The Sugar Merchant’s Wife

by Erica Brown

  Edith’s expression remained unchanged.

  Blanche tried again, this time bearing in mind the old Edith who tried to make herself and her family seem better than they actually were.

  ‘You’ve fallen on hard times, Edith, but I know you’ve been used to better. Goodness, you looked after Marstone Court as if it were your own.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Edith, her face seeming to brighten. ‘But our Lizzie ’as been sick, you know. And bearing in mind that you lost your Annie, so you wouldn’t want to lose any more by bringing them to Cabot’s Yard, would you?’

  Brought up sharply by Edith’s less than tactful reminder of Anne’s death, Blanche instantly reconsidered. Much as she wanted to convince Edith that her dire circumstances didn’t matter, that they were still friends, she had no wish to expose her children to infection unnecessarily. She remained tactful.

  ‘Perhaps we should go to the doll’s hospital first. The children can stay there while we deliver the parcels.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Max protested.

  ‘They do have toy soldiers,’ Blanche reminded him, and he gave in, albeit reluctantly.

  ‘That might be better,’ said Edith. ‘I mean,’ she said with a sudden grin and in a low voice so the children couldn’t hear, ‘it ain’t no worse than that bloody awful place in Cock and Bottle Alley where me ma used to live and them dogs me brother pinched for the rewards Lady Verity offered.’

  ‘And your mother feeding them chopped-up rats,’ said Blanche in an equally low voice.

  The woman who ran the doll’s hospital was plump, wore a brightly coloured dress and a mop cap from which corkscrew curls, white and stiff as waxed rope, crowded around her face.

  ‘This place smells funny,’ said Max, wrinkling his nose at the smell of linseed oil, cat's’ pee and cabbage water.

  Blanche pretended she hadn’t heard and smiled sweetly at the beaming proprietor.

  ‘Mrs Winter, I know it may be something of an imposition, but can I ask you to take care of my children for half an hour? I have an errand to run that is of the utmost importance. They may purchase a toy each to the value of two shillings.’

  At the prospect of entertaining customers with money, Mrs Winter’s cheeks grew rounder as her smile grew wider.

  ‘Course I will, Mrs Heinkel. Anything to oblige a lady such as yourself,’ she said, dropping a deep curtsey. ‘’Tis no imposition at all,’ she repeated. ‘I only wish all me customers acted like the ladies and gentlemen they’re supposed to be. But there, I knows a real lady when I sees one.’

  Blanche could tell that Edith was bubbling with barely contained laughter, but she managed to keep a straight face herself.

  The children were already entranced by the dolls, the lead soldiers, the automatons and a dapple-grey rocking horse with flared nostrils, a long mane and a docked tail.

  It didn’t take long to get to Lewins Mead.

  First they bundled up John with blankets, clothes and food. What remained they tucked beneath their arms.

  ‘I know you said Freddie loved plum jam. I got Cook to put in a big jar in that trunk back there. And there’s cake, half a ham, a loaf of sugar and three pats of butter plus one of Cook’s wonderful loaves,’ said Blanche, as they went into Cabot’s Yard.

  People in doorways stared as they struggled by.

  ‘Be careful you don’t trip,’ shouted Blanche, seeing that the blankets were obscuring Edith’s view.

  But Edith didn’t slow her pace, though goodness knows, she couldn’t possibly see where she was going.

  Despite the weight of her crinoline, Blanche ran almost as fast as ten years before, when bare legged, with the wind in her hair, she had counted her paces along the beach in Barbados where she had grown up.

  Edith was not so sure-footed as she seemed, however. Tripping on the rough and broken surface of the alley, she fell forward, and so did the blankets she carried.

  ‘Edith!’ cried Blanche, running to her side, as curious faces appeared at pint-sized windows. Through a small door to her right, a host of what looked like grubby dwarves appeared, paused then dashed towards them.

  ‘Ma! Ma!’

  Suddenly Blanche knew the extent of Edith’s pride. These grubby, ill-dressed urchins were Edith’s children.

