Below him footsteps sounded. Thankfully Nelson and four other miners were splashing their way towards him, their arms full of the tawny-coloured oakum.
Two of them shouldered the board under his feet while the others rammed in the wadding. Josiah scrambled to his feet and glanced around.
‘Where is Mr Armstrong?’ he asked, wondering why George hadn’t followed the men down.
Nelson shook his head. ‘He collapsed on the stairs and he’s being taken up top.’
***
Picking a potato from the rack at the back of the pantry, Charlotte studied it as she turned it over in her hand.
It was about eleven o’clock, and a blessed week since her brother Edmund and her sister-in-law Martha had returned to St Albans.
As always on a Tuesday morning at this time, she was checking the weekly provision that had been delivered the day before.
She frowned and put the potato back then picked up the cabbage that, despite being delivered only yesterday, was limp and yellowing at the edges.
Returning it to its place next to the woody-looking carrots, Charlotte walked out of the chilly pantry into the warm kitchen.
Sarah, who was busy shelling the first crop of spring peas, looked around as she entered.
‘Where’s Mrs Norris, Sarah?’ Charlotte asked, looking around.
‘She said she had to pop out for something,’ said Sarah, looking a little uncomfortable.
‘Had she,’ said Charlotte. ‘Tell her to let me know when she returns.’
‘Very good, miss,’ said Sarah.
Leaving the young girl to her tasks, Charlotte went through to her morning room and went to her writing bureau. She sat down and, pulling open the drawer, took out the household accounts and the leather file where she kept the tradesmen’s bills.
Opening them at the previous week’s page, she ran down the list of provisions she’d ordered and checked it against the bills submitted. When she reached the bottom she frowned and turned back to the week before that and did the same. She’d just reached the bottom when the doorbell rang, followed by a ferocious hammering.
Shooting up, Charlotte hurried out into the hall just as Sarah hurried up the stairs from the kitchen. She dashed towards the commotion with Charlotte just a step or two behind.
As her maid opened the door Charlotte gasped, as standing on the step was Josiah Martyn holding an unconscious George Anderson in his arms.
In contrast to Josiah, who was a little flushed from carrying his friend the length of Cow Lane, George was ashen except for the blue tinge around his mouth.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Charlotte as Josiah staggered into the hall. ‘What happened?’
‘He collapsed,’ said Josiah. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t think where else to take—’
‘Don’t apologise,’ said Charlotte. ‘Upstairs, first bedroom on the left. I’ll help you settle him while Sarah fetches the doctor.’
‘No need,’ he said, starting up the stairs. ‘One of the bellows boys has gone for the company physician.’
‘Sarah, fetch some smelling salts, brandy and bring up a jug of my barley cordial but stir in some honey,’ said Charlotte, lifting her skirts and hurrying up after Josiah.
She caught up with him as he reached the landing. Skirting around him she opened the door to the guest bedroom.
‘Prop him up with pillows on the bed and loosen his neck tie,’ said Charlotte, crossing to the window and opening it wide, a salty breeze from the river fluttering the curtain as it filled the room.
Returning to the bed she found Josiah had unwound George’s cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. However, although there was a hint of colour returning to his cheeks, George’s eyes were still closed and the unhealthy blue tinge around his mouth remained.
Grabbing his friend’s shoulder, Josiah shook him.
‘George!’ he shouted. ‘Wake up, man!’
George didn’t and other than his hand flopping off the bed, there was no response.
‘It’s the gas,’ said Josiah, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘It’s settled in his lungs. If he don’t cough it up it’ll corrode them.’
‘George,’ shouted Charlotte, slapping his grey face. ‘You have to wake up, George.’
The door opened and Sarah came in carrying a tray.
Taking the smelling salts from the maid, Charlotte uncorked them and held the bottle under George’s nose. He didn’t move for a second or two then he coughed, lurched forward and his eyes opened.
He coughed again; a deep, wet cough.
Taking the napkin, Charlotte held it to his mouth as he hawked up green mucus streaked with blood.
