“I have been on a round of the assembly rooms available within the town and the landlord of the Fox has been exceedingly obliging. I think all will be quite satisfactory there. May I count on your attendance, my dear ladies, and that of the Reverend Bredwardine? My only concerns at this time of year are the cold rain and the mire but I intend to use my own and some of my London friends’ carriages to fetch everyone who cannot walk. I am sure my coachman can be persuaded, if the tip be large enough, which it certainly will.”
She laughed and clapped her hands at the prospect like a child, for all her fifty years, before leaving them to contemplate such felicity at their leisure as she sallied forth to recruit more dancers, a mission in which she readily succeeded.
The excitement in the little town was palpable. Mrs Hartin at the linen drapers was ready to bow down and do idolatrous worship before the very image of Miss Ashfield, so delighted was she with the brisk trade she and her husband entertained before the ball in gloves, sashes and various fol-de-rols. The young people could not praise the squire’s sister enough, though some of the older folk who no longer cared for dances grumbled at being required to turn out on a cold night from their firesides, but these were in the minority. The landlord of the Fox was lavish in his praise of the generous provision Miss Ashfield had settled with him for food and drink beforehand. “No stinting with her,” he nodded sagely at anyone who would listen,” she is as free and liberal as any wealthy gentleman, nay, more so, bless her homely face. Two sides of good roast beef and ale aplenty, as well as dainties for the ladies. She truly wants each and every one of us to enjoy ourselves, I do believe. There inna many like that – no election comin’ neither, so ‘er inna just getting votes for her side or aught like that. ‘Tis a pity she lived away so long up in London, that it is. This auld town could do with a bit more livening up.”
Chapter 21
Edmund in the meantime had been reflecting on the possible connections between the Wood household and the little phial Daniel had discovered. Could the supposed ‘ghost’ have been searching for the phial? How had it come there in the first place? Could it have been thrown from a window into Mrs Bytheway’s garden? To what purpose? He could gain no clue to the mystery as yet, puzzle as he might. He determined therefore to go and visit the Woods as soon as his parish duties would allow, and talk to their servants too.
Annie opened the door to him.
“Good day, Annie. Is your mistress in - I mean the younger Mrs Wood?”
“Good day, Reverend. I’m sorry, sir but neither of the ladies is at home to anyone; they beg to be excused. They do both feel a bit seedy, sir. Mr Charles has gone to Bridgnorth to pay the stone-carver. Can I bear a message, sir?”
“Only my best wishes and that I will return at a more convenient time, thank you, Annie, but if you have a few moments to spare, I would very much appreciate a word with you and your fellow servants too.”
Her curiosity was piqued. “Please come in, sir. You don’t mind coming through to the kitchen, sir?” As she turned to lead the way, she picked up a white woollen shawl which she had only put down to open the door to Edmund. As they entered the kitchen, where Mary, Dilly’s replacement, was sitting at a table sewing, Annie passed the shawl across to her.
“I dunna know what young Missus has been about but her shawl’s all covered in moss and bits of twig. Looks like ‘er’s been though a hedge back’ards. It’s such a nice one too. Mr Charles bought it for ‘er. It’ll take ages to pick all that muck out of it. Mr Bredwardine just wants a word with us, Mary. Would you like some tea, sir?”
They sat together at the kitchen table.
“How are you all, Annie, Mary? Have you recovered from the sad events of last December?”
“Well, sir,” said Annie, “Since you are so kind as to ask, I won’t hide from you that it has been a hard time with me. I still seem to see the poor little wench, all curled up, when I close my eyes at night. Makes me shiver still, sometimes.”
“Aahh, and me. I canna bear to go up to the attic after dark. I hears crying sometimes in the night down the corridor.” Mary shuddered.
“Hush, Mary, don’t.”
“It’s true – a sort of sharp keening, as though someone was very sad, and can’t help it, but is trying to keep quiet.”
Edmund did not have to ask if the girls believed in ghosts, for nearly all the country folk did, as Mrs Bytheway had shown so recently, but he was interested by the incident.
“Have you heard it often, Mary?”
“No, sir, just once or twice. Too often for me though.”
“Mistress says she heard it too.”
