Florence was waiting for her at the back door with No-noh. ‘What’s that for?’ she asked.
Beatrice smiled and said, ‘You never know what you’re going to find when you go for a walk, do you? It might be another dog like No-noh, or a cat, or a big pile of golden guineas. It’s always wise to take a sack with you, so that you can carry it home.’
They left Maidenhead Court and walked down through Wood Street and along Cheapside until they reached New Queen Street. A beggar with one leg hopped after them almost all the way, calling out, ‘Give us thrums, lady! Give us thrums!’
Beatrice felt sorry for him, but if she gave threepence to every beggar along the way, she would have no money left by the time she reached the river.
They walked down the cobbled street, past the Three Cranes tavern where James had taken her last night, until they reached the Three Cranes stairs. This morning the river was crowded with ships and lighters, their flags all fluttering in the stiff south-east breeze. The stairs were busy, too, with one of the cranes lifting barrels out of a barge and loading them onto two large wagons. The crane was creaking and the dockers were swearing because one of the barrels had come loose and was swaying dangerously overhead, and Beatrice had to hope that Florence wasn’t really listening to what they were shouting to each other.
A few yards further down from the tavern, beside a peeling black-painted door, she saw the three-pronged grappling hook which she had tripped over, and which James had tossed across the street. She walked across to it and picked it up, dropping it into the flour sack. It was much heavier than she had thought it would be, and its prongs protruded from the neck of the sack, but nobody seemed to take any notice of what she had done except for Florence, who frowned at her and demanded, ‘What’s that? What do you want that for?’
‘It’s a hook,’ said Beatrice. ‘You never know when you might need a hook. What if we both got too hot in our coats, and we had nowhere to hang them up?’
Florence thought about that as they walked back up towards Thames Street. No-noh had seen a scruffy mongrel sitting next to a beggar and she was having to drag him along behind her with his claws scraping on the cobbles.
‘But what will you hang the hook on?’ she asked, at last. ‘You can’t hang it on the sky.’
‘You’re a clever girl, Florrie,’ said Beatrice. ‘I think you take after your mother.’
When they got back to Maidenhead Court, Beatrice hid the sack behind one of the spindle bushes that grew on either side of the front steps. She didn’t want anybody to see her carrying it inside.
‘Why have you put it there?’ asked Florence, but Beatrice touched her finger to her lips and said, ‘Ssh! It’s a secret. You mustn’t tell anybody, or they’ll all want it.’
Judith let them in, and while Florence took No-noh through to the back yard, Beatrice waited in the drawing room until Judith had gone back to join Hephzibah Carmen’s singing class. They were all singing ‘Jesus, Lover of My Soul’, much higher than Beatrice had ever heard it sung before, so that some of them were shrill and off-key, and others could barely catch their breath.
‘Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high!’
Looking quickly down the corridor to make sure that nobody else was around, Beatrice opened the front door and went back down the front steps to retrieve the grappling hook from behind the bush. Then she carried it upstairs to her room.
She lifted it out of the sack and held it up against her deeply furrowed door. She had been concerned that she might be making a ridiculous mistake, but she felt strongly that God was taking care of her now, in the absence of anybody else. Even if it wasn’t Satan who had been warning her off, it was some person or persons with malicious intent, and she needed guidance and protection more than she had ever done in the whole of her life – even when she had been threatened by a witch in New Hampshire.
And she hadn’t made a mistake. The prongs of the grappling hook matched the furrows in her door almost exactly. It was clear that the marks were in threes, and apart from their size, she didn’t know of a single bird or beast on God’s earth that had only three claws. Although the bald eagles she had seen in New Hampshire had three long talons, they had a fourth opposing talon, too. She was in no doubt at all that her door had been attacked by a man or a very strong woman wielding a grappling hook like this one, or some similar implement.