‘Good man, George,’ laughed Josiah. ‘Good man.’
George gave a weak, unfocused smile, then his eyes closed again.
‘Sit him up,’ said Charlotte.
She grabbed George’s legs while Josiah supported his upper body and they heaved him up.
Charlotte held the smelling salts under his nose again.
George’s eyes flew open and he coughed. He tried to push her hand away but Charlotte held the vial firmly in place.
‘Pat his back,’ she said, as George spluttered.
‘Come on,’ said Josiah, kneeling on the bed and taking his weight. ‘Cough it up.’
Mercifully, while Charlotte held the gazunder and Josiah thumped his back, George did.
When he’d stopped retching, Charlotte wiped his mouth and set the napkin and gazunder on the side table. She and Josiah manhandled George back on the bed. He was breathing easy now and his lips were no longer blue plus his eyes, although surrounded by dark smudges, were open and focused.
While Sarah took the gazunder and dirty linen away, Josiah helped George out of his jacket while Charlotte removed his boots before propping him up on a pile of pillows.
‘Take a couple of deep breaths, George,’ Charlotte said.
He did and coughed again.
‘Damn it hurts,’ he rasped, clutching his chest. He spotted Charlotte. ‘Sorry.’
Charlotte smiled.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, holding the brandy to his lips again. ‘I’ve heard worse.’
‘And the quack will be here in a while,’ added Josiah. ‘And he’ll soon patch you up as good as new.’
George gave a weak smile by way of reply and, taking the glass from Charlotte, he finished off the brandy then rested back into his nest of pillows and closed his eyes again.
Taking the empty glass from his hand, Charlotte looked across at Josiah.
She gave him a reassuring smile and he smiled back.
There was a knock.
The door opened and a tall gentleman wearing a frockcoat, striped trousers and carrying an enormous leather valise strode in, closely followed by Sarah.
‘Morning, Dr McAlister,’ said Josiah, offering his hand.
‘Morning, Martyn,’ the doctor replied, shaking it.
‘This is Miss Hatton,’ said Josiah, indicating Charlotte.
‘Miss Hatton,’ said McAlister, giving her a small nod. ‘I’m obliged to you for your assistance.’
‘There is no need. George is an old family friend now. Unless I can be of further assistance I’ll leave you to minister to your patient.’
He bowed and then turned to the man lying on the bed. ‘So, Anderson, what have you been up to?’
Taking Sarah with her, Charlotte left the room and made her way downstairs.
Sarah returned to the kitchen and Charlotte to her morning room but with her mind on poor George upstairs, she set aside the household accounts and re-read the letter she’d received back from Mrs Fry regarding the parish visiting scheme. She’d only reached the bottom of the first page when there was a knock on the door.
‘Come!’
The door opened, and Dr McAlister and Josiah walked in.
Setting aside her letter, Charlotte stood up. ‘How is George?’
‘Not at all well,’ said the doctor. ‘But I can confide
ntly say with a few weeks’ rest in bed and good food inside him, he should recover.’
‘Then he must stay with us at the rectory until fully recovered,’ said Charlotte.
‘That is very kind of you,’ said Dr McAlister. ‘Mr Anderson will recover from this episode, although I’m afraid there may be long-term damage to his lungs. I’ve told him when he is fit enough to resume his duties I would advise he stay up top for at least another month, if not more. I’ll advise Mr Brunel, of course, but for now Anderson’s only duty is to rest in a well-aired room and to consume three solid meals a day. I’ve left him some laudanum in case the pain gets too bad, but I’ve advised him to avoid it if possible as it slows respiration.’
‘Don’t worry, doctor,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’ll make sure George follows your instructions to the letter. Can I offer you some tea or coffee?’
‘Thank you kindly but there’s no rest for the wicked, or physicians, so I must hasten to my next patient. I’m sure Martyn could do with some refreshment after hotfooting it here carrying Anderson’s ten-stone carcass. Good day to you, and don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.’
He bowed and after shaking hands with Josiah again, he left.