“The elder or younger?”
“Mrs Charles, sir. She wanders about at night sometimes.” The girls exchanged guilty glances.
“Indeed. Does she go outside?”
“Well, I suppose so. Look at her shawl. What she might do out there is a mystery.”
“Forgive the forthrightness of this question, and I will fully understand if you would rather not answer, but would you say your young master and mistress are happy?”
Annie frowned while considering her reply. “Well, sir. There have been some rows, it’s true. Old mistress is allus a bit sharp with them, especially Missus Charles, and I think she ‘ud like Master to stand up for her more as her ‘usband, but ‘e’s caught between a rock and a hard place there, between wife and mother. The three of ‘em dunna spend much time together by their own choice and meal times can be heavy work for ‘em all, I think. Auld Missus seems to think Mrs Charles is trying to put summat in ‘er soup or tea. She’s taken to her bed this morning, grumbling that no one pays her any mind, and that only Dilly understood how to make her tea. She takes everything except dinner in her own room now. It makes more work for us. I ‘ave thought of leaving, sir, to be frank with you.”
“Ahh, so have we all, but Mr Charles has begged us not to, sir.”
Edmund could understand that. They were all good girls, and if they left, Charles was not likely to be able to employ better, especially as his wife’s reputation was not high in the town, and over the years, the elder woman’s whiplash of a tongue had sent several servants home to their mothers in tears before their time was up.
“I am sorry this is not a happy home for you all,” said Edmund. “Your loyalty to the family does you credit. You would be sorry too, I think, to lose each other’s friendship, should you leave?”
“Yes, sir. We brace each up, don’t we, girls?” Annie smiled at her fellow servants. “We comfort each other, and have a little weep sometimes, like for poor Dilly, and we laugh a bit too, sometimes, still, though a lot less since she went.”
Chapter 22
On the night of Miss Ashfield’s party a ruddy blaze shone forth from the windows of the Fox onto the wet street, reflecting the glow of the warm fires and the dozens of beeswax candles within, which imparted a temporary flush of health to the cheeks and an involuntary twinkle to the eyes of all those heading hastily indoors out of the cold sleet drifting past outside. A great flurry of carriages and horses passed up and down the town, collecting and ferrying the guests as close to the door of the inn as may be. Edmund and his family were very glad of it for it meant that the preparations they would normally have to make against the cold and wet simply to pass down the street could all be set aside and they could travel unencumbered. Edmund’s patent leather dancing pumps looked well enough as to their uppers, but the twice-patched soles, with a small hole remaining yet, only discovered this evening , could bear scrutiny less well. He was not concerned however; they would last this night and perhaps a few more, with the help of some stiff card and newspaper. He took much pleasure in seeing all his womenfolk so comfortably ensconced on the plump cushions of Miss Ashfield’s own coach, an unaccustomed luxury to him and his sister, though the older ladies could remember often travelling in their grandfather’s carriage. They looked as smart as their old lace, carefully washed and attached to gowns anew, and long-cherished family t
rinkets could make them. Their gowns were somewhat old-fashioned, but Much Wenlock was not so much a la mode that this would be remarked upon. Their wraps too were satisfactory and they had brand new evening gloves, Edmund’s gift to them all, which gave more cause for satisfaction to them than all the rest of their finery, not even excepting the evening gown that Miss Ashfield had pressed upon Harriet during their sojourn in London. It was of teal blue silk taffeta, with brown velvet details and fitted Harri’s trim figure very well.
Their patroness stood near the hearth in the Fox, welcoming each guest with a warm smile and proffering her hand. Her brother stood at her elbow, adding his welcome to hers, while his lady, seated for her greater comfort as she was expecting to be confined in two months’ time, gave a frosty nod to each new visitor. Miss Ashfield had laid aside her more usual manly garb for the evening, and was attired in a gown of rich red velvet, with cream gloves and a fan. Her hair was simply dressed but rich jewels glinted in the firelight as she moved her head and her mother’s diamond drops twinkled in her ears. She spontaneously stepped forward to greet each of Edmund’s family, with a particular warmth for Harriet, whom she detained at her side for some little time.
