The Beggar Maid

by Dilly Court

  The bedroom was in semi-darkness with a sliver of daylight forcing its way through a tear in the damask curtains, and she padded across the floor in bare feet to draw them and allow daylight to filter in through the grimy windowpanes. She felt as though she had stepped back into the past as she gazed out at the ancient houses with their tiny gardens blanketed in snow. She would barely have been surprised if she had seen people emerge from their doors dressed like cavaliers or roundheads, but she knew that this was no dream and she needed to face reality. They were here under sufferance, although Harry had been vague as to the terms under which she was to be employed in the home of Sir Hedley Bligh. She took a clean pair of woollen stockings from her valise and put them on before slipping her feet into her boots. They were still damp, but she had no choice as they were the only footwear she possessed. She brushed the tangles from her hair and tied it back with a ribbon, checking her appearance in the fly-spotted mirror on the dressing table. She would have liked to wash her hands and face before meeting her new employer, but at least she looked reasonably presentable, even if her plain grey gown was slightly crumpled.

  She left Violet and Dorrie to sleep and made her way downstairs to the oak-panelled entrance hall. The portraits of sober-looking ancestors looked down at her with disapproving stares, but there was no sign of life apart from the scurrying of mice behind the wainscoting. She made her way towards the back of the house, hoping to find Mrs Diment, who had seemed to be a sensible sort of woman. She had to negotiate a maze of corridors, and she kept stopping to peer into rooms where everything was shrouded in dust sheets, and the air was heavy with silence. Eventually she came to a door that led into a huge kitchen that must have changed little since the builders laid the last flagstone.

  An open fireplace occupied half the wall at one end of the kitchen, complete with an ancient spit and a weight-driven jack. A pine table, such as monks might have sat round in a refectory, ran almost the length of the room, and beneath a window overlooking a small courtyard was a stone sink and a pump. A desultory fire burned in the grate and a kettle hung on a trivet over the flames. Charity had seen pictures of old-fashioned kitchens in books, but this was archaic even by the standards in Liquorpond Street. She turned with a start as a shabbily dressed man emerged from the larder with a large Irish wolfhound at his heels. He clutched a leg of roast chicken in his hand and was gnawing on it like a hungry lion. Judging by his stained leather waistcoat, knee breeches and gaiters, she assumed he must work outdoors or in the stables. ‘Good morning,’ she said politely. ‘I was hoping to find Mrs Diment.’

  He continued chewing for some time before answering. ‘I can’t help you.’ He took another bite. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Miss Crosse and I’m here by invitation. Sir Hedley knows all about it.’

  ‘You’re a liar.’

  She stared at him, stunned by his rudeness. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Sir Hedley knows nothing about it.’

  ‘I can assure you that he does. Anyway, who are you?’

  ‘I’m Sir Hedley Bligh.’ He tossed the bone onto the floor and the hound leapt upon it.

  Charity was at a loss for words. At first she thought he was joking, but there was not a glimmer of humour in his flinty grey eyes. She took a deep breath and bobbed a curtsey. ‘How do you do, sir?’

  ‘Bah!’ He strode towards the door. ‘Bosun, come.’ With the bone sticking out of his mouth the dog followed him from the room, leaving Charity staring after them.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘IF A PROPOSITION seems too good to be true, you should make further enquiries, Charity my love.’ Her grandfather’s words came back to her with such force that she began to tremble convulsively. She had taken Harry at his word, but he had literally dumped them in his father’s house without gaining his parent’s consent. Fear and anger roiled in her stomach. Sir Hedley was more than an eccentric, he was probably quite mad, and he was rude into the bargain. She would have to break the news gently to Violet in order not to cause her even more distress, and Dorrie would be heartbroken, but it was clear that they could not remain in a place where they were unwelcome.

