Degrees of Hope

by Catherine Winchester

  “You needn't fuss over me,” Lizzy said, but she had long ago given up on trying to stop them.

  “You've had seventeen children, Gran, you deserve a little pampering.”

  Hope brought the pot of tea to the table and Lizzy pushed her bowl of potatoes aside for now, so that she could enjoy tea with her eldest granddaughter.

  “So, what's 'appening at the big Hall?” Lizzy asked.

  “Oh, not much. We're having a picnic this afternoon in honour of Honoria's brother. He's staying over Easter. Speaking of, did the boys come and see you?”

  “Aye, they came yesterday, and wot grand young men they're growin' in t'.”

  Just then the back door opened and Mary came in. She smiled at Hope.

  “I thought I heard Shelly attacking my lawn.”

  “She's only grazing at the side,” Hope argued, although it was good natured banter that they had shared many times before.

  Of all the Dawleys, Hope got on best with Mary as she was also unmarried and, unlike most of her siblings, had wanted an education. She had worked as governess to Martha's children for a while but being both Martha's sister and her servant had proven difficult, so she had asked to leave. Now she worked as a teacher at the estate school, which was originally intended for the children of Lucien's tenants, although now it was open to anyone who rented a home on the estate.

  Mary sat down at the table and Hope poured her a mug of tea.

  “Enjoying the Easter holiday?” Hope asked.

  “Oh yes,” Mary smiled. “I love teaching but it's nice to have some time for myself, to catch up on my reading, that sort of thing.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Our Mutual Friend by Dickens. I avoided reading the instalments because I'm often so busy, I find that by the time the next is published, I've forgotten what I last read!” Mary smiled. “But I'm on volume twelve now.”

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “Very much, although the plot is very intricate, so I'm glad that I waited.”

  “Well next you must try Jules Verne. I've just finished his latest book, From the Earth to the Moon. Very fanciful but also entertaining. I'll bring my copy next time I come, if you'd like?”

  “I would, thank you.”

  They chatted amiably for a while, until Hope had finished her tea and regrettably had to leave. Due to her frequent visits to the cottage, it had a mounting block that she could use to mount her horse, rather than asking for a leg-up.

  She was now running a little late, so she cantered back to the Hall, leaving Shelly with the stable hand as she headed inside with the chutney that her mother had wanted. Although this had turned into a much larger event than they had originally discussed, Hope thought that this was rather a lot of fuss to go to for an informal picnic, but her mother was something of a perfectionist when it came to entertaining. Hope sometimes thought that she was overcompensating for her modest beginnings, although she didn't dare say anything like that to her mother, for fear of hurting her.

  The house was a whirlwind of activity as the servants all helped prepare for the picnic. All the carriages were pressed into service, to transport the staff who would be waiting on the picnickers, those guests who did not have their own carriage so had taken a hansom cab here, or to carry the copious amounts of food and drink.

  In the run up to a picnic, Hope always thought them to be a terrible waste of time, needing almost military precision to run correctly. Once she was out in the fields though, she remembered why they went to this much trouble. There was something about being outside, surrounded by the beauty of nature, that always made Hope feel content. It was a trait she had inherited from her father.

  Her mother seemed to enjoy the planning of the event, but she never really seemed to take much pleasure in the outdoors.

  As soon as she had changed out of her riding habit, Hope was quickly pressed into service, running to and from the carriages with various baskets and foodstuffs. She and Martha then made their way to the picnic site, to oversee the arrangement of the temporary gazebos, the tables, the food, drink and cutlery. The carriages then returned to the Hall for the other guests whilst Martha and Hope put the finishing touches to things.

  There were blankets laid out for those brave enough to sit on the grass but there were also chairs set up for those who either wouldn't or couldn't sit on the ground. Mr and Mrs Jenkins were both too old now to sit on a blanket, whilst Mrs Mills, though still young and agile, refused to sit on the ground 'like any common ruffian'.

  Older children were also welcome and a number of games, such as croquet and tennis, had been brought for them (and some of the adults) to enjoy.

  With everything done, Hope took the opportunity to look out over the view. This hill was known as March Point, and was the hill that the wood, the estate and the town had taken their name from. It was far from the highest point in the county but it had a very pleasant view down to the town of Marchwood to the east, and over to Marchwood Hall to the north.

  Martha came up behind her daughter and put her arm around her shoulders.

  “Isn't it beautiful?” Hope sighed.

  “Very,” Martha agreed. She could see the beauty of the scene, even if she didn't appreciate it to the same extent as her daughter and husband did.

  A few minutes later they heard the clatter of horse hooves and asked the servants to begin preparing drinks.

  The guests were all welcomed by the ladies and the servants made certain that they all had a drink to be going on with. Thirty three people had been invited in all and they naturally split into groups. The dividing lines weren't as clear as they might once have been, since the gentry needed the rich merchants to survive these days. Some, like Lucien, had even gone into business themselves but on the whole, the businessmen tended to be drawn to one another, just as the gentry were.