‘Would you like tea, Mr Martyn?’ asked Charlotte.
‘Thank you but no,’ he replied. ‘I ought to get back to the shaft as there’s no engineer on site and if there’s an issue with the shield or pump a problem will swiftly turn into a disaster without an engineer to take charge. And I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties any longer,’ he said, indicating the account books open on her bureau.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. ‘Grocery and butcher’s bills! Hardly the same as calculating the correct mixture for concrete.’
‘I would disagree, Miss Hatton,’ he replied. ‘And if you’ve ever eaten a cake with too much sugar or too little butter, you’ll know what I mean.’
Charlotte laughed, and Josiah joined in.
‘Are you sure I can’t offer you some refreshment, after all, it must have been exhausting carrying George the length of Cow Lane,’ she said, moving towards him.
‘I was a bit out of puff when I arrived,’ he replied. ‘But I’ve been carrying hods loaded with brick his weight up and down mining shafts since I was fourteen, so I’m well used to such efforts.’
‘You must be very strong, Mr Martyn,’ she said, her gaze flickering across his shoulders. ‘I doubt Captain Paget could carry his mother that distance, let along a man.’
Josiah’s eyes darkened, and his expression changed in a way which sent her pulse racing.
‘I doubt he could,’ he replied, his deep, rumbling tones sending a pleasant shiver through her.
He took a step forward, and for one thrilling moment Charlotte had the impression he was about to take her into his arms and kiss her.
She stared up at the strong angles of his face and the bottomless depth of his captivating eyes.
Her lips parted in anticipation as she swayed towards him, but then there was a knock and the door opened.
Charlotte and Josiah sprang apart as Mrs Norris walked in.
‘Sorry, miss,’ said the rectory’s housekeeper sounding anything but. ‘I didn’t know you had company.’
Clasping her hands in front of her, Charlotte looked at the rectory’s housekeeper.
‘Yes, Mrs Norris?’ she said, feeling her cheeks grow warm.
‘Sarah said I was to let you know when I got back,’ said Mrs Norris.
‘Thank you,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’ll be down to speak to you presently.’
‘Very good, miss.’ Mrs Norris’s gaze shifted from to Charlotte to Josiah and back again and she smirked. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’
She left, shutting the door behind her.
Charlotte turned back to Josiah and they stared at each other for a moment, then Josiah spoke.
‘As I say, I ought to get back,’ he said, making no move to do so. ‘And thank you again.’
‘You don’t have to thank me,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I’m glad I’m on hand to care for George.’
She smiled, and he smiled back for a couple of heartbeats then he turned and walked to the door.
‘Oh, and please feel free to call any time, Mr Martyn,’ she said as his hand reached for the handle.
He gave her that long smile of his and her pulse galloped off again.
‘Thank you, Miss Hatton, I most certainly will.’
***
Straightening her apron, Mary Norris studied the solid wooden door of the morning room for a second then knocked and walked in.
Miss Hatton, who was wearing her plain lilac-coloured sprig-patterned morning dress, was sitting at her writing desk with the household account books spread open in front of her. Ignoring the ripple of anxiety that crept up her spine, she forced an obliging expression onto her face.
Well, as obliging as she could given how galling it was to be ordered around by a chit of a girl.
Miss Hatton looked up. ‘I didn’t call enter.’
‘Sorry, miss,’ said Mary sounding anything but. ‘I must have misheard.’
The mistress of the house studied her for a moment then opened her mouth to speak but Mrs Norris got in first.
‘And begging your pardon for being so bold, miss, but how is Mr Anderson today?’ she asked, giving her employer a look of utter sympathy.
‘Much better,’ said Miss Hatton. ‘Although the doctor says he will have to remain on bed rest for a full week.’
‘Then I shall make him some of my special bone marrow broth to build him up,’ said Mary.
‘That’s very thoughtful,’ Miss Hatton replied.
‘It’s the rectory’s food I wished to speak to you about,’ Miss Hatton continued. ‘In fact, I would have spoken to you yesterday, but Mr Armstrong’s arrival rather took over.’
