The Madness

by Alison Rattle

  ‘I won’t be going out there today,’ Ma says when I get back inside the cottage. She’s slicing bread for breakfast and is wincing with the effort. She is growing worse every day, it seems. It takes her for ever to do anything now. She grunts more often and sits for longer and longer in her chair. I look at her carefully. She takes up the same amount of space, but seems to have shrunk in upon herself. The skin on her arms is looser and her face has sagged.

  ‘It’s rough out there, anyway,’ I say. ‘It’ll be a quiet one for certain.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that,’ she says, and sinks down heavily into her chair. ‘Couldn’t have managed it today, Marnie. I ache so.’

  I pass her a cup of tea and she holds it close to her chest and closes her eyes. ‘Me and Smoaker will manage today,’ I say. ‘Tell him I’ll open the hut.’

  Ma nods at me without opening her eyes and I know I’m free to go.

  It’s far too early to open the hut – even Smoaker isn’t out of bed yet – but I’m desperate to see Noah and I know he’ll be feeling the same. He’ll come to the beach as soon as he can, and I need to be there for him.

  I walk along the esplanade first, towards the pier. I haven’t got me stick with me again. I want Noah to see how good I’m getting without it. The wind whips me hair across me face and me skirts stick to me legs. It’s empty and wild on the beach. I can spy a few fishing boats in the distance being tossed about on the waves, and there are gulls riding the sky and screeching with excitement. I push me face into the wind and I feel wide awake. The new tollhouse is shuttered; the pier master will be breakfasting, so there is no one to see me walk through the gates and along the wooden decking. I walk right to the pier head, to the back of the pavilion, and look down into the water below. It’s dizzying to be standing this far out to sea and this high above the crashing waves. I wonder how the delicate iron legs of the pier can hold up against the power of the ocean. It feels strange out here. I’m not sure I like it. It’s too empty and lonely. A person could jump right off the end and no one would notice.

  It’ll be different when Noah is with me, I think. On a warm day it’ll be a good place to take a stroll. We’ll sit on the seats by the pavilion and look out to sea.

  I turn and look back towards the village. I’ve never seen it from this way round before. It’s all there, spread out before me. I can see Ratcatcher’s Row in the distance and the rabble of lanes running behind; I can see the glinting windows of Miss Cranston’s Tea House and the bandstand out at Layde’s Bay. Best of all I can see the manor, out beyond the cottages, nestled in the dip below the woodlands. If I squint me eyes I can make out the topmost windows. There’s Noah’s in the middle. I imagine him up there, rushing to get dressed. Leaning over his washstand, brushing his hair with his heavy bone brush. I wrap me arms around meself and squeeze tight. Hurry up, hurry up, I whisper.

  The pier master has opened the shutters and is standing looking out of his window as I walk by on me way back to the esplanade. He’s put out to see me there and opens his mouth to shout. Then he notices me leg and lowers his eyes. Even though he’s new in the village, he’s just like everyone else.

  I make me way to the beach and set out the new signs next to the hut.

  Nash’s Bathing Machines for Hire

  6d for a time not exceeding half an hour.

  Two clean towels. One clean gown or other clean and sufficient covering to prevent indecent exposure of the person.

  I can’t stay still. Me fingers are twitching and me feet keep taking me out of the hut so I can look for Noah. Me heart jerks as I see a figure in the distance, but it’s only Smoaker. He’s holding on to his hat with one hand and balancing the bowl of his pipe with the other. Me heart drops into me boots. It’s too late for Noah to come now. Not now I’ve got me work to do. I pick up a pebble and throw it angrily on to the beach. I don’t know how I’ll get through the day.

  Smoaker stops by the hut and looks out to sea. ‘Just you dipping today,’ he says. ‘No sense in paying the other women to come out.’ He licks a finger and holds it up into the wind. ‘I’ll just bring the two horses for now.’ I don’t know if he’s telling me or the wind. He walks back up the slipway to fetch the horses from the stables at Rock House.

  ‘Please, Noah, please,’ I beg out loud. ‘Come now!’ I stand on the slipway and strain me eyes, looking in all directions. There’s nothing to see. I feel tired and heavy already, and me heart stays sulking in me boots.

