by Evie Grace
It turned out that Mr Wraith was just past the prime of life. He had a wizened complexion like an apple that had been hanging too long on a tree, and a twinkle in his eye.
‘I’m a seafaring man, looking for a few days’ lodgings until my ship sails,’ he said, introducing himself when he arrived on the doorstep the same evening.
‘Welcome.’ Having agreed on a price, Catherine let him in and showed him to his room. ‘I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ he said, looking her up and down.
‘I don’t keep late hours and I won’t have my lodgers rolling in at any time of night the worse for wear.’
‘I expect you look forward to having a bit of male company, though. There must be times when you yearn for a warm body to join you in bed.’ When he smiled, she realised he had no teeth.
‘No, sir, I do not. I’m still in mourning for my lately departed husband,’ she said sharply. ‘An evening meal can be provided and laundry done at a cost per item if you so wish.’ She didn’t want to make him too comfortable. She didn’t want him to stay. She needed the income, but she liked being alone in her little house.
He ordered a meal so she served him fish stew and brought bread to the table in the kitchen. Her skin crawled as she watched him devour his food and wipe his greasy chops with the back of his hand.
He stayed three nights. On the third night, Catherine was lying on the mattress in the room downstairs, listening for his heavy snores. Gradually, she drifted off, but later she felt a heavy weight shifting alongside her and a sudden chill as the blanket was pulled away. The stench of unwashed body and spirits assaulted her nostrils, and a pair of rough hands grabbed at her body. She fought to get up, but his fingers gripped her neck so she couldn’t breathe. She had no option but to turn her head and bite hard into his flesh, at which he yelled out loud. Gasping for breath, she reached across him and grasped the poker. She scrambled away, holding it out as a weapon.
‘Get out.’ She threw his laundered clothes onto the street after him. ‘Go and don’t darken my door again.’
She bolted the door from the inside and took stock. Mr Wraith hadn’t paid her, and she had to empty the slops the next morning and give the chamber pot an extra rinse with hot water and soda. She’d had a lucky escape, though. She checked for the half a sixpence in case her lodger had had light fingers as well as rude manners, but it was still in the hem of her skirt. She resolved to be far more careful in future.
When she returned from the market later the same morning, she ran into Mrs Strange.
‘I heard you had a bit of trouble last night,’ she said, tweaking the rather grubby lace on her scarlet dress. ‘Come along to the inn with me and we’ll drown our sorrows together.’
Catherine declined her offer.
‘You know, there are easier ways to make money from men than offering lodgings. There’s always some knave out there with money in his pocket looking for comfort in a woman’s arms.’
Catherine’s face burned.
‘There’s no need to be shy about it. If you change your mind at any time, just let me know. I have gentlemen friends who would pay generously for your looks and refinement, Miss …’
‘Mrs Matthews,’ Catherine reminded her.
‘Mrs Matthews, that’s right.’ Mrs Strange held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. ‘A word of advice in the meantime. It would be to your advantage not to send your customers packing for the slightest misdemeanour. As I’m sure you know, men have needs that become all the more urgent when they’ve been away at sea for weeks and months on end. Added extras are always appreciated and the establishments that provide them are generally preferred, if you get my meaning. If I had to choose between respectability and making ends meet, I know what I’d decide.’
‘I believe that you already have,’ Catherine said sharply.
To her surprise, Mrs Strange smiled. ‘I like someone who speaks their mind. Good day, Mrs Matthews.’
Catherine let herself into the cottage. She had only ever known Matty. She couldn’t bear the thought of any other man touching her. That night she dreamed of him, recalling every detail of his touch, his face, his voice, his scent of musk and grass, and when she woke, she was distraught when she found that he wasn’t there with his arms wrapped around her.
At the market the next day, she was bartering with a stallholder over the price of cheese when she heard someone call her name.
‘Miss Rook? Catherine, it is you. I can’t believe it.’