Clasping her hands in front of her, Mary waited.
‘I have noticed over the past few weeks that the quality of the vegetables served at the table has steadily deteriorated,’ continued Miss Hatton, studying her closely.
‘I expect the crops aren’t what they should be on account of the wet spring,’ said Mary.
Miss Hatton lips pulled into a hard line. ‘So much so that the cabbage served at supper yesterday was more stalk than leaves.’
‘Was it?’ said Mary innocently. ‘I can’t say I noticed.’
‘I’m surprised to hear you say that, Mrs Norris, considering you’re the cook.’
Mary lowered her eyes.
‘And then this morning at breakfast my father complained that his sautéed potatoes were more black than white.’
Studying her toes, Mary suppressed a smile.It was a surprise the Reverend Piggy noticed what he ate given the speed he shovelled it into his mouth.
Mary Norris was about to point out that she’d set Sarah to deal with breakfast but then Miss Hatton picked up a bill with ‘Frazer & Son’s Greengrocer’ printed across the top, so Mary thought better of it.
‘I tell you, Mrs Norris, I was very puzzled,’ continued her employer. ‘After all, Frazer’s have supplied the rectory with all types of fruit and vegetable in season since we came to Rotherhithe, and in all that time we have never had any problem with quality until now.’
Miss Hatton paused, inviting her to comment, but Mary felt it prudent to keep her peace.
‘I was doubly perturbed because according this month’s bill we have been charged for first-class produce.’
‘It must be a mistake,’ said Mary as the sweat sprung out between her shoulder blades.
‘Do you think so?’
‘Undoubtedly, miss,’ said Mary, resisting the urge to fidget under her employer’s unwavering stare.
‘Well I decided to investigate and visited Mr Frazer and his charming family in their shop first thing,’ said Miss Hatton.
Anxiety pounded in Mary’s chest but she managed to force a nonchalant expression.
‘Naturally, as a lifelong Quaker, Mr Frazer was mortified when I
told him I was disappointed with his produce. So much so that he pulled out his customer accounts for the past month to investigate. It was clear after just a few moments’ scrutiny that his assistant William Ingle, do you know him, Mrs Norris?’ asked Miss Hatton, her pleasant tone at odds with her piercing gaze.
‘In passing,’ Mary replied, panic rising in her chest.
‘Well it seems he’s been delivering second-rate produce, charging for top quality and pocketing the difference,’ said Miss Hatton.
‘I’m shocked,’ said Mary, trying to sound it.
‘Not as shocked as William Ingles will be when the Bermondsey Road magistrate’s constables catch up with him.’
‘They haven’t got him then,’ said Mary, hoping that only she could hear the relief in her voice.
‘Sadly not,’ Miss Hatton replied. ‘It seems he got wind of their coming and has absconded.’
Mary let out a long breath.
‘Of course.’ Miss Hatton’s eyes fixed on Mary again. ‘He couldn’t have got away with fiddling his customers if he hadn’t been in cahoots with several of the cooks and housekeepers he supplied to who, for a penny or two, turned a blind eye to his dishonesty.’
And a nice little earner it was too, thought Mary, until you started poking your nose in.
Mary forced an outraged expression on her face. ‘Well I hope you don’t think I would have any truck with such a scheme.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Miss Hatton. ‘Because if I did find that a servant employed in the rectory was engaged in embezzlement, I would call the magistrate’s officer in immediately to investigate.’
‘And so you should, miss,’ said Mary, ‘and I’ll make sure the other servants know that, too.’
‘Good,’ said Miss Hatton.
Pretending to be humble, Mary wrung her apron in her hands.
‘Begging your pardon, Miss Hatton, but if there’s nothing else I’ve a cake in the oven which will spoil unless I attend to it soon.’
The young woman’s unwavering gaze held Mary’s for a few seconds longer, then she gave a small nod.
‘Thank you, Mrs Norris.’
The Rector's Daughter Page 15