  Smoaker comes back with two horses and busies himself with their harnesses. The wind has calmed now, and out on the horizon the cloudy sky is edged with blue. I sigh. If the weather stays like this, there’ll be bathers for certain.

  The bathing gowns we keep in the hut are old and stiff. I change into one, in readiness for the first customers. I hate the weight and feel of it and would rather work in me shift, but I know it’s ‘not decent’ and besides, the dark blue alpaca skirt, the knickerbockers and stockings all help to hide me leg. ‘We don’t want to scare away the customers,’ is what Ma would say.

  Smoaker sits in the chair in the corner of the hut fiddling with his pipe, and I stand leaning against the doorway and think of Noah. I imagine him lying ill in bed with a fever, or speeding to London in a coach with his father. I know I’ll have to go to the manor later. I won’t be able to stop meself.

  The first bather of the day is a scrawny woman of about sixty who can hardly walk for the gout in her foot. She climbs into the bathing machine with difficulty and I lead the horse and machine into the sea. While I wait for the lady to change, I unhitch the horse and lead it round to the back of the machine, where I hitch it ready to pull the machine back up the beach. Then I wade into the water to wait on the bather. She opens the door eventually and sits on the steps of the bathing machine shivering like a frightened kitten. I take her by the waist and gently guide her into the sea. She squeals loudly and can barely catch her breath as a small wave wets her bosom.

  ‘It’s quite safe, Ma’am,’ I tell her. ‘But I need you to lie back.’

  She looks at me as though I am mad.

  ‘It’s so I can float you,’ I tell her.

  ‘But … but I cannot swim,’ she stammers.

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ I say. ‘I’ll hold you up. You won’t drown, I promise.’

  I put me arms under her and lift her like a child. She is as stiff as a plank of wood. She screws her eyes tight shut and clasps her hands across her chest. I feel as though I am bobbing a corpse through the water. She won’t last the half-hour; she is not strong enough for a dipping. By the looks of her, I imagine it won’t be long before she is gone from this world altogether.

  A nursemaid and her two charges are next. The young boys are no more than two or three years of age. She sits on the steps of the bathing machine and passes the wriggling bundles to me. I hold a child under each arm and, as I’ve heard Ma say so many times, I sing, ‘Dippy go under, my dears!’ as I plunge them down under the water and hold them there for a second. When I haul them back up they begin to wail and splutter. ‘One more to make you hearty!’ I shout. Under they go again. Their wailing grows louder, but their nurse seems deaf to the fuss. She is concentrating hard on keeping her skirts dry. I keep on dipping until me arms ache, the boys grow silent and their teeth begin to chatter. Their lips are blue when I hand them back to their nurse.

  I know Smoaker has been watching me in me work and I can tell by his face that I’ve done nothing to cause complaint. I knew I could do the dipping standing on me head. I just knew it. I feel puffed up, like I’ve just stuffed me face with one of Miss Cranston’s creamy pastries. But instead of me belly being full of cake, it’s full of pride. I just wish Noah was here to see me.

  The lull in the weather hasn’t lasted. The wind is whipping up the waves and there is the smell of a storm in the air. When I lead the horse back up the beach, there are no bathers waiting for me. Smoaker is grumbling. ‘Not even enough to pay for the horse feed.’ The sky
is growing darker by the minute. I would be happy for a storm to come now. Smoaker will have to close the hut and I’ll be free to go to Noah. Or at least to the manor to see if there is any sign of him. I imagine him lying in his bed; his eyes bright with fever.

  There is a deep rumbling from the skies behind the village. Smoaker swears under his breath, but I smile to meself and me belly clenches tight with excitement. As the first fat drops of rain fall on to the slipway outside, I am at the back of the hut taking off me bathing gown and pulling on me frock and boots.

  52

  Apples and Hot Sugar

  It’s a long walk to the manor. I’m soon soaked to the skin, but I don’t mind one bit. I don’t mind when me wet hair sticks to me face or when rainwater runs down me neck. I don’t mind when the water finds its way into me boots and between me toes. All I care about is getting to Noah as quickly as I can.