  She controlled her ragged breathing with difficulty as she paced the floor, wringing her hands. It was an impossible situation, but it was too late to return to Liquorpond Street – the bailiffs would be there by now and her sudden flight would have been discovered. Seth Woods might report her to the police and she would be labelled as a debtor and a thief for taking the books, even though they were rightfully hers. She was in a state of panic and did not realise that she was no longer alone in the kitchen until someone tapped her on the shoulder. She spun round with a cry of fright and found herself looking into Mrs Diment’s smiling face. ‘What’s the matter, dearie? You look troubled.’

  ‘I’ve just met Sir Hedley. He knows nothing about us.’

  Mrs Diment smiled and patted her on the shoulder. ‘He’s probably forgotten all about it. I did tell him yesterday, but likely as not it went out of his head.’

  ‘He didn’t seem too pleased,’ Charity said warily. ‘I don’t think we should have come here.’

  ‘You don’t want to worry about the master. He’s probably forgotten your existence by now and retired to bed.’

  ‘I’m confused. Are we to stay here, or not? Am I to work for Sir Hedley? Harry seemed to think it would be all right.’

  ‘Master Harry said something about the library. You’re to sort out the books, or some such thing.’

  ‘Sir Hedley really didn’t seem to know anything about it.’

  ‘He’s a bit vague these days, my dear. Too many late nights and too much brandy have made him a bit forgetful, but you need not worry about that.’

  Charity digested this in silence. She glanced round the room, wondering where the rest of the servants were hiding. ‘This is a big house,’ she said lamely. ‘Are you the only one who works here, ma’am?’

  ‘We used to have a large staff both here and at Bligh Park, but now there’s only myself and Jackson.’ Mrs Diment puffed out her chest. ‘I’m Sir Hedley’s cook/housekeeper and this is my kitchen.’ She indicated her domain with a wave of her hand and a proud smile. ‘Isn’t it fine? I have running water at the sink and a clockwork jack to work the spit. I doubt if many London houses can boast such luxuries.’

  Charity eyed her warily. She had no experience of the domestic arrangements in well-to-do establishments, but the modest range in Liquorpond Street was far more modern than the facilities in Sir Hedley’s establishment, which were positively medieval. Mrs Diment was pleasant enough, but she seemed to be almost as eccentric as her employer, or maybe she had lived in this house for so long that she was unaware of the outside world. ‘It’s a fine kitchen,’ she said, not wanting to give offence.

  Mrs Diment beamed at her. ‘I started as a scullery maid in Sir Hedley’s country house in Dorset when I was just eight years old. I knew him as a boy and as a young man; he was handsome then, and charming too. He inherited the baronetcy and a fortune from his father and he was a great catch. It’s just a pity she got her claws into him, the minx. She married him for his money and title and then left him broken-hearted.’

  Dazed by this unasked-for information, Charity could only nod her head and make sympathetic noises.

  ‘But you must be hungry, my dear. And what about the other young lady and the child? Is she still asleep, poor mite. Harry told me that she can’t be much older than eight or nine, just the same age as I was when I went into service.’

  ‘Dorrie is nearly nine.’ Charity wondered whether to mention Violet’s condition now or leave it until later.

  ‘I’ll make a pot of tea and put some bacon in the frying pan. We keep hens in the back yard and they provide us with plenty of eggs, even in winter, because I feed them well and keep them safe. Go upstairs and wake the child while I make breakfast.’

  ‘Mrs Diment, there’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, my dear?’ Mr
s Diment disappeared into the larder, reappearing almost immediately with a side of bacon which she heaved onto the table. ‘Sir Hedley is very fond of bacon and has a flitch sent up from his country estate, smoked in his own smokehouse.’

  ‘Mrs Diment I think I ought to tell you about Violet. She’s had some bad luck recently. Her father threw her out and . . .’

  Mrs Diment’s beady, bird-bright eyes sparkled with curiosity. ‘In the family way, is she?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. I couldn’t just walk away when she needed help, and Harry said . . .’

  ‘I know, he said it would be all right to bring her here too. That’s typical of Master Harry.’

  ‘But he doesn’t live here any more. And he doesn’t get on well with his father.’

