A Divided Inheritance Read Online Free

this was something no one ever dared speak of out loud, even Goody Turner.
    Elspet sat down on the floor and scooped Diver into her arms, more to reassure herself than to pet him. Strands of grass still clung to his white fur. She breathed in the familiar comforting
smell of warm dog and wondered about whether Cousin Zachary’s mother had died in childbirth. He had lost his mother too, just like she had, but of course men were better at hiding their
emotions than women.
    She remembered the night Mother died as clearly as if it was yesterday, though it was nine years since. She could never forget the sight of Goody Turner blundering past her door, cheeks running
with tears, her hands full of bloody cloths. The terrible animal noises from her mother’s chamber. When the screams finally stopped, her father’s voice echoed, desperate in the sudden
quiet, ‘What of the babe? My son, does he survive?’
    The midwife’s answer came back, ‘God be praised. A beautiful girl.’
    A loud crash. Elspet rushed on to the landing to look, and saw servants were sweeping up the remains of a broken vase. They kept their heads down and low. When she cried out, Father did not
turn, but she saw his back as he flung open the front door and staggered into the squally weather outside with no coat. There was thick silence then, the servants quiet as mice, her mother’s
moans all finished, the new babe too afraid to cry.
    It was a whole month before Elspet took the courage to name her. Lydia. A lovely name, like music. She thought Mother would have liked it. But Father was not interested to look upon Lydia. He
let the choice of name stand, and after much persuasion by Goody Turner, she was duly baptized.
    Father was lost without Mother, he could not settle to his books. Once at prayer, he told Elspet God was punishing him, and that was why Mother was taken. Punishing him for what, he refused to
say. In the dark days after her death he just kept confessing over and over, in the priest cellar below. All the confessing in the world was no use, though. Lydia, too, died of the smallpox only
two months later. Or perhaps because her father would not love her.
    Elspet shuddered and hugged Diver tight, kissing the top of his hairy head as he squirmed and panted in her arms.
    ‘This cousin, will you bring him to see old Goody Turner?’ The old nursemaid broke into her thoughts.
    ‘Of course I will,’ Elspet said. ‘But you will meet him soon enough anyway. Did Martha manage Jakes yesterday?’
    ‘No, mistress. She had to come back after only a quarter-hour. She said her arms were stretched as long as beans with his pulling.’
    ‘Then I will take him out again. He needs more exercise. He can have a good run, and I need to get out into the fresh air.’
    ‘I don’t know – you’ve just come back! It seems to me you’re never happy unless you’re out tramping the fields with those dogs. It will be dark soon,
mistress. Master would not want you walking abroad at night, even with the dogs. They’re soft as cotton, the pair of them. No earthly use as guard dogs, the great daft things. If you hold
tight, I’ll ask Martha to go too, and I know Broadbank the groom would be glad to walk out with you.’
    ‘Don’t fuss, Turner. Diver can stay here. We won’t go far. Just into the gardens and the courtyard. I’ll go and fetch my cloak.’
    She spent another pleasurable half-hour on the terraces throwing a wooden ball and watching Jakes bound after it. Afterwards she went by the stables to look upon Father’s
new horse. A fine-boned chestnut, with laid-back ears, it skated around in its stall, hooves churning up the straw, flanks crashing against the wooden walls.
    She would not let Jakes anywhere near; he might get between its legs, the halfwit dog, if she let him into the stall. She reached over to quieten the horse, but it rolled its eyes and nipped at
her arm. What on earth was Father thinking of, to buy such a horse at his