  I’d forgotten what an effort it takes to walk this road. It’s so pitted and rutted by carriage wheels. As I hobble through puddles I pass a small herd of cows sheltering from the storm under an old oak. I am out of breath now. I have tried to walk too quickly and now me leg feels weak and me hip is throbbing. Perhaps I should have brought me stick after all. I rest for a moment by the side of the road and pull a broken branch from the undergrowth. It takes me weight when I lean on it, so I twist and crack off the dried shoots from its length and fashion a walking stick of sorts. It will help get me the rest of the way. I hate to give in to me weakness, but more than anything I need to see Noah.

  I begin to walk again, slowly but easily, and soon enough the still, grey walls of the manor come into view. Me heart flutters wildly in me throat. It won’t be long now.

  I hide me stick in the roots of a horse chestnut tree that stands guarding the entrance gate to the manor. I want to be strong and walk the rest of the way without any help. It’s strange to walk up the wide gravelled driveway again. It feels as though eyes are peering at me and watching me closely. Telling me I don’t belong. Telling me I’m a trespasser.

  The rain has eased now, but the day is still gloomy. I can see candlelight flickering through the manor windows as I walk around the side to the servants’ door. I know I must look like a bedraggled urchin, but Noah is used to seeing me fresh from the sea so it will be neither here nor there to him. I expect he’ll bring me inside and sit me by a fire to dry. I pass the carriage-house and stables, the coalhouse and the gardener’s building. There’s no one about.

  Then I hear the bang of a door and voices. Steam billows out from behind a low wall. I step closer and hear the sound of clattering pans. I walk past the servants’ door to the next one along. It’s the kitchen I think, and someone is there, someone who’ll fetch Noah for me. The door is ajar and I tap on it lightly, praying that it’s not Hetty who answers. The noises inside grow louder, so I knock on the door harder. I jump back when it’s suddenly opened by a red-faced woman with her sleeves rolled up to her forearms. She is holding a large spoon in her hand. I wonder if she’s Sally the cook.

  ‘Yes?’ she snaps at me.

  I open me mouth to speak, but before I can get a word out she says, ‘We don’t have no beggars here. Get on with you now.’ She shakes the spoon at me and moves to close the door.

  ‘No!’ I shout. ‘Stop! It’s the master Noah I’m after.’

  She keeps her hand on the door and snorts. ‘The master Noah?’ she says slowly. ‘Now what would you be wanting him for?’

  ‘That’s me own business,’ I say. I have already decided I don’t like this woman. I look her in the eye. ‘Please tell Noah that Marnie is here to see him.’

  ‘Marnie, eh?’ The woman’s eyes glint. She raises her spoon again and points it at me. ‘Well, well. I’ve heard about you and your mad ideas. Master Noah, as you can imagine, is otherwise engaged and I’m sure will not wish to be bothered by the likes of you!’

  I don’t expect this and panic rises in me like a rolling wave. ‘Please,’ I say. ‘He’ll want to see me. I know he will.’

  The woman shakes her head. ‘I don’t have time for this nonsense. We’ve a dinner to get ready. Now get on your way.’ She starts to close the door.

  ‘No!’ I shout. ‘Wait! He’s not ill, is he? Please tell me Noah isn’t ill!’

  The door shuts hard. I bang on it again. Over and over until me knuckles hurt. It stays closed and I don’t know what to do next. I’d like to scream Noah’s name at the windows and make him see me. If he knew I was out here, he’d come to me. I’m sure of it. I kick me boot against the wall in frustration.

  I close me eyes. I can picture Noah quite clearly. He is lying on his high, soft mattress, his head surrounded by plump pillows. His face is flushed by fever and he is moaning in his sleep. He can’t get out of bed, but somehow he knows I’m here. He needs me. I can feel it deep inside of me.

  I slump against the wall. I wonder if I should go around to the front of the house and pull the bell of the Grand door. But the thought of it makes me feel stupid and lowly. If the door was shut on me at the back of the house, how much worse would it be at the front? They’ll never listen to me, or let me in to see Noah.

