by Evie Grace
‘Where are the footmen?’
‘They are outside the door,’ Turner said.
‘Send them in when I give word.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Turner bowed.
Papa took to his feet, and tapped his glass.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, Louisa and I are very grateful that you could attend our son’s christening today and we thank you for the gifts you have brought. I hope that you have enjoyed sampling the art of dining executed in the French style.’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘As one final gesture of our hospitality, I would like to introduce you to the surprise of the day: the miracle of creation that is …’ Papa nodded and gestured to the butler, who was at the door. ‘The word, Turner,’ he hissed. ‘I have given the word.’
‘Have you, sir?’
‘Yes, indeed I have.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s completely slipped my mind which word it was.’
‘Creation,’ Papa muttered. ‘The miracle of creation that is …’
Turner opened the door with a flourish. The two footmen walked into the room, carrying a large silver tray between them. On top of it, nestled among a mound of under-ripe strawberries from the kitchen garden, was an object that looked like a brown and yellow pine cone with a crown of ragged spiky leaves rising from the top.
‘… the pineapple,’ Papa went on.
‘What is it?’ Agnes whispered.
‘This is a very rare thing, a fruit from the tropics. Feast your eyes upon it, because it may be the only one you ever see.’
‘Will we be able to partake of it?’ Uncle Rufus asked.
‘Oh no. I have rented it for the occasion. I believe that it is rather unpleasant to eat: musty to the taste and overly fragrant.’
‘It looks as if it is affected by rot to me.’
‘It is a curiosity,’ Papa said hotly. ‘Tomorrow you will be able to tell everyone of your acquaintance that you have seen a pineapple in the flesh.’
‘Why should I wish to do that?’ Uncle Rufus started bickering with Papa again as the footmen carried the surprise around the room so everyone could marvel at it.
It had been a good day on the whole, except for not being allowed to sing, Agnes thought later when she retired to bed. She had sampled French cuisine, worn a longer skirt and been able to make conversation, albeit rather stilted, with someone other than the usual inhabitants of Windmarsh Court. Thanks to Henry, her parents were letting her grow up at last, whether by accident or design, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t help suspecting that it was the latter and they wanted rid of her so they could lavish all their attention on their son.
However, the christening had left some people, including Nanny, feeling a little out of sorts. Agnes met her in the new schoolroom the morning after to find her sitting quietly on her chair, holding a ceramic hot-water bottle wrapped in cloth to her stomach, and sipping tea.
‘Good morning, Nanny.’
‘It’s morning. That’s all I can say about it,’ she said, looking pained. ‘Please go ahead and feed the bird.’
Agnes lifted the cloth from the bird’s cage. Her black crown was fading, the yellow band across her wings was ragged, and she’d lost some of her tiny feathers from her chest. She was sickening, Agnes thought. She offered her the top of a thistle, some birdseed, and a piece of yellow groundsel that Papa had suggested was good for birds, but the bird didn’t want it.
She stood the cage in the window and the linnet began to trill, calling to the other birds that flew free outside. Was she unhappy? Agnes wondered. Was it right to keep her in a cage all the time when she wanted to spread her wings and reach the sky?
‘What do you think I should do?’ she asked.
‘We’ll go and pick some more thistle on our walk this afternoon.’ Nanny pressed her hand against her forehead and moaned.
‘After lessons? Can’t we go now?’
‘No, lessons first. At the moment, I am indisposed.’
‘Should I ask Papa to call for the doctor?’
‘No, dear. I’m suffering from an overindulgence of garlic. I shall recover without medical assistance.’
‘I meant for the bird,’ Agnes said. ‘She is sick.’
‘Oh, really, child.’
I’m not a child, Agnes wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. She had displeased Nanny by putting the health of the linnet before hers, but it was only because the bird couldn’t help herself, whereas her governess was wise and knew what to do in every situation – except how to treat avian ailments.
‘Be patient. The bird will be well – listen to her singing.’
When Nanny slipped out of the room for a while, Agnes opened the window. She could see the gardener weeding the flower beds. No one was looking.