  The biggest was a boy with a filthy face, his hair dark and matted, and his eyes blue pools in the freckled filth of his face. She recognized him as the boy she’d seen Edith with on St Augustine’s Quay. A girl ran close behind him, her eyes big and dark, and her frame too thin for her height. Two smaller children, a boy and a girl, followed behind, shyly curious as they eyed Blanche, who now felt truly out of place with her fine dress. Their faces were pinched and pale. The boy helped his mother to her feet and the others gathered up the blankets.

  Blanche checked the urge to wrinkle her nose at the smells of the alley and the dirty children. Cabot’s Yard was worse than Cock and Bottle Alley. She’d left John with the carriage at the end of the alley, and couldn’t wait to get back to it.

  ‘I’ve got lots of lovely things for you,’ she said to the children and smiled broadly – which helped keep her from wrinkling her nose.

  The children remained wary, as their mother brushed down her dress and looked more dejected than Blanche could ever remember.

  ‘What you got this time then?’ asked Freddie, his wariness shunned by a forced look of aggression.

  Blanche kept smiling. ‘There’s bread and jam and butter and lots of other food in this parcel,’ she said, indicating the one she carried beneath her right arm, ‘and there’s nice new clothes in this one,’ she said gesturing to the other.

  Without a word of warning, the boy snatched both parcels and darted for the door he’d come out of.

  ‘Freddie! Thank Mrs Heinkel right now!’

  Freddie stopped, glowered at his mother then thought better of it. ‘Thank you,’ he said lamely and disappeared.

  Edith sighed as her remaining children gathered around her. ‘You’d better come inside,’ she said to Blanche.

  Blanche ducked through the low doorway, sure that the smell inside would be dreadful bearing in mind the amount of people living here. To her surprise she detected the faint smell of lavender.

  The room was dark, the muted glow of the fire throwing shadows over the wall and doing just as much to give light as the single, small window, with it’s blemished glass that disfigured the scene outside. Her eyes followed her nose to the bunch of lavender hanging before it.

  There was a double bed against one wall, a single chair, a table and a three-legged stool. An iron pot hung over a primitive fire grate. Her heart filled with pity for her old friend. This was all Edith had in the world. Judging by the size of the bed, Edith slept sitting upright in the chair.

  Edith pointed at the bunch of lavender. ‘I hung it there to stop the smells – that’s what they reckons spreads the cholera, though I ain’t so sure now, not since that Doctor Budd came wanderin’ through ’ere and said to me about the water. My Freddie, bless his heart, went down and got it from the quay. That was when ’e met Captain Tom. Fancy that! On that day and right there on the quay, there ’e was as large as life…’

  Blanche laughed and shook her head in disbelief. ‘Goodness! It seems you knew Tom was back in Bristol before I did.’

  ‘Freddie heard Marstone Court and the Strong family mentioned, and told the captain that his ma used to work there.’ She beamed as if she would burst with happiness, her face swiftly turning pink. ‘That’s when he told Freddie to say that Captain Tom Strong sends his compliments.’

  Blanche had heard all this before, but could see that Edith took great pleasure in the retelling. ‘And you received them well, I see. Your face is as red as rhubarb.’

  Sensing it was time to leave, she stepped out into the dirty alley.

  Edith followed. ‘I’ll walk with you. Ain’t safe for a lady like you to be alone in a place like this.’

  ‘It can’t be that bad,’ said Blanche, but d
idn’t really mean it. Of course it was bad. The drains were bad, the water was bad and the housing was appalling. It was kinder not to agree.

  The smells, the heat and the flies were truly dreadful in Cabot’s Yard.

  Edith didn’t seem to notice at first, then saw Blanche’s expression and said with a nervous laugh, ‘Damn flies like the stink, don’t they? Hope things smell a bit sweeter in my new cottage.’

  ‘I’m sure they will,’ said Blanche.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tom hadn’t meant to peer at papers that did not concern him, but he was looking for bills of lading in order to judge the size of sugar business the new steamship company could expect. It wasn’t like Horatia to leave personal paperwork in an unlocked drawer, but he had distracted her attention the night before. Following a few glasses of wine at dinner, candlelight and his mellow mood, she’d become a different woman. Everything he said seemed to be what she wanted to hear. She’d touched him intimately, her breasts heaving expectantly against the tight bodice of her low-cut dress. He’d resisted temptation – this time.