  The smells of cooking drift out of the manor kitchen and into me nose. Me mouth grows wet as I sniff apples and hot sugar and a rich meaty scent. I remember I’ve eaten nothing all day and suddenly I feel angry. One day I’ll dine with Noah and taste those smells and the nasty hag who shut the door in me face will be sorry she ever did.

  I’m tired now, and me disappointment is so heavy it weighs me feet to the ground. I think of the long walk home and the hours that have to pass before I can come here again. Then a thought springs into me head. I’ll bring a note tomorrow, I decide. I’ll go to the Grand door and pass the note in. I’ll say it’s an urgent message for Master Noah. Once Noah gets the note, he’ll have to tell the servants all about me, and they’ll take me up to him. Then I can kiss his hot forehead and hold his hand and make him well again.

  This thought calms me and I want to get home now, as quickly as I can, to write the note. I’ll have to wait till Ma and Smoaker have gone to bed. Smoaker is precious with his papers and dip pen. He thinks himself a fine gentleman when he fills in his ledgers. He keeps his pen and paper in the dresser drawer and if I’m careful, he’ll never know that I’ve made use of them. I hope I can remember me letters and not smudge the ink too much.

  I pull meself away from the wall and stretch the weariness from me shoulders. The day is ending as it began, with dark skies and a gale beginning to wake up again. If I hurry, I can be home before dark. I begin to walk, and as I round the first bend in the path, I pass by a window that is fully lighted now. With the day being so dim outside, I can see into the room beyond, and there is a gathering of people. I see a fire burning in a vast fireplace, a dozen candles in ornate holders and the bright colours of silk dresses. I can count at least five persons standing in the room. The ladies are holding feather fans and the gentlemen are drinking from glasses that sparkle in the candlelight. It all looks so warm and fine. I shiver in me wet frock. I watch as the gentlefolk move around the room slowly and speak words I can’t hear. As they move, coming together and parting again, it looks like they’re taking part in the most graceful of dances. Then me heart flips and I cry out before I can stop meself.

  I can see Noah.

  He’s at the back of the room. He’s dressed in a black suit and white shirt, with a carefully knotted cravat at his throat. The high, stiff collar of the shirt is brushing against his cheeks. His face is flushed in the light. His hair is combed to one side and is shining like the brownest of chestnuts. He’s smiling and laughing and is bending his head towards a young lady who is standing next to him.

  At first I’m relieved and jubilant. There’s Noah, at last. He’s not ill and he hasn’t gone to London. All I have to do is tap on the window and he’ll see me. I lift me hand towards the leaded glass but as I do, a sick and horrible uncertainty crawls through me insides. Me hand drops by me side.
I stand and stare, watching the young lady’s dark eyes follow Noah’s mouth. I see how pretty she looks with her black hair dressed in long ringlets. I see how her rose-coloured gown with its wide ruched skirts curves into her waist and shows off her creamy white shoulders. I see how Noah is looking at her, with his head on one side and his eyes lowered. I’ve never seen him look like that before. I stand and watch until me teeth are chattering so much that me whole jaw hurts. Only then do I tear me eyes away and turn to go.

  53

  A Dip Pen and Ink

  I don’t remember walking home. But I’m here now, sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of bread and bacon in front of me. Smoaker is sitting opposite, picking bacon rind from his teeth. Somehow I know that Ma has taken to her bed early. Smoaker must have told me; but I don’t remember when. I take a bite of bread and chew. I try to swallow, but I can’t. There’s a big lump in me throat. I spit the chewed dough into me hand and pass it under the table to Nep. I had better take some supper through to Ma soon, I think. But I don’t move.

  Poor Noah. Done up so stiff in all his finery and forced to be polite to his father’s friends. Because that’s what happened, I tell meself. He couldn’t get away from the visitors. The more I think about it, the more I know it must be true. Noah would never have let me down without good reason. I think about the girl he was talking to. I’m sure it was the same one that was on the pier with him yesterday. She might have been pretty, but I imagine her head was as empty as a pauper’s purse. She was dull, I know it, and Noah was only doing his duty.