‘Go on, little bird,’ she whispered, opening the door at the front of the cage. ‘Fly free.’
The bird hopped out of the cage on to the sill and looked out, tipping her head to one side. Suddenly, she fluttered away, disappearing into the hedge below, and in spite of Agnes’s rather romantic idea that the golden linnet would reappear on a bough to give her a bob of thanks, she didn’t see her again.
‘Who is that? To whom are you talking?’ she heard Nanny saying.
Agnes turned sharply, tugging at the curtain to hide the empty cage, but it was too late. Nanny with her unerring eye for trouble was at her side.
‘Oh, Agnes, what have you done?’
‘She flew away.’ Her heart thudded dully in her chest. What she had thought was right now felt very wrong. ‘The door must have come open.’
‘You opened it. The bird couldn’t have done it herself. Oh, Agnes, what are you thinking of, lying to me? What is your papa going to say when he hears of this?’
‘Oh, don’t tell him. Please.’ She felt sick, hollow to the stomach.
‘He is bound to find out.’ Nanny shook her head. ‘I cannot keep this from him. You will be punished.’
Agnes felt a tear prick at her eyelid and roll down her cheek.
‘There’s to be no weeping over spilled milk. I should be thinking about what I was going to say to my father who gave me such a lovely present in the expectation that I was going to care for it, and then lied to her nanny about what she did.’
Agnes made excuses not to go down to the drawing room that evening. She had a headache. She’d eaten too much garlic. But Nanny wouldn’t hear of it. Her charge was going to face the music, and sooner rather than later.
For once, as she sat in the drawing room with her hands in her lap, Agnes hoped that her parents’ attention would be on Henry whom Mrs Pargeter had brought to join them.
‘Here is the young Master Berry-Clay come to see his mama and papa,’ Mrs Pargeter said. ‘Look how he is growing.’
‘Has he been more settled today?’ Mama asked.
‘He hasn’t cried once.’
Agnes frowned, because she had heard him whimpering and wailing throughout the day.
‘Has he fed?’
‘Several times and with great gusto.’
‘Ah, that’s my son.’ Papa smiled as he leaned down and touched the baby’s cheek. Henry cried. ‘You soothe him, Louisa. He wants his mother.’
‘Oh no, Mrs Pargeter does a much better job,’ Mama said. ‘Please, take him away and put him to bed. Bring him again this time tomorrow. Don’t look at me like that, James. You are always saying that we mustn’t expose Henry to any unpleasantness at this tender age, so it is better that he isn’t here while you speak to Agnes.’
Her chest tightened so she could barely breathe. Papa knew about the golden linnet. Nanny must have told him. She glanced towards where she stood beside the window, looking out. She wondered if she was hoping to catch a glimpse of the bird.
‘Come here, Agnes,’ Papa said, turning to her. ‘Where is my kiss?’
‘I’m sorry, Papa.’ Heavy-legged, she walked across to him and kissed his beard.
‘Ungrateful child,’ Mama exclaimed.
‘Why did you let the bird
go?’ Papa asked.
‘I wanted to set her free. I thought she’d come back.’
‘You let it go in a fit of pique,’ Mama said. ‘How could you when it was a gift?’
She didn’t say that a gift couldn’t buy affection and good behaviour, or make her feel any differently about her baby brother. She had loved the bird, let her go and she hadn’t come back. Wasn’t that punishment enough?
‘I understand why you felt you had to do something to help the poor little creature, but not why you hid the truth afterwards. You have caused great disappointment to your mother and to God,’ Papa said gravely.
‘She is bitter and jealous!’ Mama exclaimed. ‘She has a bad character. What if you are wrong, James, and your little experiment is a failure? You haven’t got the outcome you desired. You have the one I expected. I said it wouldn’t work – you cannot bring them out of their temperaments.’
‘You didn’t say that when I brought the child home.’
‘I had faith in my husband. Why should I question your opinion?’