Hephzibah Carmen’s singing lesson must have finished, because Beatrice heard voices in the hallway, and footsteps coming up the stairs. She went into her sitting room and closed the door behind her. She couldn’t let Ida or any of the girls see her carrying the grappling hook, so she went through to her bedroom and hid it under the bed, behind the chamber pot.
She had only just dropped the bedcover back down when she heard a knock at her door. It was Ida, already wearing her coat and bonnet, ready to go out.
‘Are you quite sure you don’t want to come with us to the Bethlem?’ said Ida. ‘I’m told that some of their new patients are highly amusing. One man believes that he’s a cannon, and makes tremendous booming noises; and another is convinced that he’s a dog, and walks around everywhere on all fours.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Beatrice. ‘I promised Florence that I would take her for a walk in the country.’
‘How was your evening with James?’ Ida asked her.
‘Very pleasant, thank you. And the supper was excellent.’
‘He’s a steadfast young man, James. What he lacks in wealth he makes up for in looks, and personality. You could do worse.’
‘Are you matchmaking, Ida?’
‘This church is a family, Beatrice. We are all related in spirit, and we all owe each other our affection and our trust. Most of all, our trust. We never challenge each other’s beliefs.’
‘You’ve all made me very welcome,’ said Beatrice, but she was sure that Ida was hinting yet again that she shouldn’t question the disappearance of the seven girls any further.
Ida ran her grey suede-gloved fingers down the splintered furrows in the sitting room door panels.
‘I’ve arranged for a carpenter to come next week and replace this for you. It must be extremely disturbing for you to be constantly reminded that Satan is displeased with you. One really dreads to think in what way he might threaten you next.’
‘He’s quite a conjuror, I’ll grant him that,’ said Beatrice. ‘If he could perform that goat’s head trick in a theatre, I’m sure he’d make a fortune.’
Beatrice gave her one of her a puckered rosebud smiles, and said, ‘Enjoy your walk. I’ll make your excuses to the lunatics, shall I? – and give them your best regards.’
*
Beatrice hailed a carriage on the corner of Aldersgate Street. When they had climbed aboard, with Beatrice holding No-noh on her lap, they rattled and bumped through Shoreditch and out between the fields and farms to Hackney. Florence was so excited to be seeing Grace that she couldn’t stop singing one of the songs that Grace had taught her, ‘Sally Go Round de Sun’. She had brought some honey gingerbread for her, too, wrapped up in brown paper, because that was one of Grace’s favourite cakes.
‘Sally go round de sun, Sally go round de moon, Sally go round de chimbly pots on a Sunday afternoon!’
When they arrived at the tobacco factory, Beatrice lifted Florence down from her seat and paid the jarvis only his one-and-sixpenny fare, even though he had asked for an extra twopence ‘to drink madam’s health’. Inside the factory yard, they found the man with the leathery face and the leathery apron. He was standing on the back of a wagon stacking boxes of cigars, and he greeted Beatrice and Florence by cheerfully lifting his floppy leather hat.
‘Come to see Mr ’Azzard, ’as you?’ he asked, jumping down from the back of the wagon.
‘Well, no, actually. We’ve come to see Grace.’
‘Grace? You got me there.’
<
br /> ‘The new girl he’s brought from St Mary Magdalene’s. You must have noticed her. She’s very pretty and she has dark skin.’
The leathery-faced man shook his head. ‘Wooh, no. Ain’t seen no girls of that description, ma’am. Why don’t you come inside and ask Mr ’Azzard ’isself?’
He led them through to George Hazzard’s study. George was sitting behind his desk smoking a cigar and talking to a scarlet-faced man with an over-powdered wig and a sizeable belly which strained at his black soup-stained waistcoat. The cigar smoke was thicker than an autumn fog and it made Florence sneeze.
‘Beatrice, how good to see you!’ said George. ‘I must introduce you to John Bellflower, my lawyer. John – this is the Widow Scarlet I was telling you about. One of the very few women in this world who combines beauty with intelligence!’