Mrs Bredwardine and Miss Morrall hastened across the room to greet some of their own acquaintance and so Edmund was at leisure to find a place to stand against the wall and observe the company. His eyes soon lit upon Sarah Madeley. He had seldom seen her to such advantage, and the feelings for her that he had learned to subdue rekindled in a heartbeat in that setting. She was dressed in a gown of moss green silk, with her hair arranged in a very becoming style, and she was talking animatedly with her parents, unconscious of his loving gaze. Edmund glanced about for Jack, Sarah’s accepted suitor but he was nowhere to be seen and Edmund seized his chance to go up to the Madeleys, his good friends, and engage Sarah for at least one dance. Sarah was not rich; her father was but a land agent for some of the gentry round about and had other children at home amongst whom to divide his income. Nor was she beautiful, in the conventional sense: even if she had been in a higher station of life, no fashionable society painter would have clamoured to take her likeness. Nonetheless her face was open, kind and pleasing. Her brow was clear, her nose straight and there was a soft light in her brown eyes, whose lids turned down slightly at the corners. Her dark hair waved naturally, with some auburn tints burnished by fire and candlelight. Some might have found fault with her mouth, considering it a little too wide for beauty or fashion, being no rosebud, but it was often curved into a kind smile that made her whole countenance attractive. She shed the sunshine of her smile on Edmund now, little realising how it made his heart dance. He felt glad that he had donned his Christmas waistcoat of black velvet, skilfully embroidered by his mother and carefully preserved by her from the ravages of mothdom, so that he did not look shabby beside her, the secret idol of his heart.
After he had exchanged due pleasantries with her parents, he felt that he, who had so many claims on his time, might indulge, if only for the short time before Jack arrived, in the pleasure of giving attention only to her.
“Good evening, Mr Bredwardine,” she smiled as he turned to her and she gave him her hand. It was only with difficulty that he refrained from the kiss he longed to bestow upon it.
“Good evening, Miss Madeley. How fine you look – that shade of green is most becoming.” She blushed. Since her acknowledgement of her affection for Jack Corfield to Edmund one day (when he had been required to be braver than she knew) and which was now public knowledge, their conversations were more usually about the scarcity of slate pencils in the Sunday School where she often assisted his sister and aunt, or some other parish affairs, though before that time they frequently had discussed books and ideas, while Sarah had assisted him in labelling his insect collections. Unseen by her, Sarah’s mother watched them keenly even as she managed to attend to her neighbours’ chatter.
Sarah sought to shift the focus of attention from herself.
“Your sister looks exceedingly well this evening. What a beautiful gown.”
“Yes, indeed. A present from our hostess, who has taken a most obliging partiality to Harriet.”
“Hardly surprising and no more than she deserves. Miss Bredwardine is so used to putting all others before herself, like her brother, that it would give any of her friends great pleasure in seeing her so distinguished.”
“I acknowledge Harriet’s deserts fully. Miss Ashfield’s kind attention has been beneficial to our little school too. She has undertaken to supply us with all we need for the next six months which has eased my financial anxiety considerably. I do not believe that she will lose interest in us later, as some rich persons may; she is a serious lady and likely to keep us in mind thereafter, I trust.”
“That must be such a relief to you,” she said warmly, her smile broadening further.
“It is. Although sometimes, I must confess, that I feel almost weighed down by the obligations and my family owe to her kindness. Is that not ungrateful?” He wistfully longed for her sympathy but felt somewhat ashamed of seeking it this way.
She was quick to defend him against himself. “Why should your conscience trouble you so? You and your family are so deserving; who works so hard as you, or your dear sister, out in all weathers, bringing comfort to the sick and the poor? If you were lucky enough to enjoy the same income as Miss Ashfield, would you not put it to the very uses she is seeing for it? Who better to guide her to where she can do most good? I think her return to us is most happy. Your sense of justice is overloaded by her personal gifts but you should consider what real obligations your family might bestow on her: the friendship of such people is worth a good deal, sir, and your own ability to give her spiritual guidance and comfort is not negligible, you know.” She had put her hand on his arm and gazed earnestly into his eyes as she spoke, forgetting formality as she was entitled to do, their acquaintance being an old one. He returned her gaze in silence for a moment, emotion working within him, and a deep sense of comfort stole over his heart.
