Although she was reluctant to admit it, there was another reason for her unsettled state – Patrick Howard. Under normal circumstances, his arrival, too, would have been enough to set the village by the ears, but among the other dramatic happenings his presence had been overshadowed. Not in Maddy’s case, however. She found him disturbing. Not simply because of his undeniable appeal – he was without doubt the most attractive man who had ever crossed her path – it was what his presence was doing to her thoughts. He was beginning to stir in her emotions and aspirations she had thought buried for eleven years. Something about him reminded her that twenty-five was not beyond hope, that she was not the desiccated spinster she had convinced herself she was.
But it did not matter what she dreamed or how many Patrick Howards disturbed her quiet life, her duty was to her father and brothers. They had no one else to look after them, just her. She was bound to them, and that was the cruel truth of it.
Chapter Three
‘Oh Victoria! How could you have disgraced us so?’ Mrs Fitzherbert wept copiously into a tiny scrap of cambric.
‘I’ve never been spoken to in such a manner!’ George Fitzherbert strode back and forth across the floor in short, angry strides. ‘And by a tuppeny-ha’penny country parson too!’
To say that the atmosphere in the elegant drawing room at the White House was tense was an understatement. The Reverend Bowden had left barely five minutes before and the room was still charged with the force of his wrath.
His message had been short and sharp and fiery: to desecrate a holy place and ignore the sensibilities of the bereaved was an abomination, not only to the Lord but to the God-fearing people of Stoke Gabriel. Even the meanest pauper in the parish would have shrunk from defiling the graves of the dead in such a way. Miss Fitzherbert had shown herself to be on the path to hellfire and damnation if she did not mend her ways immediately. The Reverend Bowden had not excluded her parents from the scorch of his reproof. They had failed abysmally in their sacred trust, as her father and mother, to guide their daughter onto the path she ought to follow. They had a moral obligation to perform their duties more effectively in future.
‘To have a paltry village cleric speak to me in such a way! And it is all your fault, miss!’ George Fitzherbert glared at his daughter with animosity. ‘What possessed you? Answer me that! What possessed you?’
‘I was bored.’ In that room Victoria was the only one who appeared calm. She sat upright, apparently serene, the wide silken skirts of her pink crinoline spread about her, as if nothing untoward had happened. Just the tightening of her lips betrayed her reaction to Mr Bowden’s castigation.
‘Bored? Bored?’ cried her father.
‘Yes, bored!’ she retorted, showing animation for the first time. ‘Have you any idea what it’s like for me being buried in this deadly dull hole?’
‘Well, thanks to your idiotic pranks it is likely to be even more dull,’ replied her father.
‘The social life of this place can’t get any worse!’ declared Victoria emphatically.
‘It can and it will. It has begun already,’ he answered.
What do you mean, Papa?’
‘It has been so pointed I’m astounded it has escaped your notice. The soiree being held at Waddeton Court tomorrow – I don’t see our invitations upon the mantelshelf. In fact, I see remarkably few invitations, whereas a week ago there were plenty.’
‘You mean we are being ostracised?’ His wife was aghast.
‘I mean that local society is politely but firmly showing its disapproval of Victoria’s behaviour.’
‘It will be no loss.’ Victoria tossed her head arrogantly.
‘I hope you think the same way after being obliged to play solitaire every night for the next three or four months.’
‘It won’t come to that, surely?’ cried Mrs Fitzherbert.
‘Maybe not. For some relief Victoria could read aloud to us, an enlightening volume such as Fordyce’s Sermons perhaps. That would please the wretched vicar.’
‘It can’t happen! Not for months and months!’ cried Mrs Fitzherbert.
‘Papa is joking,’ said Victoria sourly. ‘And I don’t see that being ostracised by the people round here would be so terrible; it isn’t as though there is a single person with style or wit.’
‘What Victoria means is that there are no eligible young men with whom she can flirt,’ replied her father.
