Bitter Herbs

by Amandine Moxon

  “Do you wish to accept the position, my dear?” she asked gravely.

  “I know, mother, that Miss Ashfield offers me a life of physical comfort, probably to a sumptuous degree, and certainly beyond anything I have known, but this does not tempt me. I know too that I might have a chance to visit places that I have only idly dreamed of in the past, and to meet the most interesting and stimulating people. It might be that I could do Edmund much good in that regard too. I know he feels cut off from intellectual society here in our little town. It might enlarge his acquaintance and correspondence most profitably – I mean in the social sense, of course. He would be freed too from the burden of my upkeep…” Harriet blushed as she mentioned this and twisted the letters in her hands before going on: “but I feel almost overwhelmed, indeed almost as if I were threatened by this great change.”

  “You think the upheaval in your mode of life would be too great, my love?”

  “I feel so ungrateful, Mama. How many times have I longed for some change that would bring us all greater prosperity, some enlargement of our little sphere. And now here it is and yet I hesitate.” Mrs Bredwardine took her daughter’s hand between her own and nodded sympathetically but forbore to speak. She could see that Harriet needed to unburden herself further.

  “I do not know how it is, that is, I cannot help but feel, Mama, that dear Miss Ashfield wants something more from me than I can give her, I know not what – perhaps the love of a sister, or even a daughter, rather than just the gratitude of a dependant? It makes me uncomfortable sometimes in her presence, when we are alone together, and yet she is kindness personified and no one can do more to make one feel at ease in any assembly. I feel very foolish now I come to say all this out loud. Please advise me, Mama. Here are her letters. ”

  “My dear heart, you do not have to rush into anything, nor decide a matter of such importance all in a moment. Let me read the letters.” Mrs Bredwardine put on her spectacles and perused the documents carefully. Harriet sat back in her chair. She felt relief that her mother had not immediately urged her to accept. In putting the letters in her mother’s hands, she almost felt that she had passed the responsibility for the decision to her parent.

  “All is expressed very properly, to be sure,” said Mrs Bredwardine. “One cannot fault that; but I am a great believer in trusting one’s first instinctive feeling. There are many advantages in this offer, but if you feel uneasy, or are likely to chafe with any degree of unhappiness at being in a position of complete dependence on someone outside of one’s own family, then you are quite right to consider refusing, my dear. Mind now, I do not categorise Miss Ashfield as one of those changeable and wilful patrons who neglect or simply drop their followers when it pleases them to do so, far from it. I am sure she would do everything in her power to make her service easy and to treat you more as a friend, but nonetheless it would still be a form of service. We Bredwardines and Morralls are not so poor or diminished yet as to be obliged to beg favours from the Ashfields, indeed.” Mrs Bredwardine thought with horror of the mortification Harriet might be obliged to suffer at the hands of Lady Ashfield, with whom it was inevitable she would be in frequent contact, even if making her home elsewhere.

  “At home at least, you have more freedom to order your own day, within the bounds of household and parish duties, though heaven knows a larger income would not go amiss. Besides, I would be reluctant to see my dearest girl go from my side and leave her home without a stronger motive, or a stronger love such as…” here Mrs Bredwardine looked rather archly at her daughter, “such as marriage, perhaps. It is not impossible, my dear,” as Harriet shook her head ruefully, “I have seen the way the doctor looks at you.” Harriet blushed again, this time to the roots of her hair.

  “Please, Mama. I have no reason to hope, but I will not conceal from you that such a great happiness would be my only inducement to leave you and Edmund and Aunt Cecily.”

  “That is only natural, my love.”

  “Thank you, mother, you have made me feel more comfortable again. Let us consult Edmund also. If he agrees with us, I shall visit Miss Ashfield today. I think it would be better to explain in person. She might be hurt by a refusal in a letter, however profusely I express my gratitude.”

  “Yes, my dear, you are quite right. I will compose a reply to her letter to me and you shall carry it with you. Let us see if Edmund has finished talking to the servants and Mrs Jones.”

  Edmund had only just bade farewell to the weeping Emma, leaving her to the kindly ministrations of her niece and nephew in the kitchen, and was free to listen to their case. He too had suffered a sense of overwhelming obligation from Miss Ashfield’s kindness and had no hesitation in setting his sister’s mind at rest, although she had not felt able to confide in him her uneasiness at the intensity of Miss Ashfield’s affection. She felt that she could not tell anyone about that other than their mother. “If you have any reservations for yourself my dear, then it is not to be thought of. I do not think Miss Ashfield is so small-minded as to regard a refusal as an insult. She has seen for herself how committed you are to the work you do in the parish and admires you for it.”

  After this family council, each member went off to their allotted tasks; Mrs Bredwardine to begin her reply to Miss Ashfield’s letter, Edmund to his study to finish his sermon for Sunday, and Harriet to gather the provisions and medicines she would need for her parish round which she intended to complete before her visit to Miss Ashfield.

  Edmund had scarcely had time, however, to draw his notes towards him with a sigh, before Charles Wood came to see him.

  “I have to come to bid farewell, at least for a little while, Reverend. I am going to follow the excellent advice you gave me some time ago. I am taking Evie away to try the waters at Leamington Priors, and while we are there, I intend to explore the possibility of taking lodgings there permanently and even setting up a studio. I must put my hand to the plough now, to ensure my mother’s comfort…” Here Charles broke off for a moment, before carrying on with just a little catch in his voice, “…and also because there is good news. Evie’s illness was not all due to her, ahem, weakness, or…or any other cause.” Even now, Charles could not bear to think how nearly his mother had succeeded in her evil purpose. “Mr Trent guessed at the truth when he examined her on that dreadful day, and he elicited from her some other symptoms that she had not mentioned to me, and she is in fact expecting our child. I pray that this one may come successfully to term.” Charles looked flushed with happiness, mingled with embarrassed pride.