She turned to find Stephen right behind her.
‘I thought you’d moved away,’ he said, beaming. ‘I’m so glad to have come across you like this.’
‘Shh,’ she said stiffly. ‘My name is Mrs Matthews.’
‘You are married?’
‘Widowed. I’ll explain. Let me pay for the cheese, then we’ll find somewhere private where we can talk.’ She decided not to invite him back to the cottage for fear that it would arouse Mrs Strange’s curiosity.
‘There’s the Bear across the street,’ he suggested.
She hesitated.
‘Come on.’ Stephen held out his arm to take her basket. ‘Surely you can spare your old friend an hour of your time?’
She let him carry the basket across the road and into the inn. They sat in the snug, a private room screened with oak and frosted glass panels, where they shared a jug of ale.
‘Have you heard anything from Matty?’ she said. ‘That’s the one thing I’ve been afraid of, that he wouldn’t know where I was to get in touch with me.’
‘I’m sorry. He hasn’t made contact with his family at all. We haven’t received a single letter, but then he wasn’t keen on writing.’
‘He would have written or asked someone to scribe on his behalf if he could,’ Catherine said sadly. ‘I wish I knew he was all right, that he was at least content.’
‘I feel the same. It would give me some sense of peace if I knew that my brothers were alive and well. It would certainly make a difference to my poor pa.’
‘And your ma?’ Catherine interjected softly.
‘Ah, she has passed to the other side, God rest her soul. She is at peace.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
Stephen cleared his throat.
‘You don’t know how many times I’ve tried to find you. I have so much to tell you. Emily and I are planning to move back to Overshill to take over the forge. Len and Ivy are retiring to the coast for the sake of Len’s health.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Emily sent me to the market to buy barley sugar to satisfy her craving – she is with child for a second time.’
Catherine could taste salt tears on her lips.
‘I’ve upset you.’ Stephen passed her a handkerchief. ‘It’s my turn to be apologise. The last time I saw you, you were carrying—’
‘I had to give her up,’ she cut in. ‘It was the worst thing I’ve ever done. When Ma and Pa sent me packing from the farm, I struggled to find work.’
‘Why didn’t you come to me and Emily? We would have found a way to help.’
‘I couldn’t, Stephen, you weren’t yet established. You were working as an improver for your new master in Faversham, you had a wife and an infant on the way, and you were providing for your father and siblings. I couldn’t possibly have imposed upon you.’ She took a sip of beer. ‘I admitted myself to the …’ she could hardly bring herself to give it a name ‘… the place that some people call Gravel Pit House.’
‘I know where you mean. When I found out that you’d left the farm, I went there and asked for you,’ Stephen said, frowning. ‘I came across Drusilla, who told me categorically that there was no person by the name of Miss Rook at the Union. She lied, didn’t she? I shouldn’t have listened to her. I’m an idiot sometimes.’
‘She’s pulled the wool over many people’s eyes during her lifetime. She knew very well I was there, though. I went under the name of
Mrs Matthews, a respectable widow who had fallen on hard times.’
‘I could do her an injury. If I’d found you, I’d have dragged you back home to live with us.’ Stephen leaned towards her. ‘How are you living now?’
She explained.
‘When Emily and I have settled back in Overshill, you can come and join us.’
‘No, Stephen. I have no desire to return.’
‘I’m sure you’d find paid occupation in the village.’
‘I don’t think so. I’d be Miss Rook who gave birth to a convicted murderer’s child. Who would offer me a position? I’m grateful for the offer, but I’m making a life here.’ She changed the subject. ‘Have you any news of Wanstall Farm?’
‘I’m afraid so. I don’t wish to distress you—’
‘It will distress me more if you don’t tell me.’
‘Your parents have gone with John to Selling to live with your brother, Thomas. Pa said that they loaded up the cart with what they could, and took it away. The squire has since leased the farm to Mr Nobbs.’