“You paint a pretty picture of the useful curate, but I am not working so hard tonight,” he laughed deprecatingly. “Here I am in great warmth and comfort; looking forward to a feast, and perhaps even a dance. Are you fully engaged yet, Miss Madeley? I would be much obliged if you could spare one dance for me.”
“I am not so beset with offers, sir, that I would consider refusing, nor would I refuse even if I were simply plagued with young men,” she said, laughing at the very idea, ”for we are such old friends, are we not?” She retrieved her card from her wrist and showed an empty list, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
“Is Jack not expected tonight?” he asked.
“He will be late tonight. He is engaged at Broseley on business for my father.” She paused and became more serious. “I truly think that he begins to show the steadiness that I have always wished to see in him. He seemed to go astray for a time after his great-uncle willed his money away from him even though he and all his family believed he might inherit all. It was cruel to mislead him so, even if he did build too much hope upon it and so could not or would settle to an occupation.” Sarah was in love with Jack, but she would never be blind to his faults. “I think,” she went on, “that his improvement is partly due to your steady example, of putting your hand to the plough always.” Edmund had indeed had occasion to remonstrate with the younger man about his giddiness after the death of his great uncle, when he first found that he had been baulked of his expectations, and being in debt because of his too heavy reliance on a castle in the air, had started to gamble to try to recoup some of his losses but had failed in this resource built on sand also. When Edmund had talked very seriously of Sarah’s view of the matter, which had been imparted to him, with many tears, one day last Spring, in her father’s orchard, Jack had listened. He did not know how strong and kind a friend Edmund had been to both of them, for Sarah’s declaration of love for Jack, however much of a scamp, had been so strong that Edm
und had resolved there and then that he could never intrude his own hope and disturb her peace still further.
“I think the lamp of the love of a truly good woman has done more than any words or deeds of mine to guide his faltering steps,” said Edmund, bringing a new blush to her cheeks. “But howsoever it comes about, I am pleased for it, the more especially so for your sake.” He spoke only the truth, even as a tiny bitter part of his soul tried to revolt against his better self and make a declaration of his own, which was swiftly quelled.
“Now,” he spoke gaily to disguise his inward struggle, “now, since your knight is, ahem, cavalier enough to be errant, let me be your faithful squire until he arrives. Command me anything – to fetch you a shawl, an ice, some punch - ‘I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes’, or in plain speech, I will obey your every whim.”
She laughed. “Am I so very whimsical then? No, sir, I would not so abuse an honest squire. But you have asked for a dance and the music begins...shall we take to the floor?”
“With all my heart,” he said simply.
* * *
Miss Morrall, nudged by Mrs Bredwardine, who was her partner at whist, looked through the dividing doors and caught glimpses not only of her beloved nephew happily dancing with Sarah, who was a great favourite with both ladies, but Harriet too, looking flushed and happy as Dr Peplow led her onto the dance floor. There were gossips who made snide remarks about ‘old maids’ behind their fans but Harri did not hear as she took her place in the line of dancers, her head held proudly up.
Edmund too would long remember that golden hour when over two dances he and Sarah could unselfconsciously join hands in the measure and he could look his fill at the woman who would always have his heart. Jack arrived all too soon as far as Edmund was concerned, though Sarah was elated to see him. She did not rush to him at once however. Jack had to possess his soul in patience until the dance had ended; he was disposed to express some dissatisfaction to her parents that she had not waited for him before she began to dance. He could be a sulky dog sometimes, for his mother had spoiled him, though he had a good heart. His childish behaviour drew a rebuke from Mrs Madeley: “Well, Jack, if you will gallivant about and forget your lass is waiting for you, then you should not be surprised if others prize what you neglect, you know.” She spoke with some asperity, for she privately thought that Jack had things fall into his lap a little too easily in his life so far, and with all the perspicacity of a loving mother, she had observed long since that the Reverend Bredwardine knew her daughter ‘s true worth and valued her accordingly. She had indeed entertained some hopes that he might offer his hand, for she felt that Sarah, though so in love with Jack, nonetheless deserved a better man.
Bitter Herbs Page 13