  The women formed another two groups, those who were willing to wrinkle their gowns sitting on the blankets, and those whose gowns were far too impractical to enable them to sit comfortably on the ground. Martha was constantly amazed that some women saw fit to wear large crinoline cages to a picnic, but she had long ago stopped questioning it.

  Hope had quickly been asked to help find a reasonably flat area where they might set up for croquet, and so she wasn't present when Malcolm Arundell alighted from his carriage, along with Honoria's brother, James. Once she had placed the hoop in the ground, she returned to the main group to see who wanted to play, as well as to collect the mallets and balls.

  As she approached the blankets, she glimpsed the orator from the town square, the one who had said that women didn't have the temperament for politics. She veered away to the refreshment table before he could see her and asked for a glass of wine.

  Gus came up to her, his arms full of mallets. “Are you playing?” he asked.

  “What's he doing here?” she asked, looking to the orator.

  “I don't know.”

  “Who did he come with?”

  “I don't know.”

  Hope rolled her eyes. Still, she wasn't one to run from confrontation.

  “I'll sit this game out,” she said, turning and heading to her parents, who were talking with the stranger and Malcolm Arundell.

  “Hope,” Martha smiled as she saw her daughter approach. “Let me introduce you to Honoria's brother, this is James Ashdown. James, this is Hope, our daughter.

  Hope's blood ran cold as she realised who he was. Considering the glowing terms in which Honoria spoke of her brother, she could hardly believe that this was he.

  Chapter Five

  Hope smiled and curtseyed to James. “A pleasure, I'm sure.” Her tone suggested it was anything but.

  James had the good grace to blush. “Miss Beaumont; very pleased to meet you.”

  “Where is your sister?” Hope asked, having been unable to spot her yet.

  “She isn't feeling well. I'm afraid I picked a very bad time to visit; she hasn't left her room for the past two days.”<
br />
  Hope's blood turned glacial at his words. Honoria had been so looking forward to her brother's visit, that she was certain that only the gravest of illnesses would have kept her from him.

  “What's wrong?” she asked.

  “I'm not certain,” James said, turning to his brother-in-law for an answer.

  “She is suffering from a fever,” Malcolm explained.

  “What kind?” Hope asked.

  “The doctor is uncertain of the cause but he advised complete bed rest.”

  “Which doctor did she see?” Hope asked, for Dr McCoy, their family doctor, was first rate. He would not have given such an uncertain diagnosis. Furthermore, he believed that persons who were unwell benefited from seeing those they loved, unless they were infectious.

  “Dr McCoy came to see her,” Malcolm said, sounding irritated. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need another drink.”

  Hope noticed her parents share a look, which only added to her disquiet.

  Still, tomorrow was Monday and Malcolm would be returning to London for the week, so Hope could visit Honoria and she would insist on seeing her. Her dislike for James was overshadowed by her worry for her friend, but it had the effect of making her distracted, which James took as a sign of her upset with him.

  He tried to make polite conversation for a few minutes but finally gave up and spoke only with her parents.

  After a second glass of wine, Hope began to relax a little, although she was still more subdued than usual. She was worried for her friend and determined to see her tomorrow, but she was a little more able to engage with the other guests.

  After they had eaten, she played a round of croquet, then sat on the blankets and chatted with the other ladies.

  From Honoria's description, Hope had been expecting James to be a larger than life hero and the reality had been very disappointing. As such, she hardly noticed where he was, or that he seemed to be watching her when he thought that he wouldn't be noticed.

  The event broke up in the early evening and Hope wanted to be one of the first to leave. She had just been going through the motions since she found out about Honoria, so she was glad to get home and stop having to pretend to be nice and pleasant.

  Her parents had to oversee the other guests leaving and make sure they all had transport home, so they didn't join her in the parlour until an hour later. They too had changed into less formal clothes.

  “Are you all right?” Martha asked Hope as she sat down.

  “I'm worried about Honoria. What if she's really ill? Why wouldn't Dr McCoy know what was wrong with her?”

  “I doubt that Dr McCoy has seen her,” Martha admitted sadly.

  “What do you mean?” Hope asked, and her brothers and sister also had their interested piqued.

  “Hope, have you never noticed how subdued Honoria looks around Malcolm?”

  “He shouts at her a lot,” Hope answered.

  “So does your father, but you aren't afraid of him,” Martha noted. “And Honoria must be the clumsiest woman I know; she is always knocking into something, or falling over something.”

  “I don't understand,” Hope said, thinking that Martha must know of an illness that made one clumsy.

  Martha sighed. Hope had been well educated and she was well read but in terms of life experience, she was still very sheltered. Martha had grown up with an abusive father and she was very familiar with the haunted look that Honoria often had, for she had seen it in the face of her mother and her siblings.

  She was also familiar with the excuses, for her mother was always making them. When Martha had entered service, she had left home to live in the big house, but she returned home every Sunday to hand over most of her wage to her mother. Sometimes Martha would be sporting a black eye when she returned to the Hall in the evening but, almost as though she was ashamed, she had always made excuses. Very similar excuses to those that Honoria made.

  “Sweetheart, I don't think that Honoria is unwell, I think she is injured,” Martha explained, breaking the news as kindly as she could.

