The Madness

by Alison Rattle

  With a growing sense of boldness, Marnie stepped back outside the room and turned to her right. ‘Which room? Which room?’ she murmured to herself. She let her fingers play over the ancient wooden handles of the first two doors. Then, knowing that Noah’s bedchamber window was in the centre of the top floor, she chose the third handle to eventually turn. There was no scent of roses in this room, just a pleasant muskiness of old ashes and candlewax. She went straight to the window, just to be sure. As she pulled aside the curtain, she knew with a leap of her heart that she had chosen correctly this time. She was looking out high over the village, at the rooftops, chimneys, tiny winding lanes and the mess of the pier works. And there, behind it all, spread out before her, was the ocean. She had never seen so much of it before; she had never realised how enormous it was. Or how very beautiful.

  Noah had been right. He had the best view of the whole manor. Marnie felt a stab of envy. How lucky he was to wake to this every morning. Why would he wish to go back to London when he had this glorious sight to look upon every day? It was like the best painting Marnie could ever imagine. Perhaps though, she dared to think, once they were married they could keep this room and she too could look out upon all of this every morning and every night.

  She turned from the window and looked at the dust sheets draped across the furniture. She went to the bed first and pulled back the heavy sheet that covered it. Her nose itched at the cloud of dust that rose in the air. Underneath, the bed was still made up. Marnie wondered if the bedding had been washed since Noah last slept there. She lifted the covers, then, resting her stick against the bedstead, climbed on to the mattress and lay down. It was so soft and the pillows were so high and so white. She turned and pressed her face into the smooth linen. Could she still smell him there? She sniffed deeply and was sure that in the depths of the pillow there was a trace of his sweat and saltiness. She lay still. Being there, so close to him, was almost as good as having his arms around her.

  She lay there for a while, savouring the quiet, the scents and the luxury of it all. Her eyes closed and she drifted. She was safe and warm. She was where she belonged.

  With a start, Marnie opened her eyes. The pillow was damp on her cheek and her neck a little stiff. How long had she been there? With a yawn, she quickly climbed out of the bed, straightened the covers and replaced the dust sheet. It seemed gloomier in the room now, the light a silver grey. She took up her stick and readied herself to leave. But as she walked by another sheeted object, she couldn’t help but take a peek. It was a washstand, and lying by the jug and bowl was a hairbrush. Noah’s hairbrush. Marnie picked it up. It was heavy, made of fine bone and stiff bristles. Marnie held it in her hand as Noah might have held it in his. Then she saw that tangled around the bristles there were pale brown hairs; a small handful at least. She pulled at them and eased them away. They were soft and clean. She wrapped the hairs around her fingers to make a small bundle, and tucked it safe in her pocket. She sighed with satisfaction.

  It was harder to climb down the stairs than it had been going up. Marnie had to lean all her weight on her stick and take care not to slip. But she arrived in the hallway safely and took a moment to listen out for the servants. She hoped she hadn’t slept for too long and that they were all still in the kitchen. As she walked back down the screens passage there was not a sound to be heard. The hairs rose on the back of Marnie’s neck, but she could see the door to the outside now. It would only be a moment more and she would be away.

  The door was still ajar and Marnie pushed it open with relief. She’d done it. She wanted to whoop with the joy of it, but she knew to save that for when she was out of the gates and back on the road. She stepped outside. It was later than she thought and the evening air was frosty.

  ‘You again!’ came the voice. Marnie turned to see Hetty striding towards her, carrying a bucket that was sloshing out water in agitation. ‘What are you doing in there? I’ll call the constable on you. You been in there nicking stuff?’

  ‘No … no,’ said Marnie, thinking of the bundle of hair in her pocket. ‘Of course not. I’m … I’m sorry. I was just looking for you, that’s all.’

  ‘You’ve no right to be going in there unannounced. I’ve told you before, you’re trespassing. Mr Todd! Mr Todd!’ she shouted.

  ‘No … please,’ Marnie pleaded. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I was just looking for you, honest. I was only in there a minute. I called, but no one answered.’