‘You’ve done that often enough since then.’ Papa drank a glass of sherry in one gulp. ‘You aren’t normally so restrained in yours.’ He turned to Agnes. ‘Your behaviour has made me reflect upon my actions. I’ve done everything in my power to bring you up as a respectable and good-natured young lady. You have wanted for nothing, yet the way you’ve treated my gift shows a distinct lack of gratitude. You’ve become very selfish, and I blame myself in part for not exposing you to the outside world. It’s time that you saw how other children suffer – I believe that would go some way to reforming your character.’
‘I don’t think I should like that.’
‘Quiet,’ Mama interrupted. ‘Let your father speak. James, you may take her to Faversham so she may visit the workhouse.’
‘No, not there,’ Papa said quickly. ‘I have a meeting in Canterbury very soon. Miss Treen will accompany us.’
‘There are poor people there too?’ Mama asked.
‘Indeed. There is poverty everywhere you look. Many of Canterbury’s citizens are wealthy and genteel, and there are several clergy of superior rank who reside within the precincts of the great cathedral. However, there are many parts of the city that have turned into slums where families are crammed into poor housing: mothers, fathers and children living in the same room. The drains regularly overflow, causing a stink, and the place is overrun with rats.’
Agnes had prayed to leave the confines of Windmarsh Court, but not this way.
‘I will acknowledge that you were right when you said that she had been overindulged, but one look at those poor unfortunates will persuade her to examine her conscience and change her attitude,’ Papa went on.
‘It’s all very well, but she won’t change. She can’t. She has but half a heart,’ Mama said.
‘May I venture to suggest that Agnes accompanies me to Canterbury on my next visit to see my relatives?’ Nanny said.
‘Oh? Yes.’ Mama raised her thin eyebrows at the thought that Miss Treen had relatives. It was strange how they had let her bring up their children, Agnes mused, yet didn’t seem to know anything about her. ‘What do you think, James?’
He hesitated.
‘They are respectable people,’ Nanny said. ‘My uncle, Mr Cheevers, owns one of the tanneries on the River Stour. He has brought up my cousins once removed, Master Oliver and Miss Temperance, for the past ten years, with the assistance of his housekeeper. He employs a boy from a disadvantaged family, and he’s also a founder and member of various charities. If it reassures you further, I shall not let Miss Agnes out of my sight.’
‘It sounds like the ideal situation,’ Papa said. ‘I give my permission for you to take Agnes with you.’
‘I shall write a letter to my uncle,’ Nanny said.
Agnes returned to her room to get ready for bed. Mama had said she had but half a heart and she couldn’t help believing her. She was looking forward to an outing to Canterbury to meet Nanny’s relatives. She didn’t care all that much about the suffering children, but she worried about the fate of the golden linnet. She prayed that she was safe, but a few days later, the gardener found a set of yellow feathers drifting across the lawn, and the linnet’s mortal remains between the jaws of one of the cats.
Agnes couldn’t understand why, if she had but half a heart, it could break so painfully with sorrow.
Chapter Four
Kid Gloves and Canterbury Brawn
Agnes felt a thrill of anticipation as she stepped outside. It was supposed to be a punishment, but it didn’t feel like one. The horses, four big bays, shining like conkers fresh from their shells, were champing on their bits and tossing their heads, impatient to move on. Mr Noakes, the coachman, was already in his place, his hands tight on the reins. The stable boy was at their heads and the groom stood to one side holding the carriage door open. Turner helped Agnes then Nanny on board. The groom slammed the door shut and the carriage jolted forwards.
Nanny caught Agnes’s eye as the horses broke into a trot.
‘We are off,’ she said.
They passed the cottages and church of Windmarsh, and turned on to the turnpike road towards Canterbury and London. The flat land gave way to wooded hillsides and then to a rolling landscape of hop gardens, orchards and fields of corn where the barley was beginning to ripen, turning gold in the sunshine.
‘It looks as if there will be a good harvest this year,’ Nanny said. ‘Your papa will be pleased – there will be plenty of malt for making beer.’
Agnes assumed that meant that the brewery would remain in profit, and her father would not be worrying about money.
