What did he hope to do while I was so conveniently absent? The answer, that haunted me, was that he would be free to meet his lover. Peg had assured me she knew nothing of her predecessor, but Nan, on the other hand, had met the woman – and might know if she still tarried in Earlby.
I found the poor creature asleep, curled up and shrunken in a corner of the scullery. I was dismayed to find a change in her since our arrival; her arms were twig-thin and scored with marks on the papery skin. I touched her shoulder and she started up, wild-eyed. ‘I were only resting me legs,’ she whimpered. ‘While I kept an eye on’t beef.’ She pointed at a great pot of savoury meat.
‘Sit down again, Nan. At your age it is natural to be weary.’ She sat, with a touching wince as her old bones pained her. I joined her, noticing how chilly it was in her underground quarters.
‘I wonder, Nan, have you any news of Mrs Harper, the former housekeeper? I have heard she may be about the town?’
‘Mrs Harper? Never heard nowt since she scarpered, mistress. Gone away she ’as, like I told you and the master.’
This was disappointing. ‘Can you cast your mind back to when you last saw her?’
She screwed up her wrinkled face. ‘Last saw ’er? That were before you come ’ere, mistress. ’Bout a week before you come.’
‘Where was that?’
‘I seen her over in the kitchen. Down by’t fireplace. I were clearing up here in’t scullery and they were in there, laughing and carousing.’
‘Who?’ My mouth was dry. Surely Michael had not openly caroused with our housekeeper in front of Nan?
‘Her and her woman friend. Drinking they were. I told you an’ t’master that. They had a bottle between ’em.’
‘Who was this friend? Did you learn her name?’
‘No, I never learned it. Some gin-biber from the inn I reckon. I scarce saw her, she wore a bonnet low. They was warming themselves by the fire.’
‘And what happened next?’
‘Nowt. That were it. I never had sight nor sound of Mrs Harper again. All her stuff went with her. Left her bed unmade too, the dirty slattern.’
‘Yes – one of her long black hairs still lay between the sheets when I arrived.’
‘One of whose hairs?’
‘Mrs Harper’s.’
Nan fixed me with milky eyes. ‘You got that all arsey-varsey, mistress, if you don’t mind me saying so. Mrs Harper were flaxen, going to grey. A faded sort of body she were.’
This took a moment for me to absorb. ‘So – her friend? Have you ever seen her again, Nan?’
‘Never, mistress. I reckon she went off with Mrs Harper on some sort o’ brazen spree.’
I thanked Nan and gave her five shillings for a new costume, which she blessed me for, hiding the coins in her work-stained bodice. I told her of a good market woman who would supply warm kersey, then asked her how she had hurt her arms.
‘I banged ’em. And sometimes I catch ’em on’t fire, mistress.’
‘Well, be more careful, won’t you?’
Only then did I notice Peg, standing silent and still on the stairs.
‘Peg, what are you waiting there for?’
‘I just this second came looking for you. Should I cord your trunk yet, mistress?’
‘Yes, yes. There won’t be time in the morning. And look at Nan’s ragged costume – I’m ashamed she’s in my employment. She needs warmer clothes this winter. And balm on those scalds.’
Nan had jumped up and was tending the vat of meat by the time Peg reached us.
‘Don’t I know it, mistress. I’ve told Nan to wrap up a dozen times, but she scarce remembers what I tell her, the poor half-cracked thing.’
I left them then, all the time struggling to remember the course of my conversation with Nan. Surely my giving Nan the money and directions for a new costume had taken up a good long spell after my enquiries about Mrs Harper?
18
York
November 1792
∼ Citrus Shrub ∼
Pour two quarts of brandy into a large bottle and put into it the juice of five lemons, and the peels of two, and half a nutmeg. Stop it up and let it stand three days, after which add to it three pints of white wine; a pound and a half of sugar; mix it, strain it twice through a muslin bag, and then bottle it up.
A very fine cordial as served at the York Assembly Room
Before I set out for York I sought Michael in his room. He was up, but still knotting his neck cloth in front of his mirror. He turned to me with a smile, dressed only in breeches and billowing shirt.