‘Victoria does not flirt,’ stated Mrs Fitzherbert. ‘How can you say such a thing about your own child, George? I agree, there is a distinct shortage of suitable young men here. Now if we had only gone to Boulogne as most people do in our situation… It isn’t too late. I am sure we could find somewhere quite agreeable and you know how I love France…’
‘You loathe France,’ answered her husband brusquely. ‘And I refuse to spend the next few years in some cheap pension that stinks of garlic when I can be decently housed here.’
‘Few years?’ exclaimed Mrs Fitzherbert. ‘I thought you said it was for a few months?’
Her husband rolled his eyes heavenwards, as he did frequently when his wife’s lack of intelligence tested his tolerance.
‘Our being ignored by our present neighbours will no doubt last for a few months,’ he explained with exaggerated patience. ‘It is the wider problem which will take years. I am referring to our serious lack of funds. We cannot afford to go to Boulogne now. When we originally broached the subject it was you who wished for a simple rural retreat somewhere in the depths of England.’
‘You are making out that this is my fault. You always do.’ Mrs Fitzherbert began to sob once more. ‘I meant somewhere pretty and… and accessible.’
‘This place is pretty enough in all conscience,’ replied her husband. ‘We would be hard pressed to find another such superior house at so low a rent.’ He breathed silent thanks to the Admiralty, who had sent the White House’s owner to the West Indies on a two-year tour of duty. The absent naval gentleman was not interested in making a profit by letting his home, he was content to have it lived in and the servants kept in permanent employment.
‘This place has one overriding asset,’ he went on. ‘It would take an intrepid debt collector indeed to follow us here. And you are mistaken, my dear. I am not blaming you for our present predicament. The fault lies entirely with Victoria.’
‘Simply because I was overcome with boredom?’
‘Simply because you were overcome with stupidity. For the sake of a few minutes’ diversion you have made us unacceptable to local society.’
‘I certainly shook them up, though, didn’t I?’ said Victoria with satisfaction. ‘I am sure they haven’t had such a talking point round here since Adam ate the apple.’
‘You have, as you say, made us a universal source of gossip.’ Her father ceased his pacing and sat down, taking up a newspaper as if he were losing interest in the topic of conversation. ‘By choosing the churchyard for your escapade, you have succeeded in muting the entire population against us, from the highest to the lowest. Congratulations, my dear. Few people can have achieved such a major effect with so little effort.’ He disappeared behind The Times, shaking its pages irritably.
‘I still don’t understand how this whole story came to be known abroad,’ said Mrs Fitzherbert, her brow wrinkled in perplexity. ‘Who can have been gossiping? If it were Robbins then he must be dismissed immediately, without a character.’
‘There was the village woman, Mama.’
‘Ah, yes. The one who jumped out on you in that alarming manner and startled your horse. What a wicked thing to have done. You might have been killed. Yes, I had forgotten her. Who was she?’
‘Good heavens, I don’t know, Mama! I don’t know one of these wretched village women from another. She was shabby and her hair looked as if she had been dragged through a hedge. She was very abusive too, and insolent. But not for long. I soon let her know that I wouldn’t tolerate any impudence, and she scurried off as fast as her filthy boot
s would let her.’
Victoria had been selective in what she had told her parents. Being bested by the village woman and the red-haired man were details she had chosen to forget.
‘You did right, my dear.’ Mrs Fitzherbert nodded approvingly. ‘The lower orders need keeping in their place. It must have been this village woman who spread those wicked stories, I am convinced of it. How unjust that we should have to suffer the aftermath of that creature’s spite, when you behaved exactly as you ought.’
‘Victoria behaved exactly like a complete fool!’ roared Mr Fitzherbert impatiently, flinging down his paper. ‘Have you not understood one word of what has been said this evening? She did not behave as she ought. She deliberately galloped about in the graveyard. Even a crass idiot would know better than to do that! Do not pretend that our present situation is some sort of bucolic conspiracy. It is Victoria’s fault, plain and simple.’