  Hetty put the bucket down and put her hands on her hips. ‘Why on earth would you be looking for me?’

  ‘To see if you had any news of Noah.’

  Hetty began to laugh. ‘You really have got a problem, ain’t you? Even if I had news of Master Noah, why would I go telling you it?’

  ‘I told you,’ said Marnie. ‘We’re friends. More than friends.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m expecting his child, I am.’

  Hetty spluttered. ‘Aw gawd.’ She laughed again. ‘You really are mad, in’t you? Go on, just go. I won’t call Mr Todd again. Not this time. But only cos I feel sorry for you.’ She picked up her bucket. ‘Go on,’ she said merrily. ‘Get out of here. And don’t come back again.’

  Marnie turned to go. She wanted to hit the girl. Wipe the smile off her face. Make her believe that she wasn’t mad. But she couldn’t chance Noah hearing of it. She never wanted him to think bad of her. She would bide her time, as she always did, and soon, when Noah returned, everyone would know the truth.

  As she walked down the drive, Marnie heard Hetty laughing to herself. ‘Wait till I tell the rest of ’em about this. What a lark!’

  Marnie walked back down to the village with a heavier tread than she’d set out with. ‘They’ll all learn, won’t they, Pa?’ she muttered. ‘They’ll see I was right and they were wrong. I can’t wait for that day, Pa. I’ll rub their noses in it, I will.’

  On her way back along the esplanade, she looked wistfully over the pier works and out to sea. She promised herself she wouldn’t step a foot on the beach or dip a toe in the water until Noah came back. She was afraid the sea might never forgive her for her neglect, but a strange superstition had formed in her mind; if she went to the sea without Noah, then Noah might never come back. So she contented herself with catching the sea spray in her face and prayed that Easter would come quick.

  45

  The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

  London. DECEMBER 24th 1868, Thursday

  What a wonderful evening! In truth I cannot remember a better one in all my life. Not only have I turned eighteen, but I was favoured with the hand of Cissie Baird in several dances.

  I thought I looked rather dapper in my new dress-coat and white vest (if I say so myself). Mother insisted I also had new patent leather boots and white kid gloves for the occasion of the Bairds’ Christmas ball.

  I took a carriage there with Arnold and Henry. Arnold brought a hip flask of brandy and proceeded to pass it around so as to warm ourselves for the evening ahead. He needn’t have bothered as the refreshment room was awash with seasonal Bishop’s punch!

  A magnificent Christmas tree decked in all manner of geegaws greeted us upon our arrival in the Bairds’ grand hall. Chandeliers dripping with candles and crystals lit our way into the ballroom where the prettiest girls in London, dressed in tulle, fine muslin and lace, sat with their chaperones, awaiting us gentlemen.

  I led Cissie in the Grand March and the first waltz of the evening. Cissie was in great demand, but I made sure to gain her promise for several dances before her card was full. We danced the last waltz of the evening together and her head rested on my shoulder for the briefest of moments. She smelled divine; like rose petals and honey. I think I may be in love. In any case I bored Henry and Arnold senseless with my endless talk of her boundless virtues!

  It is Christmas morning now and the sky is already growing pale. I must snatch a few hours’ sleep and dream the sweetest of dreams (of Cissie’s black hair and pearly skin) before the festivities begin al
l over again.

  1869

  46

  A Lick and a Spit

  November passed by, then December fell cold and harsh and January harsher still. Marnie’s courses came again and then again. She wondered what it could mean. Her belly seemed as flat as ever. But perhaps it was too soon to show yet? She tried not to think the worst. There must be a baby inside her. There must. Sometimes it all seemed like a dream, that night on the beach with Noah. She thought through every moment, over and over again. The touch of his wet skin on hers, the heat of him inside her, the marks of sharp pebbles on her back that had stayed for days. How could she have imagined something like that? She was certain it had happened. But if only her belly would show some signs, it would make the waiting for Noah so much easier to bear.