It was as she’d expected, but it still pained her.
‘I’ve heard through Len and Ivy that John’s health is about the same, but your father is sadly aged, and your mother is unhappy at having to share a house with her grandchildren. As far as the farm goes, Mr Nobbs has made plenty of changes, and not all for the good.’
‘How is Ivy?’ Catherine asked.
‘She’s looking forward to enjoying the sea air at Whitstable. I believe that Len is treating her more kindly than he used to, now that he’s about to give up the trials and tribulations of running the forge.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’
The bell chimed from the Guildhall tower.
‘I’d better go,’ Stephen said. ‘I have an appointment to view a horse before I return to the forge. One day, I shall rent a few acres where I can buy and sell horses.’
‘What about your smithing? How will you find the time?’
‘I’m taking on an apprentice. He’s a good lad.’
‘I admire your ambition.’
‘I want to be sure that I can clothe my children and put food on the table.’ Catherine stood up and he did likewise. ‘You must pay us a visit sometime in the near future. Emily would love to see you.’ He gave her a small bow.
‘Give Emily my regards. And good luck with your new venture.’ She accompanied him out onto the street, where they parted. She didn’t look back as she returned through the town with the sound of the rag and bone man and the street sellers ringing in her ears. She yearned for the peace and quiet of the countryside, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back to Overshill. Her memories were too strong and her feelings too raw.
She didn’t see Stephen again, or try to get in contact with Emily either. Seeing them together with their children would have been far too painful, a reminder of how she and Matty could have been a family with their darling Agnes.
For the next two years, Catherine concentrated on making enough money to pay the rent on the cottage. She saved money and firewood by pushing the bed up against the fireplace in the upstairs room, which put her lodgers off asking for the fire to be lit. In the evenings, she cut sheets in half and sewed the sides to the middle so the worn part was at the edges for reuse. She made soup with the fish heads that she bought at the market or straight off the wharf, and sold portions from the house. She planted marigolds and peas, onions, potatoes and raspberry canes.
She had some regulars – journeymen and sailors – whom she managed to keep at arm’s length, and soon, by dint of hard work and frugality, she had a steady income, enough to live comfortably.
One of the men made her an offer of marriage. He was a journeyman bricklayer, rough and ready, but kind. He was about to be promoted to foreman and wanted a wife to accompany him to London, where he would take advantage of the building going on around the London to Greenwich viaduct.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said when he made his proposal. ‘It’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept. I will marry only for love.’
Her rejection disappointed him more than she’d imagined. He raised his voice in anger.
‘You’re a capable woman, and a most attractive one with a finely turned ankle and a blush on your cheek, but it’s plain that you’re burning a candle for another man. I shan’t call or take up lodgings with you again.’
‘I understand,’ she said.
‘When you’re old and grey, and working your fingers to the bone, think of me and how I’d have looked after you while you made our house a home. Goodbye, Mrs Matthews.’ He paid her what he owed and left.
‘You are a madwoman,’ Mrs Strange said when she asked after him and Catherine told her that he had gone, never to return. ‘You turned down an offer of marriage to a man with prospects who would have built a life with his own hands for you in London. And he was decent-looking too.’
She hadn’t been tempted. It had been hard at first, being a single woman living alone, but she was beginning to value her independence. She was no longer beholden to anyone. She didn’t want to go to London – she’d heard about the slums, the rowdy crowds, and the dirt. Kent was home, where her heart was, near Agnes whom she remembered in vivid detail: her toothless smile; her soft hair; her baby scent.
The area held her memories of Matty too. She had prayed that she would hold on to them for the rest of her life, but to her deep sorrow, they were beginning to retreat. She could recall neither the exact timbre of his voice when he whispered to her of love, nor the precise shade of his hair. Whereas once she knew exactly what he would have said in every situation, she was no longer sure. At first, that was more upsetting than anything, because it felt as if she had lost him twice, but as time passed, her grief started to fade.