  Mrs Diment shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘His mother was no better than she should be, in my humble opinion. She left Sir Hedley when Master Harry was just three and went to live with Sir Philip Barton. She returned some months later, crying and carrying on, begging Sir Hedley to divorce her so that she could marry the father of the child she was expecting. He agreed, even though it broke his heart.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Charity said softly. She could see that the memory had upset Mrs Diment, who was obviously devoted to her master. ‘But I don’t understand why Harry uses his mother’s maiden name when she deserted him.’

  ‘He blamed his father for his mother’s departure, although it wasn’t strictly true. Myrtle Elliott had her eye to the main chance and she didn’t care who she hurt in order to get her own way, but Master Harry was just a child and you wouldn’t expect him to understand. He never got on well with his father and he ran away from home when he was fourteen.’

  ‘Are they reconciled now?’

  ‘Not exactly, my dear. They have an uneasy truce, but I think Master Harry still bears a grudge against Sir Hedley.’ Mrs Diment began slicing the bacon with grim determination.

  ‘I’ll fetch the girls,’ Charity said hastily. ‘But I really should speak to Sir Hedley about Violet. I’m afraid he might decide to throw us out when he learns more about us and how we came to be here.’

  ‘He remembers what he chooses to remember,’ Mrs Diment said, tossing bacon into the frying pan. She placed it on a trivet over the fire. ‘Leave him to me.’

  ‘We’ll earn our keep, ma’am. We’re all used to hard work.’

  ‘As I said, Master Harry suggested that you might sort out the library. It’s in a terrible state and you’ll have your hands full. Violet can help with the chores. We haven’t had a housemaid for years, and the child can work too. You’ll earn your keep a hundred times over, I promise you that.’

  Charity hurried upstairs to the bedroom, where she found Violet sitting up in bed with her arm around Dorrie. They both jumped when she entered the room, clinging to each other like survivors in a shipwreck.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ Violet said, heaving a sigh of relief. ‘We was scared, Charity. We didn’t know where you’d gone.’

  ‘It’s all right, you needn’t worry,’ Charity said, smiling. ‘I’ve spoken to Mrs Diment, the cook, and she’s making breakfast for us all, so we mustn’t keep her waiting.’

  ‘Breakfast.’ Dorrie threw back the covers and slithered onto the floor, landing in a giggling heap on the threadbare mat. ‘I’m starving.’

  Violet rose more slowly, easing her bruised body off the mattress with a groan. ‘I feel a bit sick.’

  ‘You have to eat.’ Charity picked up her hairbrush and handed it to her. ‘Make yourself presentable, Vi. I’ve told Mrs Diment why you came with me and she’s taken it really well. It’s a crazy household, but at least we’ve got a roof over our heads, and the owner, Sir Hedley Bligh is Harry’s father.’

  Dorrie looked up from lacing her boots. ‘Is he really?’

  Violet frowned into the mirror as she attempted to untangle her long, chestnut tresses. ‘Why didn’t you tell us that last night?’

  ‘We were all so tired, and I didn’t know what we were letting ourselves in for. Anyway, I’ve found out more from Mrs Diment and I’ll explain later. We’d best get downstairs, and I should warn you that there are strings attached to us being here.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ Violet said with a sigh.

  ‘We’re to help in the house, but it’s not as if we’re strangers to hard work, is it?’

  Mrs Diment fed them well and after breakfast they were each assigned tasks. Charity was shown to the library, which was situated on the ground floor. Shelves from floor to ceiling were crammed haphazardly with tomes of all sizes, and Charity’s books were piled on the floor beneath one of the three tall windows overlooking the square. ‘This is where you’ll work,’ Mrs Diment said in a hushed tone, as if they were in a sacred place. ‘These books are the master’s pride and joy. Some of them are very valuable, or so I’ve been led to believe.’

  ‘What exactly am I to do?’ Charity asked, gazing in awe at the collection.

  ‘It’s not up to me to say. You’ll have to ask the master when he’s in a good mood.’ Mrs Diment moved to the door and held it open. ‘Anyway, I’ve got work to do, so I’ll leave you to get on as best you can.’ The door closed behind her and Charity was left to deal with the chaotic jumble of literary works.