‘Is it true you want me to go?’ I asked, so unaccustomed to seeing him in a state of half-undress I had to look away from the sight of him.
‘Yes. You should take the chance while you have it.’ He reached for his waistcoat and pulled it on.
‘Michael. You never told me what was troubling you?’
He avoided my eyes, busying himself with a clothes brush. ‘It is only the business. I didn’t foresee all these difficulties.’ He came over to me then, and put his hands on my shoulders. ‘Enjoy yourself. I wish I could come with you.’ He kissed me farewell on the mouth, with what appeared to be genuine regret. ‘Write to me, Grace,’ he said, his eyes meeting mine with a plaintive smile as he adjusted the clasp of my cloak.
But within the hour Michael was forgotten in a mood of extraordinary freedom, for Anne’s delight at not taking the public wagon proved contagious. Yet there was something more, for as the carriage threaded its way beneath the dripping foliage of the drive, a backwards glance at Delafosse Hall confirmed the rightness of my decision. The building itself absorbed a solid darkness, a colour I should have painted midnight green; its cloak of leaves saturated with many weeks’ rainfall. I turned back to Anne’s eager face and was glad to talk of such mundane matters as the pots and pans she must buy. ‘All my life must be packed in one trunk,’ she said, ‘and I must pray that even that survives the voyage. Who knows when, or even if – I will return?’
‘You will, I know it,’ I said brightly. ‘And, in the meantime, we must promise to be good correspondents.’ I prattled about the commissions I also hoped to secure in York: china and furnishings and fabrics. ‘You must think me very self-indulgent,’ I said at last.
‘No, not at all. It does me good to see you cheerful. And every impression I receive over the next few days will form a store of memories in my future life. You deserve a fine home.’
‘Well, this refurbishment is also Peg’s notion, in a way. I had not the heart to make a beginning, but she coaxed me to take an interest.’
There was a lengthy silence as Anne looked out on the rainy countryside.
‘You don’t like her?’
Her face betrayed a wince of discomfort. ‘Oh, it is not that, Grace. She seems capable, extremely capable, when she wishes. It is just that – when I first called, I detected an insolence to her character that I did not care for.’
‘In her position she cannot be too bending,’ I suggested. ‘I find her a great support.’ Anne continued perusing the landscape, so I asked, ‘When you first called, did she offend you, Anne?’
She raised her chin at that. ‘Offend is too strong a term. But why did you not receive my letter giving notice of my arrival? I posted it four days ago. I questioned your woman, and she was not helpful, Grace. If a letter is lost, one may expect sympathy, not stony-faced disbelief.’
‘I apologise on her behalf.’
‘No, I will not accept it. It is your servant who must treat guests with greater civility. Now I hope you don’t mind, but my stomach quails. Might we take a little food?’
I lifted the spotted cloth from the basket, and found inside a wine-roasted gammon, pigeon pie, tarts, and buttered spice breads. We dined in style, feeling like a pair of queens.
‘Very well, your Peg is forgiven,’ Anne joked, as she devoured a slice of crisp and fragrant pear tart.
Anne fell asleep at once, but though I tried to doze, I had
forgotten to pick up Dr Sampson’s medicine and my mind began to operate at a faster speed. Anne’s letter might easily have been lost on its route, but why was this the first I had heard of it? There was no doubt in my mind that I would have to speak to Peg on my return. Tiny matters had concerned me these last few weeks, nothing that alone would have merited a rebuke, but taken all together I believed Peg was growing complacent. Not in cooking, that was true, nor even in managing the house. Indeed, she was a faultless servant. Instead there were tiny pinpricks of memories, half-forgotten incidents that left me wondering if she presumed too far on my friendship, and took too great an interest in my personal tastes.