1841
Chapter Seventeen
The Messenger
Faversham
On a wet and wild March night, Catherine was lying in bed when the sound of knocking began.
At first, she fancied that she was dreaming that Matty was at the door, having returned from the other side of the world to take her in his arms and tell her that he was free, then that the sound had something to do with Mrs Strange entertaining her menfolk next door.
Was it the knocker-upper come early to wake her neighbours and call them from their beds? Or was it someone out looking for lodgings? She couldn’t afford to turn them away, unless they were three sheets to the wind.
She forced her eyes open, slid out of bed and crept past the embers of the fire to the door.
‘Miss Rook, are you there?’ came a man’s voice.
‘My name is Mrs Matthews.’
‘In that case, forgive me. I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘No, wait.’ Catherine pulled her shawl around her shoulders and picked up the stub of the candle from the windowsill before opening the door just a crack. There was a young man of no more than seventeen, shivering in a cloak, and holding the reins of a white horse much like Stephen’s on the doorstep. His hair was dark and slicked across his cheeks by the rain. ‘Who is asking?’
A chill ran through her bones when he answered, ‘I’m Daniel. I’m apprenticed to a smith who goes by the name of Mr Carter. I’ve ridden from Overshill with a message for a Miss Rook, but it appears that I’ve been given the wrong address.’ He made to turn away.
‘No, don’t. I can convey your news to Miss Rook in person. She is well known to me. You’d better step inside.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, but I can’t stop. I’ll get it in the neck if the master’s horse catches a chill. He said to tell you – I mean, Miss Rook – that his wife is very sick. She’s asking for you – I mean, Miss Rook.’
‘Emily?’ Catherine said.
‘Mrs Emily Carter, that’s right.’
‘Shall I come in the morning or—?’ she began, but Daniel shook his head.
‘We need to leave now. You can ride the horse and I’ll walk alongside,’ he said, allowing for no further pretence
about her identity.
‘Let me pack a bag and leave a message with my neighbour.’ It was an unseemly hour to call, but she needed someone to keep an eye on the cottage while she was away. Mrs Strange was up anyway, hanging out of her upstairs window to see what the commotion was about.
Very soon, Catherine was riding through the driving rain back home to Overshill for the first time since she had walked away, half-starved and carrying Matty’s child. She had been unloved, unwanted, an object of distrust and hatred, but she had no doubts about making her return. Emily was seriously ill. Her pulse beat with a sense of urgency as she wondered exactly how poorly she was. She was afraid that Daniel’s gloomy silence was more telling than words. He seemed to be under the impression that her old friend wouldn’t last the night.
The wind howled and the branches of the trees clattered together. The clouds raced across the moon, blocking out the meagre light. The horse stumbled its way through the muddy ruts in the road, its ears pressed back against its head. Daniel slipped and scrambled along at its side.
Catherine shivered as the rain seeped through her cloak. It seemed as though they would never get there, and if they did, it would be too late. She began to feel faint with cold. She clung on to the saddle, willing the journey to be over, but nearing Overshill, they had to make a detour around a fallen tree. Just as she was beginning to think that she couldn’t hold on any longer, they reached the outskirts of the village and made their way to the forge.
There was a lantern hanging outside the cottage where Ivy and Len had used to live. It seemed familiar, but altered with an extra room added to the side and clad with painted clapboard.
‘We are here, Miss Rook.’ Daniel helped her down from the horse.
She rushed straight to the door and raised her hand to knock.
The door creaked open. The draught snuffed out the candle that Stephen was carrying.
‘You came.’ He reached out for her hand and guided her inside. ‘Thank God.’ He glanced past her. ‘Daniel, wisp the mare dry and give her some extra grub. Oh, and help yourself to tea and the cake the vicar’s wife brought round today when you’ve finished.’ He closed the door behind them. ‘You’d better get out of those clothes – you’re wet through.’