  Every evening, after she’d done her business in the privy, Marnie would check on her treasures under the firebrick. She would hold Noah’s handkerchief gently in her hand, then she would unfold it to reveal the knot of his hair inside. They were the most precious things she had and she couldn’t sleep until she knew they were safe.

  Every night she questioned Smoaker on the progress of the pier. ‘Will it be finished on time?’ she asked anxiously. Had the decking all been laid? How long till the tollhouse was finished? Had the February storms put them behind too much?

  ‘Anyone would think you had shares in that pier,’ he joked.

  Twice Marnie saw Hetty in the village taking her basket into Mr Tyke’s. The girl had smirked and stared pointedly at her belly. Marnie had thrust her stomach out and glared back at her. But just seeing Hetty kept Marnie’s hopes alive. As long as Hetty was still at the manor, keeping it ticking over, then Noah would surely be back.

  Towards the end of February, Marnie began to bleed again and still her belly was as flat as the bottom of a frying pan. Smoaker came back from work one evening and announced that Eldon Cross had been given his marching orders. ‘Been caught pocketing company property,’ was all Smoaker would say. ‘He’s been chucked in Bridewell jail and’ll be up before the magistrate next week.’

  Ma kept tight-lipped. She wouldn’t look Marnie in the eye and Marnie knew it was because she couldn’t bring herself to say sorry. Marnie should have felt good that Eldon was banged up in jail, but somehow it didn’t matter to her any more. She knew now after three times of bleeding that something was very wrong. Either the baby had died and was leaving her body, or else it had never been there in the first place. She felt empty and cheated, and worse, she had nothing more than herself now to offer to Noah. ‘He will still want me, Pa, won’t he?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘Who’ll want who? What are you jabbering on about now, Marnie?’ Ma gave her an exasperated look from across the kitchen.

  Marnie was puzzled. How did Ma know what she was thinking? Had she spoken her thoughts out loud? ‘Nothing, Ma,’ she said. ‘Nothing.’

  She put her hand to her stomach and a slick of fear slid over her body. She was suddenly cold and her belly churned over so fast that a mouthful of burning vomit stung the back of her throat. She swallowed hard. She had to be strong now. Noah would be coming back soon. She couldn’t allow herself to think bad thoughts. Baby or no baby, she and Noah were meant to be together.

  As February drifted into March and the evenings got lighter, Smoaker took Marnie with him up to the big barn at Eccles Farm. With a ladder, a bucket of suds and a hard brush, Marnie scrubbed the grime and dust off the bathing machines while Smoaker followed behind with a paintbrush. ‘A lick and a spit and they’ll be good as new,’ he said. Marnie swept the dust from the insides too, and the old grains of sand from last summer. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she’d last stepped inside the machines’ fusty bellies. She’d turned fifteen in that time, she realised, although the occasion had gone unmarked.

  Finally there came a morning when Marnie woke to the sun pouring through the shutters and she knew Noah was at last on his way. It was Easter Saturday and Marnie would have skipped out of bed if she could.

  Down in the village, the gloom of the last months seemed to have disappeared into the clear March skies and everywhere villagers were smiling, laughing and greeting each other merrily on the lanes. Marnie had never had so any pleasantries thrown her way. The beach had been cleared of machinery and only a few navvies remained, frantically hammering and knocking the finishing pieces of the pier into place. Smoaker had rebuilt his hut on the beach, and freshly painted signs now declared, ‘Nash’s Bathing Machines Reopening for Business Soon!’

  The whole of Clevedon was alive with a bright sunshine excitement. Shopkeepers polished their windows to a peppermint gleam, the esplanade was swept clean of its winter debris, and tubs spilling over with spring flowers – crocuses, pansies and daffodils, like bags of confectionery delights – appeared as if by magic around the village. On the approaches to the pier, full-grown trees sprang up; a huge arch of evergreens was erected at the pier entrance and everywhere across the village flags and streamers fluttered in the good-natured breeze.