‘I suppose I am to bear the blame for ever,’ said Victoria sullenly.
‘You will be blamed for as long as is necessary,’ said her father. ‘And do not make a lip at me, miss. I don’t mind that you have caused me to miss a handful of dull tea parties or a few discordant musical evenings. But it will be a long time before I forgive you for causing me to be lectured about my duty by a miserable country parson. Yes, my girl, you will be much older before I forgive you for that!’ So saying he got up from his chair and strode out of the room.
‘See what you have done? You have upset your papa most frightfully.’ Mrs Fitzherbert began to weep into her minuscule handkerchief once more.
Victoria took no notice of her. She picked up her embroidery and began to sew, stabbing the needle viciously through the canvas as if she were impaling the inhabitants of Stoke Gabriel one by one. All the while her pouting lip protruded ominously and her thoughts were mutinous. With each passing minute she hated this place more. There was no society, no amusements, above all, no unattached young men upon whom she could exercise her wiles. Victoria liked doing that, seeing how swiftly she could charm some unsuspecting male into falling at her feet in adoration. But where was the challenge, where the thrill of conquest when there were no suitable men?
Then her thoughts fell upon the red-haired man who had been so brusque with her in the churchyard. She could not recall any male, with the exception of her father and the Reverend Bowden, who had treated her in such a churlish manner. He had been quite oblivious to her pretty face, her elegance, her breeding, but had seemed more intent upon siding with that country drab. She wondered who he was. He had the bearing and dress of a gentleman, yet his voice betrayed his Devon origins. It had been he who had helped her to mount her horse, not by clasping his hands for her to step into but by lifting her bodily – and effortlessly – into the saddle. At the time she had been speechless with fury, but now, thinking back, she realised it had not been a disagreeable experience.
She began to be intrigued. He was not the usual sort of man who crossed her path, yet she felt that he might prove a worthy adversary. It would not be easy, bringing him to kneel humbly at her feet, but what a challenge! Especially after the way he had treated her in the churchyard. Her protruding lip receded, the action of her needle became less violent as she plotted how she could discover the identity of the auburn-haired man, and then how she could ultimately meet, charm, and ensnare him.
* * *
‘They say the vicar spoke up real brave, so that the windows of the White House fair shook,’ said Annie with considerable satisfaction. ‘You knows what he’m like when he’m proper riled. Told that hoity-toity piece her were due for the hellfire. I bet that set her back a bit.’
‘I doubt it.’ Maddy wiped the heated flat-iron on a cloth before applying it to her father’s shirt. ‘From what I saw of that madam, her’d not pay much heed, vicar or no vicar.’
‘Her paid heed to you, though. You chased her out of the churchyard.’
‘Not exactly. There wadn’t no chasing, I keeps telling you. I caught her by surprise and her horse threw her. I reckon that’s what rattled her.’ Like Victoria, Maddy had been selective in her version of events.
But Annie was not satisfied, she was determined to give her friend more credit. ‘That, and the fact that you’d have given her a hefty clout if her hadn’t shifted,’ she declared loyally. ‘What a creature! Her must’ve been brought up a heathen, that’s what I think.’
The story had already been gone over time after time, and Maddy knew it would be many months before Annie tired of repeating it. For herself she would be heartily glad when it faded into village memory. She felt uncomfortable at being considered a heroine, yet she dared not admit that much of the honour belonged to Cal Whitcomb.
‘It’ll soon be your William’s busy time,’ she said, in a determined effort to change the subject.
‘That it will. The Newcomin will soon be steaming up from Dartmouth to Totnes, starting next week. It’ll mean a nice bit of extra work for him, taking folks out to her and fetching them off, instead of rowing back and forth across to the Ashprington side all the time.’
‘I always likes to see the Newcomin going by with her paddles splashing away. Her makes a nice change from the never-ending stone barges and trading wherries sailing past. Her’ll mean there’s more folks coming through here for you to watch, too. You’m certain to like that.’
