Herfather. Ann’s father. Notmine, thought Grace, bitterly. Ann, who was normally highly strung and questioned everything, had left obediently. It was as if she knew that this day would one day come. As she watched her leave, realisation dawned on Grace that her younger sister already knew.
‘How long has she known?’
Her mother wrapped her in a blanket. It would do no good as her violent trembling was not from the cold.
‘Edna said something when she was a child,’ replied her mother, tucking her in. Grace recalled the old woman who had once been a frequent visitor to their home until age and infirmity had finally brought her visits to an end. Despite having eccentric ways and a coarse, rambling tongue, she loved caring for them as children and her parents remained very fond of her until the day she died. ‘It was a slip of the tongue. Ramblings of a dying woman, but Ann would not be satisfied until she knew the truth.’
‘But Edna died years ago.’
Her mother knelt beside her and gently curled a stray hair behind Grace’s ear. ‘I’m so sorry, Grace.’
‘Does Ben know too?’ Her brother and sister were closer than she was. She had always put it down to being of a similar age — until now.
Her mother nodded. ‘Ann told him, before she told me.’
Grace’s world was changing before her eyes. Nothing was as it had seemed.
‘Who else knows?’ she asked.
‘Aunt Molly.’ Her mother reached for her hand. Grace flinched away. ‘And, of course, Uncle David. They lived on the farm when your father and I married so they knew I was with child.’
‘Does Father know I’m not his?’
‘Of course he does.’
‘There is no “of course” about it. Anyone else?’
‘No one else.’
‘Everyone who matters knew . . . except me.’