‘It’s a considerable honour to meet you, madam,’ said John Bellflower. ‘You will forgive me if I don’t rise... I’ve been suffering a devilish attack of the gout these past few days.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Beatrice. ‘What have you been taking for it?’
‘My physician recommended that I roast a fat old goose, stuffed with chopped kittens, lard, incense, wax and flour of rye; and that I consume the goose and then rub the cooking fat on my feet.’
Florence said, ‘Urrrghh, that’s horrible!’ and pulled a face.
‘So did you do it?’ asked Beatrice.
‘No. My cook is absurdly sensitive, and she refused to chop the kittens. I would have dismissed her, but she makes an incomparable oyster stew.’
‘I don’t think in any case that treatment would have given you much relief,’ said Beatrice. ‘My late father made a preparation of autumn crocus, which was most effective in cases of gout. I will mix you some, if you wish, and have it sent to you, if you let me know your address.’
‘Most generous of you, Widow Scarlet,’ said John Bellflower. ‘No wonder George admires your intelligence, as well as your aspect.’
George puffed at his cigar, and then he said, ‘May I ask what brings you here today, Beatrice? I’m delighted to see you and young Florence, but I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘We’ve come to see Grace,’ said Beatrice. ‘She and Florence formed a most affectionate friendship, and Florence was distraught when you took her from St Mary Magdalene’s to come and work here. She’s brought her some gingerbread.’
‘Oh, Grace!’ said George. ‘I’m mortified to disappoint you, young Florence, but I’m afraid that Grace is not with us now. I happened to be talking to the Earl of Coventry at Joshua Reynolds’ studio in St Martin’s Lane last week. Mr Reynolds has a black footman himself who has appeared in several of his paintings, and I mentioned that Ida had in her care a most attractive dark-skinned girl. I’d been intending for some time to take Grace on here in Hackney, but the earl asked me if I might lend her to him, so to speak, to impress a number of important guests that he’s expecting. I think he wants to make his household appear more exotic.’
‘So where is she now?’ asked Beatrice. She was upset that George seemed to regard Grace as property that could be lent and borrowed. She was not a slave, after all. Several of the farmers that she had known in New Hampshire had owned slaves, but mostly they had treated them with reasonable humanity, feeding them well and caring for them if they fell sick.
‘I dispatched her to the earl’s house on Grosvenor Square,’ said George. ‘I’ve no idea how long he’ll want to keep her. Perhaps for only a few weeks, perhaps for years. She’s a most alluring young woman, I have to say, despite her colour.’
‘Isn’t Grace here?’ asked Florence, pushing out her bottom lip in disappointment.
‘No, sweetheart, I’m afraid not,’ Beatrice told her. ‘But she’s been taken to a very grand house and I’m sure she’s being well looked after. Come on – let’s take No-noh for a walk by the marshes and get some fresh air.’
‘But I brought Grace some gingerbread.’
‘I know, Florrie. We’ll just have to eat it ourselves.’
George stood up and bowed his head. ‘It’s always a great pleasure to see you, Beatrice. I’ll be coming back down to St Mary Magdalene’s in a few weeks’ time, and I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps we’ll be able to enjoy a dinner without any satanic surprises.’
Beatrice said, ‘Goodbye, then, George. Goodbye, Mr Bellflower,’ but nothing more. She ushered Florence out of George’s study, through the noisy factory with its steam pipes hissing and its cutting machines clanking, and out across the yard.
Behind the poplar trees that surrounded the factory lay a wide pond, with ducks on it, and she took Florence down to the water’s edge and stood there for a while, so that the breeze would blow the smell of cigar smoke from her coat.
‘I’m sad,’ said Florence. ‘I wanted to see Grace and sing a song with her.’
‘I expect Grace misses you, too, Florrie. But never mind. I expect she’s happy where she is.’
*
That evening, as she sat sewing by the fire in the drawing room, Ida came in, her chalk-white face making her look like a ghost. She sat down opposite Beatrice with a rustle of her silky gown and said, ‘I almost wish that I hadn’t visited the madhouse today.’