There’ll be a bit more life about the place, that’s true, but recently the village have seemed quite lively enough as ’tis.’ Annie enjoyed the story of Maddy’s confrontation with Miss Fitzherbert, and she was not going to relinquish it easily.
Maddy bit back a sigh and, as she set the iron to heat again, she wondered how she could divert the conversation once more.
She did not need to, a shadow suddenly darkened the kitchen. Looking up she saw a woman standing in the open doorway, a scarecrow of a creature, dressed in a ragged dress and shawl, a cotton sun bonnet hanging by its strings off the back of her unkempt head. There was a dull, confused look in her eyes as she asked, ‘Have you seen my childer, Maddy? I been looking everywhere, but they’m hiding, the little devils.’
‘Sorry, Biddy, I habn’t seen your youngsters today,’ said Maddy kindly.
‘If that idn’t vexing! I bet they’m gone up the old quarry. I tells them time and time again not to but they go on playing there. I’ll go along and see if I can find them, and my, will I wallop their backsides when I does.’ The words were fierce but the tone was gentle and loving. ‘My word, their pa idn’t half going to lay into them when he gets back from work. You will send un home if you sees un, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Maddy, but she knew it was an empty promise.
Biddy’s children would never go home, just as her husband would never return from work. Her entire family had perished in the cholera epidemic, leaving her the sole, deranged survivor. She had been looking for them ever since.
‘Just a minute!’ Maddy exclaimed as Biddy began to move from the door. Turning to the dresser, she cut off a hunk of bread and put a piece of cheese in the middle. ‘There,’ she said, handing it to the other woman. ‘Eat this as you go along.’
Biddy took it. ‘You’m a good soul, Maddy,’ she said, and for a moment her eyes were lit with intelligence, then they clouded over again with their habitual confusion. ‘I must find my childer,’ she said. ‘They’m hiding somewhere…’
She left the garden and set off along the foreshore. Maddy and Annie stood in the doorway and watched her go, splashing through the water, for the high tide had just turned, oblivious of her soaking boots and drenched petticoats. She took a few bites of the bread and cheese then let it fall as if she had forgotten its existence. Not even the raucous quarrelling of black-headed gulls pouncing on the feast caused her to turn round.
‘That poor woman.’ Maddy heaved a sigh of pity. ‘There weren’t a more decent, cleanly creature than Biddy afore her family were took, and now look at her. ’Twere a shame her were spared, and that’s the truth of it. Still, ’tidn�
��t for us to question such things, I suppose.’ She turned back to the ironing. ‘The kettle be boiling. Shall us have a cup of tea?’
Annie accepted willingly enough.
‘On condition us talks of something bright,’ insisted Maddy. ‘Nothing about dying nor graveyards nor nothing like that. Tis too nice a day.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Annie. ‘What shall us talk about then? I knows – that sweetheart of youm! He’m a lad as’d brighten any woman’s day.’
‘You’m determined to give me a sweetheart. I hope he’m the one with the shiny carriage and the silk top hat.’
‘He’m the one with the fiddle, the one as doesn’t need no carriage nor top hat.’
‘What’s he’m been up to now?’ Maddy asked.
‘Naught, far as I knows. Except as Sam Watkins, down to the Victoria and Albert, idn’t too pleased the Church House’m getting all the trade. When Patrick be playing the place be that full they’m handing the drink out through the door, and folk be sitting in the lane.’
‘Let’s hope it keeps fine for them then, else they’ll get water in the cider.’
‘There’s some as says it don’t need to rain for that to happen,’ chuckled Annie. ‘But yer’s a nice titbit about your favourite as I’ve been saving for you: he were born right here in Stoke Gabriel. There, what do you think of that?’
‘Naught,’ replied Maddy straightfaced.
‘Naught?’ The expectant beam on Annie’s face faded. ‘Idn’t you surprised?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I already knowd.’
‘Oh you wretch! And you didn’t say a word!’
Daughter of the River Page 5