  “Then why won't Malcolm let anyone see her?”

  “Probably because he is the cause of her injury.”

  Martha had spoken to Lucien about her fears. Other than the usual scrapes that boys get into, he also wasn't accustomed to violence, but he had watched Honoria closely since Martha had confided in him, and he had to concede that she was probably right.

  “You mean he hits her?” Hope asked.

  Martha nodded.

  “But that's ridiculous! She would tell me if he was hurting her.”

  “Would she?” Martha asked kindly. “Or would she feel ashamed? He will tell her that it's her fault that his lost his temper, and she might believe him and worry that you will agree. Or, she knows how strong willed you are, she may fear that you will look down on her if you knew she was allowing him to hit her. Or perhaps she worries that if she tells you, you will say something to Malcolm and he will become even angrier, and he will take that anger out on her.”

  The boys were looking at each other and to their father, whilst Hope sat silently and absorbed her mother's words.

  Lucien poured himself a drink and sat heavily in his chair. He hated the idea that anyone was being hurt on his land. Were it one of his tenants, he would throw them out, but Malcolm had bought his plot of land. Besides, he knew that confronting him would only make matters worse. Legally one was allowed to hit their wife and children so although it was morally wrong (and to Lucien, a sign of a weak mind) there was nothing that he could do to stop Malcolm. It distressed him even more, because it upset Martha and now that Hope knew, it would surely upset her too.

  “Why does he hit her?” Charity asked.

  Martha wasn't sure how to answer that so Lucien took the question.

  “Some people don't know any better, whilst other people feel powerful if they pick on someone weaker than themselves.”

  “They hit us at school,” Bart said.

  “Because they don't know any better,” Lucien answered. “That's how things have always been done. I was beaten in school, everyone was, but that doesn't mean that it's right.”

  “We made certain before we sent you there, that corporal punishment was their last resort,” Martha added. “Violence should always be the last resort.”

  Hope wiped at her eyes and Martha realised that she was crying. She moved to sit next to her and put her arms around her.

  “I'm sorry, darling.”

  “It's not your fault.”

  “No, but perhaps I shouldn't have told you.”

  “No, I'd rather know.” Hope sat up and wiped her eyes. “Is there nothing we can do for her?”

  “I wish there was,” Martha answered honestly.

  “Could she not come and live with us?”

  “Legally she belongs to him,” Martha explained. “He can petition the courts to bring her back, or he can have her locked up. She has no money of her own, no rights of her own, legally she is his possession and he can do what he will to her, just as he could with a vase that he owned.”

  “It's not right,” Hope said, trying not to cry again.

  “No, it isn't,” Lucien said.

  “I have tried to tactfully tell Honoria that she can always come to us if she needs to,” Martha explained, “but I think even she knows that it is not a permanent solution.”

  “What would you do?” Hope asked her mother.

  “There's nothing I can do, except be her friend.”

  “No, I mean if it was you, what would you do?”

  “Run,” Martha said without hesitation. “But you have to remember that I came from a bad home, and I have a stubborn streak a mile wide that fuels me. Honoria is too sweet and too scared of the consequences to ever try running.”

  They sat quietly for a while after that. The servants brought sandwiches and cake up for supper, but appetites were small and the conversation was stilted. Soon after the food was removed, Hope went up to bed and the others so
on followed.

  Hope got her diary out and immediately began writing. She couldn't believe that her friend was having to endure something like that, and that she had been blind to it.

  Tomorrow she was going to find out the truth, although she was smart enough to realise that she had to wait until Malcolm had left for London.

  She finally climbed into bed, but she tossed and turned all night and awoke feeling tired and unrefreshed.

  Chapter Six

  Each morning Hope and her mother usually did their work, which was designing gloves and outerwear for the businesses. Normally they were able to inspire ideas in each other, but today neither of them seemed to have any creativity.

  At eleven o'clock, Hope decided that she was going to ride over to the Arundell's house and see Honoria.

  “Be careful,” Martha advised and Hope nodded solemnly.

  Hope changed into her riding habit, saddled Shelly and rode over to the Arundell's house. She paused in the trees on the edge of the grounds and watched the house for a few minutes, trying to see if Malcolm was there or not. Unfortunately there was no way to tell, so she made her way around to the front of the house and rode up the driveway. The butler, John Patterson, greeted her outside the front of the house, having heard her horse make its way up the gravel driveway.

  “I'm afraid that Mrs Arundell isn't seeing visitors today,” he told her.

  “Is Mr Arundell in?”

  “No, Lady Beaumont, he went to London this morning.”

  “And her brother?”

  “He's gone into town.”

  Honoria took her leg from the saddle horn and jumped to the ground.

  “Mr Patterson, seeing as no one is around who might object, don't you think that Mrs Arundell might like to see a friendly face?” she said softly.

  He looked indecisive.

  “Please, Mr Patterson. I know she is not ill, I just want to offer her a little comfort.”

  “All right, but you'd best be quick. Five minutes, no more.”

  “And you won't tell Mr Arundell?” she checked.

  He hesitated for a moment then nodded. “As long as you're quick.”