  The documents were deeds of properties in the city centre. He didn’t know for sure, but was pretty certain that they lay in the path of the proposed new sewer. ‘The sly little minx,’ he murmured and smiled. She would never admit to this.

  The letter with the documents specifically asked that she return the paperwork today. It was ten o’clock in the morning and he’d already decided to take a look at the progress in the shipyard. Needling Horatia about her secret dealings might hold him up a little, but he couldn’t resist.

  There was a large green leather winged chair immediately behind the door of the library, unseen when the door was opened. Tom took a seat and waited.

  Horatia came breezing in, dressed in green velvet and pulling on her gloves. She went straight to the desk and took out the deeds, just as Tom had guessed she would.

  ‘Off into town?’ he asked.

  Horatia was like a startled rabbit. Although amused, he controlled the urge to laugh.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, tucking the papers into a wallet that she stuffed beneath her arm.

  ‘So am I,’ he said getting up out of the chair. ‘Can I drop you off anywhere?’

  He knew damn well that she wasn’t going to admit to an appointment at her solicitors because then he would ask her why she was going there and he was sure she wouldn’t want to divulge the reason.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m going to… the hospital. It’s to do with disinfecting some areas of the city.’

  ‘Then I shall take you there,’ said Tom. ‘I admire your courage. Not many fine ladies would dare venture into the parts of the city Doctor Budd wishes to cleanse.’

  ‘I feel it’s my duty,’ said Horatia, flushing slightly at Tom’s praise.

  Tom offered her his arm. ‘Then I am pleased to escort you.’

  He knew she’d get a cab from the hospital straight to the offices of Septimus Monk if he didn’t escort her directly into the keeping of Doctor Budd.

  ‘Come, my dear,’ he said once they arrived at St Peter’s Hospital, taking hold of her elbow and guiding her forcefully into the dark interior. He sensed her unwillingness, though she smiled tightly, as if her teeth might fall out if she didn’t.

  The other women were already there – including Blanche. At the sight of her, Tom raised his hat and their eyes locked as they do when secrets are shared.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said. ‘I take my hat off to all of you. You are braver than many men I have met. If this city is ever free of disease, it is entirely down to you.’

  His statement was well received and Horatia’s demeanour changed instantly. Not willing to appear less courageous than the other women – especially Blanche – the true purpose of her trip to Bristol was put aside, at least for now.

  ‘Tom, you are such a dear man for escorting me here,’ she said, reaching up and kissing him lightly on the lips. Tom saw Blanche lower her eyes. She wouldn’t be jealous, he couldn’t countenance that, but she might be a little hurt. Old wounds are always difficult to heal if left unattended for a long time.

  ‘And don’t forget your promise, will you?’ Horatia added, clutching both Tom’s hands in hers. ‘You will collect me later, won’t you, my darling? Then we can enjoy the drive back to Marstone Court. Just the two of us.’

  Her term of endearment was so brazen, so full of innuendo, that even Dr Budd, who had just appeared, went a little pink in the gills.

  Tom departed nodding an acknowledgement to Edith, and leaving every woman there with a gleam in her eyes.

  Blanche was surprised. Although Horatia had paid lip service to cleaning up the city, Blanche had never expected her to get seriously involved. Well, she’s certainly going to get her hands dirty, she decided. ‘Come along, ladies. We have work to do,’ she said.

  Although Blanche had expected Horatia to be frosty, she was surprised to find her otherwise, as though she were trying to live up to Tom’s praise for their bravery.

  A team of coachmen, including John, set them down close to Lewins Mead with their jars of disinfectant. As they walked into the narrower streets, where the coach could not go, the daylight turned to dusk in the middle of the day. This was the heart of Lewins Mead. Other carriages carrying other women had stopped next to alleys just as mean as these, all armed with disinfectant and good advice.

  ‘How quaint,’ Horatia remarked on entering the more amenable though ancient alleys of the old city. ‘So atmospheric. It reminds one of times gone by when men wore hose and women were called damsels.’