She glanced down at the fresh pair of pure white kid gloves that she’d taken from her glove box that morning. She’d had to powder her hands with alum before she could get them on. She fidgeted with the clasp on the knitted silver purse that Papa had given her to contain the coins she was carrying to give to the poor.
‘Do calm down,’ Nanny said.
‘But I am impatient to reach Canterbury.’
‘Let me have the purse. I’ll look after it for you.’ Nanny took it and placed it in her canvas bag for safekeeping.
‘When will we get there?’ Agnes asked. Having rarely left Windmarsh, she had little concept of how long it would take to cover the miles to the city.
‘It isn’t much further. This is Golden Hill where the pilgrims told Chaucer’s last tale, and if you look out of the window on this side now, you can see the stone pinnacles and towers of the cathedral coming into view.’
‘It seems a very long way.’
‘It does,’ Nanny agreed lightly. ‘I always find that the more you look forward to something, the more slowly the time seems to pass until a second becomes a full minute, and a minute becomes an hour.’
‘What are you looking forward to most?’ Agnes dared to ask.
‘Freedom. A whole day released from routine and obligation.’ It seemed from Nanny’s broad smile that she was casting off the shackles of Windmarsh. ‘There are the ruins of St Augustine’s, St Dunstan’s church – and look how the river meanders through the meadows.’
It was a pastoral idyll, Agnes thought, with cattle grazing among the grasses and brown sedge.
‘There are the Westgate Towers,’ Nanny said, pointing to the rather forbidding grey building which consisted of a pair of towers with arrow slits and battlements, and an arch between them. It reminded Agnes of a castle.
The coachman drove the carriage along the street to one side of the towers, where they were stopped by two carts carrying goods to market, a pair of cows and a young man who was trying to catch a rooster which had escaped from the basket on his tricycle. Eventually, Mr Noakes lost patience and forced the carriage past, sending the rooster and its feathers scattering.
The horses trotted on, crossing a bridge over the river before the carriage came to a halt.
‘This is the High Street,’ Nanny said, as the stable boy who had accompanied
the coachman opened the door to allow them to disembark.
Agnes stepped aside as a cart laden with milk churns rattled past. She caught snippets of conversation from passers-by and heard men shouting in the distance over the sound of church bells. She closed her eyes. The noise, the hustle and bustle and the smells of unwashed clothes and foul water were overwhelming. Part of her wanted to jump back in the carriage and go straight home, but Nanny took her arm and led her across the street.
‘Come, my dear. I’ve arranged for the carriage to collect us from my uncle’s house at four o’clock sharp. Don’t worry. You will become accustomed to the crowds.’
‘I’m not sure that I shall,’ she muttered. There were people everywhere. She had never seen so many.
‘We will go and find some peace inside the cathedral – no trip to Canterbury can be complete without a visit there. But we won’t stop for long because I’d rather spend the time with my uncle and cousins.’ Nanny gave Agnes a look. ‘I trust that I can rely on your discretion.’
‘You mean you don’t want me to tell Papa about how long we spend at the cathedral?’
‘That’s right. If he asks, we took the time to see every nook and cranny. Don’t look so shocked.’ She guided her into Mercery Lane and Agnes stared up at the old timber-framed shops that belonged to various outfitters, linen drapers and bootmakers. The upper storeys of the row to her left seemed to lean in towards the ones opposite, almost blocking out the sky.
‘Look where you’re going.’ Nanny chuckled as Agnes tripped over her own feet. ‘Just along here is Christchurch gate which takes us into the cathedral precincts.’
‘You know Canterbury well?’ Agnes asked as they walked past West’s Dining House.
‘Of course. I was brought up here, and I visit regularly on my days off.’
Agnes felt guilty for not having given a moment’s thought to how her governess spent her spare time.
‘It’s a wonderful place, with a theatre and two public libraries, and two market days every week for poultry, butter and vegetables. There’s always something going on, whereas there’s precious little entertainment to be found in the country. I should like to live here again one day.’