One incident had occurred only a week earlier. Coming to my chamber I had spied Peg through the half-open door, standing at the pier glass with my blue silk hugged tightly to her own breast. I was about to rebuke her, but was struck by something pitiable about her. She stood entranced in a dream, twirling the hem and murmuring as she postured in the mirror. The sad fact was that the dress cost more than twice her year’s salary. She would never, herself, own such an item. So I had tiptoed away, loath to shame her. A few days later I gave her five shillings as allowance for new clothes. She appeared grateful, but no new costume appeared. The nub of it was, that I had spoiled her by letting her speak to me as an equal.
Then, sitting with my eyes closed, another remembrance struck me. As the weeks had passed, Earlby society still had not called on me. Michael breezed about the place, forever riding off to hunts and gentlemen’s jaunts. A suspicion that had fretted me when I was ill returned: had Dr Sampson spread a rumour that I was difficult, or foolishly nervous? Or after I had taken Peg from her, had our bitter neighbour, Sybilla Claybourn, warned our neighbours not to call on me?
It must have been the wine that lulled me into a long refreshing sleep, for when I woke, the ancient city of York rose in the distance, like a great stone island in an ocean of green pasture. The road grew busy with every sort of cart, carriage, and gilded coach, whilst in the dirt below, ragged folk tramped along with bundles on their backs. ‘Look,’ I called, as we halted behind a lumbering wagon. Together Anne and I pulled down our carriage glass and drank in the view. The city lying before us had a quaint and medieval appearance, studded with church spires and towers and high circling walls. Over all loomed the might of the Minster Cathedral, towering above a labyrinth of gabled roofs.
We passed straggling houses, a windmill, an ancient convent, and then passed into the narrow throat of the city through a barbican of crumbling stone. Inside stood brick residences of the modern sort, with fanlights and sash windows; but jumbled about these were cottages with overhanging storeys, many of them beautifully carved, like ancient churches.
Our lodgings were on a turning from shop-lined Coney Street, above a genteel milliner’s. There our landlady, Mrs Palmer, showed us a pair of neat rooms and sent up tea and seed cake on our arrival. Anne and I pulled off our outerwear, looked about ourselves, and both pronounced ourselves entirely satisfied.
I had just begun to unpack when Mrs Palmer knocked and told us a gentleman waited downstairs and gave me his card. ‘It is Peter Croxon,’ I said with some annoyance. ‘Michael’s brother. What on earth does he want? Shall I send down that we are resting?’
Anne insisted he should be shown up. Nevertheless I was irked to see his grinning countenance as he sat down before us.
‘I was walking down Ousegate when I said to myself, why, there is Michael’s carriage. So I followed you here. Well, what a pleasure to see you looking so well, Grace. I can scarcely believe my eyes, when Michael is forever protesting you are too unwell to call upon.’
‘I have been ill,’ I said firmly, and introduced him at once to Anne. I could see that Peter’s charm worked upon her; in no time at all he insisted on accompanying us to a concert the following evening. She is eating from his palm, I told myself inwardly, busying myself about the room.
‘I should take a pair of muskets if I were you.’ Peter’s voice startled me from my chores, and I glanced at Anne’s crestfallen face.
‘Is that really necessary?’ I asked.
‘I have a friend at the colony, a marine officer who corresponds with me. If your husband travels away from home, as he is bound to, you must be on guard, Mrs Greenbeck. The felons transported there are of the worst breed – spared the gallows by a hair’s breadth. You must protect yourself.’
‘Are you sure of your information?’ Anne inquired, looking stricken. ‘I saw such a beautiful prospect of Botany Bay in The Lady’s Magazine. And Jacob says we are best protected by our Bibles. Nevertheless … does your friend give mention of any other items he wished he had taken with him?’
Peter’s affability grew strained. ‘Food, Mrs Greenbeck. The government rations are insufficient. You need a good stock of dry stuffs for your first season, and then seeds and tools to grow more. I understand the wheat crop has failed. I will consult his last letter again, and send you word.’
The conversation could not recover its earlier light tone. Soon Peter stood to make his farewells, taking Anne’s hand and trying to make a jest of his ominous news. Then, turning to me as I accompanied him to the door, he said, ‘It has cheered me no end to find you well, Grace. I should be obliged for a little of your time before you leave, to speak of family matters.’