  Even Ma and Smoaker were caught up in the mood and took their midday beers out on to the lane to watch the goings-on. Marnie walked to the top of the embankment and looked down on to the esplanade. She had never seen so many people. It was as though every cottage and house in Clevedon had shaken out its inhabitants and rolled them in clusters to the seafront to gawp at the iron monster that had risen from the depths of the sea. Noah was out there somewhere, thought Marnie. He could be in a carriage right now, rolling and swaying as the horses kicked up dust on their way to Clevedon. Or he could already be at the manor, standing at his bedchamber window peering through a new spyglass at the esplanade and beach, searching for a glimpse of her. Or maybe he was down there on the esplanade already, a speck of blue amongst the crowds. Although the day was warm, Marnie shivered. She could hardly bear it. She had waited so long. She had been quiet and patient and had kept her heart wrapped up tight and safe for Noah. But now the time was nearly here and every new moment she had to wait took longer than the one before. She was dizzy and breathless with longing.

  By late afternoon the village had quietened down and Smoaker said it was time to move the bathing machines back on to the beach. Marnie walked with him to Eccles Farm and helped him harness up the largest of the horses. It had grown thin and grey over the winter months. Marnie led the creature to the barn and Smoaker hitched it to the first of the bathing machines. As they trundled down the lanes towards the pier, Marnie sat on the back steps of the machine listening as passers-by shouted greetings to Smoaker. ‘Glad to see you back in business!’ ‘’Bout time, Smoaker!’

  Nine times they made the journey from Eccles Farm to the beach, and as the day began to dim the newly painted bathing machines were lined up neatly along the base of the tollhouse, their grey roofs darkened to a dusky blue by the pier’s great shadow.

  Ma had taken to her bed by the time Marnie and Smoaker got back to the cottage. ‘Something not quite right with her,’ said Smoaker. ‘Not sure she’ll be up to much dipping. ’Bout time you pulled your weight more, I reckon.’

  ‘You mean do the dipping meself?’ asked Marnie.

  ‘It’s what your ma always meant for you. Sooner or later. Just come a tad sooner, that’s all. Think you’re up to it?’

  ‘Oh, I can do it, Smoaker,’ said Marnie. She held her head high. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll be the best dipper you’ve ever seen!’ Marnie wished she could dance. She wanted to grab Smoaker by the hands and spin round the kitchen with him. She was going to be a dipper! At long last she could go back in the sea and do all day what she loved to most. ‘I’ll be the very best, Smoaker,’ she said again. ‘The very best.’

  Marnie couldn’t remember a day when she’d ever felt happier. It was almost too much to think of at once. Noah was close by, she could feel it in her bones. And in a short while they’d be together again and she’d be so proud to tell him her news. She would be the best dipper ever. And now Clevedon had the most beauti
ful pier in the whole of England, maybe Queen Victoria herself really would pay a visit; on a hot day in June perhaps. She’d be sure to hear the name of Marnie Gunn and she’d be sure to ask for her special.

  47

  The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

  Clevedon. MARCH 28th 1869, Sunday

  We are back in Clevedon, having arrived last night, and the manor is bustling with busy-ness and noise! It is a far cry from the last time I was here. Then, it was only Mother and I and a handful of servants. Now there is a large party of us, and dozens of servants. Every room has a blazing fire and is full of chatter and amusements. Father is here with his dear friends Lord Baird and Sir William Elton (chairman of the pier committee) and their families – so of course Cissie is here too. Arnold has come – after some persuading on my part, and we are set, I am sure, for a splendid time!

  Mother is now entertaining the women and I have just returned from showing Arnold the estate – with Prince in tow, naturally.

  We attended church this morning and took over near half the pews with our pious party. I am sure the poor Reverend Strawbridge has never seen his collection tin so full!

  Tomorrow is the opening of the Grand Pier and once the speeches are done with, we are set to return to the manor for a celebration dinner and dance with a few select locals. I am sure it will amuse Cissie. I so want her to enjoy herself.

  I sat behind her at church this morning and I am afraid I did not hear a word of the sermon, so caught up was I in studying the small, pale hollow at the back of her neck. One day I will kiss that very spot. One day soon, when Cissie is mine.