  She decided to find a place for the books she had rescued from the bailiffs’ clutches before trying to make sense of Sir Hedley’s attempts at building a library. She was soon deep in concentration, forgetting all her worries as she untied the bundles of books and sorted them into some kind of order. She was so engrossed in her task that she lost all sense of time, and she turned with a start at the sound of the door opening and Bosun’s paws padding across the floorboards. She straightened up and came face to face with Sir Hedley. She bobbed a curtsey. ‘I’ve made a start, sir.’

  He bent down and picked up one of the bundles of books she had brought with her. ‘Where did these come from?’

  ‘They’re mine, Sir Hedley. I used to have a bookshop in Liquorpond Street . . .’

  He studied the spines, frowning. ‘I know it well.’ He looked up, giving nothing away by his expression. ‘What happened to the strange chap who owned it?’

  ‘He died and left the contents of the shop to me.’

  ‘I thought he had more sense. It’s obvious that you haven’t made a go of things or you wouldn’t be here now.’

  ‘Harry said he explained everything, sir.’

  ‘He only visits me when he needs money or a favour. I don’t recall agreeing to all this.’ He replaced one bundle and picked up another. ‘I’ll say one thing for you though; you have good taste in literature. But are these stolen property?’

  ‘Certainly not, sir. I told you that Jethro left them to me. I did my best to keep the shop open but the landlord raised the rent and I couldn’t pay.’

  ‘So the bailiffs were sent in.’ He put the books down. ‘And you are homeless. My gallant son rescued you and then abandoned you to my care.’

  ‘I’ll earn my keep, Sir Hedley. It’s just a temporary measure until I can find paid employment, or a small shop where I can start again with the books I managed to save.’

  ‘But these are my books now. They will be a nice little addition to my collection.’

  ‘They’re mine, sir. I just needed somewhere safe to store them.’

  ‘You expect a lot and give little. While the books are under my roof they belong to me. You may leave now and take them with you, or you can remain here on my terms. Which is it to be?’

  Charity thought quickly. If it had just been for herself she might have taken her books and left, but she had to think of Violet and Dorrie. They were depending on her and she could not let them down. ‘What exactly do you expect of me, Sir Hedley?’

  He curled his lip in a wry smile. ‘Not that, anyway. I’m not interested in your body, child. My books are my one and only love and they need care and attention. You will divide them into categories and place them in alphabetical order. Then you will catalogue
them, including the ones you stole from the bailiffs. They will be safe here.’

  ‘And what am I to expect in return?’

  ‘I’ll reward you with bed and board.’

  ‘What about Dorrie?’ she asked anxiously. ‘She’s only a child.’

  ‘Mrs Diment informs me that she’s already put her to work as well as the young woman you foisted upon us, who is apparently in an interesting condition.’ He glowered at her beneath his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘I am not a charitable institution, Miss Crosse, and I am not a rich man. You and your friends will stay only as long as you earn your keep. There is no question of remuneration.’

  ‘Servants are paid a wage, Sir Hedley. Mr Wilberforce fought to abolish slavery.’

  ‘The workhouse is filled with people who don’t wish to work for their daily crust. Leave or stay, it’s your choice. Come, Bosun.’ He clicked his fingers and the dog leapt up and followed him out of the room, leaving Charity staring after them.

  Trapped, she thought sadly. We’re stuck in this awful mausoleum with a mad miser and there seems no way to escape, at least not until Violet has given birth and that is months away.

  That night, when they had finished their work for the day, Charity, Violet and Dorrie huddled around the fire in their bedroom. Violet and Dorrie had dusted and polished the furniture and swept the floor. Mrs Diment had told them they could each have a room to themselves, but they had been too nervous to accept her offer. Dorrie was certain that ghosts walked at night and that the spirits of the dead lurked in the shrouded rooms. Violet made an effort to appear unconcerned, but Charity could see that she was influenced by Dorrie’s vivid imagination. Mrs Diment had accepted their decision without comment and had gone as far as to search the linen cupboard for a pair of curtains to replace the ones which were in threads.