‘Why is that, Ida?’
‘I’m sure that it will give me the most terrible nightmares. There was a man who kept hitting his head against the wall so hard that you could hear his skull crack, and woman who had to have a leather mask buckled to her face because she wouldn’t stop screaming and trying to tear her own eyes out.’
‘In that case I’m glad that Florence and I went for a walk instead.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘As a matter of fact, we went to Hackney, not only for a walk but to see Grace at George’s factory. Florence misses Grace so much.’
‘Well, I miss Grace, too, I must say. She was so good at caring for my wardrobe, and applying my cosmetics. Judith almost cut my thumb off today when she was trimming my nails. How was Grace, anyway?’
‘She wasn’t there.’
‘Oh. I see. Wasn’t she?’
Beatrice thought: You don’t sound very surprised. Did you know that she wouldn’t be there?
She lowered her sewing and said, ‘George told me that he’d met the Earl of Coventry last week, at some artist’s studio.’
‘That would have been Joshua Reynolds, that’s right, in St Martin’s Lane,’ said Ida. ‘George wants to have his portrait painted. I went with him, because I’ve been acquainted for some years with Mr Reynolds, and George was hoping that I would persuade him to lower his fee somewhat. He charges thirty-five guineas these days simply for a head, and one hundred and fifty for a full-length. Can you imagine!’
‘Well, I suppose George can afford it.’
‘I’m sure he can. But the Earl of Coventry wasn’t there. Not in the flesh, anyway. His portrait was there, yes, because Mr Reynolds had completed the head some weeks ago and was finishing off the drapery and the background. That was probably what George meant.’
‘Yes, he must have done,’ said Beatrice, and after a moment she picked up her plain-work again. She didn’t say any more about Grace, partly because she suspected that Ida might have some idea what had really happened to her, and partly because it was clear that George had been lying, or at least disingenuous. Grace may well have been taken into service at the Earl of Coventry’s house, but George couldn’t have arranged it with him at Joshua Reynold’s studio.
There’s only one way to find out for certain, and that’s for me to go to Grosvenor Square and see for myself if she’s there. But I must make sure that they don’t find out who I am. If George discovers that I’ve been questioning the truth of his story, the Lord only knows who might come tearing at my door with a grappling hook next time, or what strange men with looking-glass faces might come seeking me out, or what severed heads might be served up to me on the dinner table?
30
She waited un
til the following afternoon, when Ida and most of the girls had arranged to go over to the Foundery to attend a celebration of the birthday of the Virgin Mary, with hymns and Bible readings.
About an hour before they were due to leave she told Ida that she was suffering from a blinding headache. She said that she would take sulphate of quinine, and if that gave her any relief she would join them all later. As she was saying this to Ida she could see herself reflected in the gilt-framed drawing-room mirror, and she thought, I should really call it guilt-framed... it’s a living portrait of me telling yet another lie.
Florence went with Judith to the Foundery, while Beatrice put No-noh out into the back yard. He yapped plaintively for a while, but then he settled down. Beatrice couldn’t help thinking about her son Noah, and wondering what kind of life he was living with the Ossipee, assuming that he was still alive. Had he forgotten her altogether, or was he grieving for her as sorely as she was grieving for him?
She went through to the atelier and picked up a box of willow charcoal sticks that the girls used for drawing. Then she went into the kitchen. There was nobody there because Martha and the girls who usually helped her had gone to the Foundery too. Martha may have pretended to do the Devil’s work by swapping the pig’s head for the goat’s head, but she was devoutly religious, and if any of the girls ever spoke the Lord’s name in vain she would smack them hard on the knuckles with a wooden spoon.
Beatrice opened the larder door and went inside to pick out the ingredients that she needed to prepare her disguise – arrowroot powder, cornflour and honey. She set them out on the kitchen table and started by snapping the charcoal sticks into small pieces and grinding them into dust with the pestle and mortar that Martha usually used for crushing peppers.
The Coven Page 21