  “My dear Wood, I am so very happy for you. Bless you all. May much good come out of the darkness that you and your wife have endured but lately,” said Edmund, shaking Charles’s hand heartily.

  “Amen to that,” Charles replied. “I intend to rent out our house here for the time being. I may well sell it in due course, for I cannot foresee Evie being willing ever to return to it, but it remains a useful asset at present. I can retain the servants for a short space, at least, thanks to Father’s legacy, and I hope to take some of them with us to Leamington, Annie especially, if she chooses to come, and Jessie and the cook. By the time we move out our possessions, the rest will hopefully be suited in new situations.”

  Edmund reflected that such a move was undoubtedly for the best: although he had enjoined the strictest secrecy on Deborah, Daniel and Emma, and Charles’s servants would maintain discretion to preserve their own reputations, nonetheless much gossip and speculation would accumulate around the topic of the old lady’s disappearance, and it was far better that Charles and especially Evie, in her delicate condition, should not hear nor suffer from it.

  “I wish you every success, Wood. You have much to work for and being a man of such talent, with such worthy goals, you are likely to achieve much.”

  Charles looked and spoke his gratitude for such stout encouragement. “But,” he continued, “I have a favour to ask of you, Reverend. It is not an easy matter to broach directly with the person
concerned, and so I come to you. I understand that Dilly’s mother is very poor, and that Dilly was her last surviving child?”

  “Quite true, alas. She has help from her wider family, but has lost her mainstay in poor Dilly.”

  “Do you think that she could be induced to accept these?” Charles pulled two five pound notes from his pocket book. “I seek to ease my conscience concerning the evil that my..my family has done. I well know that there is no monetary compensation that could ever make up for the loss of a child, but I hope that this would help preserve her from want. I will endeavour to give her an annual stipend for her lifetime, if my efforts are successful. I know that you will be able to present it to her in the most judicious way. If she should feel unable to accept it, please put it into the poor-box instead, to be made best use of, as you see fit.”

  “It is a kindly thought, Wood. I will do my best to persuade her to take it.” They shook hands again.

  “I hope you may be able to spare some time to visit us, Bredwardine. Come and see the baby and visit your friend. You would be most welcome.”

  “I should like that, “Edmund replied. “Write to me when you are settled and keep me apprised of your progress.”

  “I shall.” Charles held his head high. Edmund accompanied him to the door himself. As he opened the door to let Charles out, he was surprised to see Dr Peplow outside, almost at the step and with hand advancing to pull the bell rod. He wore a fine buttonhole and carried a nosegay of flowers, waxy camellias gathered from a grateful, wealthy patient’s glass house. A curious mixture of hopefulness and doubt played across his face.

  “Ah, Bredwardine, good morning. Good day to you sir,” he said to Charles as he left. He turned back to Edmund.

  “I wonder, my dear fellow, if I might speak to your sister alone. I hope I have come in time before she starts off on her parish round.”

  Edmund heard a door open behind him and turned. “Here she is now, Peplow,” he said as Harriet came into the hall to don her bonnet and cloak. “You are in the nick of time.” Edmund suddenly remembered that this was St Valentine’s Eve and his heart bounded for Harri’s sake.

  “Miss Bredwardine.” The doctor swept off his hat to her and proffered his bouquet.

  “Dr Peplow. How good to see you.” Harriet took the flowers and looked up at him with shining eyes as her tactful brother tiptoed away.

  Footnotes:

  The spire was taken down in the early 20th century.

  At this less advanced time for ornithology, no one knew that swallows migrated to Africa. It had even been thought that they dived underwater and hibernated in the mud of ponds.

  See the previous book in this series, ‘A Merciless Conclusion’.

  William Penny Brookes is a character taken from real life; he was born in Much Wenlock in 1809 and was a keen proponent of physical education for all classes and founded the Olympian Class in Much Wenlock in 1850; the first Olympian Games were held in October that year. From this seed the modern Olympian movement has grown.

  Sir John Soane was not knighted until 21 September 1831.

  In 1826, Dr Pierre Bretonneau, a French physician, gave the disease the name diphthérite (from Greek diphthera "leather") describing the appearance of the pseudomembrane in the throat.

  You might be interested to know that the scene where the Doctor describes having helped the gipsy family with their poorly child was directly inspired by a sentimental but rather lovely painting in Leicester's New Walk Museum and Art Gallery, called the 'The Good Samaritan' by William Small, visible here at this link:

  https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/the-good-samaritan-80989

  Leamington Spa in Warwickshire was originally known as Leamington Priors.

  Alehoof is better known as ground-ivy today.

  Glossary of Shropshire dialect terms

  Aah Yes

  Allus Always

  Aw’kert Awkward, clumsy

  Babby Baby

  Canna Cannot

  Didna Did not

  Dunner/dunna Do not

  Feyther Father

  Frit Frightened

  Frittening A ghost

  Inna Are not

  Jeath Death

  ‘Mazed Confused

  Moithering Fussing, worrying

  Mon Man (from the Welsh)

  Mulluck Muck or mud

  Munna/munner Must not

  ‘Ooman Woman

  Shanna Shall not

  Summat Something

  Thrape Strike, hit, or beat

  Ud Would

  Udna Would not

  Ullert Owl

  Wanna Was not

  Whum Home

  Yead Head

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks are due as ever to my family for their support and to Deborah, my indefatigable editor.