He again smiled amiably, but seeing a powerful insistence in his eyes, I found myself forced to agree.
The next day was a glorious one, spent wandering in the narrow streets. I found a colourman’s shop in nearby Spurriergate, and became spellbound at the array of paints, papers, and parchment. On display were the most remarkable miniatures, and a card left by the artist seeking both commissions and pupils. I left a note with the proprietor, enquiring if I might obtain lessons for a week. Then, together with Anne, I took tea at a bookshop, where my friend ceaselessly examined the shelves. Finally I was able to impose on her and buy a few volumes as gifts: Mr Solander’s Travels Round the World, which at least gave her a glimpse into unknown territories, and a few essential volumes on medical and domestic matters. As I inspected the engravings for sale, I noticed a very fine classical scene within which was written, FERREA VIRGA EST, UMBRATILIS MOTUS. Recognising the Latin motto from the sundial at Delafosse, I asked the proprietor if he knew the meaning.
‘“The rod is of iron, the motion of shadow”,’ he told me obligingly.
‘Thank you,’ I said with a smile, and returned to the engraving. It was a memento mori, an Italian scene in which the sundial was reminiscent of a tomb. On one side, a pair of young lovers basked idly in sunshine, while on the other they slept in sinister shadow. An ugly representation of Death approached them from behind the ornate tomb. They do not see what pursues them, I mused. But in a few moments I had forgotten it, and was engaged in ordering a small library of ancient and modern books, all bound in Venetian red leather.
That evening, even I could not fault Peter when he called at our lodgings. Like his brother, he always presented a favourable appearance; all buffed up in a smart blue coat, and doffing his hat with a low bow as we met him in the parlour.
‘Now do not pretend it is anything but tedious to accompany two old married ladies to a concert,’ I teased.
‘Grace, if I did not know you better, I should say you were fishing for compliments.’
It was true we had spent a considerable time dressing, for when else would we ever be taken to a famous Assembly? Anne had gratefully borrowed my chestnut silk, and after shortening its hem, looked like a fashion plate. My purple silk had its first outing, with a set of sleek black feathers in my hair from the milliner downstairs.
There are some occasions in any life that will always be recalled in a glow of pleasure, and that night is one of my secret store. The streets of York were crisp; the frost amplifying a dozen church bells ringing the hour. As our carriage queued before Lord Burlington’s famous Rooms, dozens of flambeaux flared against the classical portico. Anne pinched my arm to be sur
e that neither of us was dreaming; and I was sincerely grateful to Peter for indulging her in a manner she would never forget. From all accounts he had a wide acquaintance in the city, even amongst the wealthy and titled, so I was impressed by his courtesy in attending only to Anne and me.
‘So, ladies, do you not think it a fine room?’ Peter took each of our arms, guiding us into the famed Egyptian Hall. The room was glorious, and I told him so, marvelling at proportions made more exotic by rows of marbled Corinthian columns. Through the crush of people we processed to the benches, admiring the blazing chandeliers, and the great throng of York society. Peter fetched us glasses of Citrus Shrub, and, sipping the cool refreshment, Anne and I looked about. The younger ladies, especially, were a glorious sight in gowns puffed out in the new style, with satin ribbons at their waists, clasped with cameos.
I had never before heard Mozart’s ‘Idol mio’, nor anything sung by so fine a singer as Signora Tirenza, the prima donna from Rome itself. Her astonishing voice transported me to another place of wordless emotion. All my life I had hoped to find that uplifting love that crowns some lucky spirits but evades others, however long they seek it. Would it always escape me? Or should I return home, and try even harder to nurture affection between Michael and myself? Tears filled my eyes. The Signora, so exotic and proud, seemed to possess the secret knowledge of an artist, an adventurer, a lover. I wondered if the refreshment I had taken contained strong spirits, for I was forced secretly to wipe my eyes. To my annoyance, Peter nudged me. ‘Who is that fellow staring at us?’ he hissed.
I looked through brimming eyes but saw no one.
A Taste for Nightshade Page 20