  Her nose wrinkled and her overtures to times past vanished as they approached Lewins Mead. Ramshackle privies hung from the backs of houses between St John’s Bridge and Quay Head, the resulting effluent falling directly into the River Frome. The stench was at its worse here. Steam rose from the seething mess of household rubbish, human excreta, waste from the glassworks and the skinless body of what looked like a dead dog, but might just as well have been a stillborn child. The steam smelt poisonous, similar to that rising from the new coal-burning coke boilers at the gasworks.

  At the sight of three ladies, two of whom were far too well dressed to belong to Cabot’s Yard, heads bobbed at windows. Care-worn women and ragged children appeared in dark doorways, sunken eyes full of curiosity, mouths open like starving nestlings waiting to be fed. Belligerent voices bawled in the blackness behind them, demanding to know what was going on or to shut the bloody door.

  ‘That’s where we get our water,’ said Edith, pointing to the well.

  It was of the old-fashioned type, water drawn up by means of a bucket and covered with a slate slab that had to be dragged back when water was needed. At present it was pulled to one side, the mouth of the well exposed.

  ‘It’s bloody heavy,’ said Edith, noticing Blanche’s worried frown.

  Horatia’s attention was drawn elsewhere. She pointed. ‘What’s that?’

  Standing in the corner like a sentry box was the privy, a three-sided affair with a three-quarter door.

  ‘The privy,’ said Edith picking up a stone. ‘See?’ The stone hit its target and a host of bluebottles buzzed upwards in an angry mass.

  Horatia turned white.

  Blanche asked Edith why her children weren’t there.

  ‘They’re down with Molly,’ said Edith. ‘I thought we could get on better with things with them out of the way, though they kind of keep an eye on her rather than the other way round.’

  ‘Is that why you haven’t moved to Little Paradise yet?’

  Edith screwed up her face. ‘She’s none too bright and needs looking after and she cries when I says about moving. But I’ve had a thought about how to persuade her. It’s just a case of waiting till the time is right.’

  Blanche was disappointed. Since Edith had come to work for her, she’d made sure she never went home without ‘surplus’ food from the kitchen, and items of clothes and footwear that her own children had outgrown. She’d wanted
to see how they were.

  As Edith and Blanche went about their task with all the energy of Christian crusaders, determined to dispel the enemy, Horatia turned to stone.

  Although she willed her legs to move, they wouldn’t. Her stomach churned with revulsion, the bile rising like a swallowed slug. At Marstone Court, the smell of poverty had been hidden beneath the uniforms of housemaids, chambermaids, scullery maids and all other manner of the lower orders. Never had she witnessed at first-hand the raw reality of life for people like Edith.

  Holding her hand against the velvet trim and glass buttons of her bodice did nothing to stop her heart palpitating or her nose from wrinkling. The stench was terrible; rotting refuse, urine and the ever-present stink of sewers and mouldy buildings mixed with the sickly sweetness of rats with which the poor seemed to share their lodgings.

  ‘Retching will only add to our work,’ Blanche said to her on noticing her pallor.

  ‘I will do my best not to,’ Horatia hissed through clenched teeth.

  ‘Then perhaps you’ll stop wasting time and get on with what you’ve come here to do.’ She pointed to the disinfectant Horatia had set down. ‘Pour it down and around the privy.’

  Horatia stiffened her spine. She was being challenged.

  You’re going to be sick. You’re not really the sort of woman Tom described. Deep down you’re just a very rich woman, as stupid and narrow-minded as others of your class.

  Horatia told herself she was made of sterner stuff, picked up the disinfectant and started for the privy. A small child ran into it ahead of her and slammed the door. Relieved at the unexpected respite, Horatia eyed the three-sided structure. The sides, like the door, were built of wooden slats and flies buzzed in and out of the knotholes.

  ‘My God,’ she exclaimed, ‘it looks like a coffin.’

  ‘In some ways it is,’ said Blanche, ‘or weren’t you really listening to what Doctor Budd had to say?’

  It’s her revenge for what I said about Max, thought Horatia indignantly and threw Blanche an icy stare.