by Nicola Pryce
‘How very extraordinary,’ Celia Cavendish replied, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘I don’t know what I would do if I had to keep accounts.’
‘You would employ someone to do them, I suppose,’ I found myself replying a little more tartly than I intended.
‘Yes, I suppose I would, Miss Pengelly,’ she said, smiling despite my abrupt tone. ‘But all the same, you must be very clever. I like the idea of a woman bookkeeper – it sounds different and rather thrilling.’
I looked across at the woman whose father I hated, whose family epitomised everything that was bad with our society, yet strangely, I found myself smiling back into those lively eyes. Miss Celia Cavendish had taken me completely by surprise.
Lady Cavendish was fanning herself furiously. ‘I do not know what I’m doing here. I can’t believe this woman has anything like the quality of fabric we require and I, for one, consider this an appalling waste of time. What my dear sister, Lady April, was thinking in sending us here, is quite beyond me. I propose we go to Truro. Or Bath. Yes, I propose we go to Bath.’
‘Aunt Martha, there’s no need to rush off. Rest awhile and at least see what Madame Merrick has to offer.’ Celia Cavendish’s well-modulated accent was clipped with impatience.
Lady Cavendish snorted but sat nevertheless in the chair Elowyn offered, heaving the vast expanse of her dress around her and folding her arms across her ample bosom. ‘Mrs Merrick,’ she said through tight lips, ‘let me speak plainly. I’m not talking about shing town fabric – my daughter requires the very best. I am the wife of Rear Admiral Sir George Cavendish, soon to be Lord Cavendish, and my daughter, Miss Arbella, is to wed Sir James Polcarrow. We are talking about a dress t for the next Lady Polcarrow.’
The colour drained from Mother’s face. She put out her hand to steady herself, her eyes turning in painful anticipation towards me. I kept my face composed, even managing a smile, but my eyes must have given me away. Yes, they said, so much for thinking James Polcarrow was honourable.
Madame Merrick was clasping her hands in excitement. ‘Oh, Miss Cavendish, may I congratulate you? May I wish you every felicitation? Let me assure you that, if you were to choose me to make your wedding gown, I would make one of the nest quality and of the very latest fashion. Allow me the honour of showing you what I can offer…but, dear me, I am forgetting myself, can I offer you tea? Lady Cavendish, do you care to take a dish of tea?’
Lady Cavendish screwed up her nose like a pug dog. ‘Tea…! Why would I want tea? Do you have punch, Mrs Merrick?’
Madame Merrick looked thunderstruck. ‘Lady Cavendish …we do not do…that is…I have not yet…started to serve punch. We are soon to get a punch bowl but at present we have no punch…’ Her mouth was quivering.
‘Tea would be perfect,’ cut in Miss Cavendish. ‘I would love to take tea and Miss Arbella would too, wouldn’t you, Arbella? And I’m sure Mrs Jennings is ready for a dish of tea.’ The impatient note in Celia Cavendish’s voice was plain to everyone and I looked at her with renewed interest.
The tea duly enjoyed, Madame Merrick got down to business. Elowyn kept scurrying backwards and forwards, fetching the latest fashion plates and heavy rolls of material and with the ourish of a magician, Madame Merrick unrolled her nest silks. Her new supplier had shipped some top-quality fabric and even Lady Cavendish stopped her sulks and sat up, her attention caught at last.
‘Of course, I do have one particularly ne roll of silk which I have put aside for my most esteemed customer.’ Madame Merrick turned to Celia Cavendish and lowered her voice. ‘You will know the lady, Miss Cavendish, as she moves in the highest circles – and I mean the very highest.’ She smiled conspiratorially before turning back to Lady Cavendish. ‘So perhaps, if you do not mind, Lady Cavendish, I will not show you that roll.’
‘But I do mind, Mrs Merrick, I mind very much. Are you saying the future Lady Polcarrow does not deserve the very best of your silks?’
Madame Merrick pretended to look mortied. ‘Oh please, do not misunderstand me, Lady Cavendish, it is just that this particular silk is very hard to come by. Now the blockade is so effective, few silks of real quality are getting through…It is the nest Mantua silk, you see, absolutely the nest, and therefore very hard to come by.’ It was masterful; Lady Cavendish demanded to see the silk, insisting they would take it with absolutely no expense spared.
Despite myself, my eyes were drawn once again to Miss Arbella Cavendish. She seemed shy and reserved, letting her mother and cousin do all the talking. She hardly spoke, just nodded and smiled, drinking her tea gracefully. I could not get the feel of her character. I could tell instantly Celia Cavendish was full of spirit, and it was plain to see she found her aunt extremely trying, but Arbella Cavendish seemed strangely distant, staring out of the window more often than looking at the silks. She was very pale and fanned herself frequently, continually seeking the open window for the breeze, if not for the freshness of the air.
The Mantua silk could not fail to impress. As Madame Merrick held up the delicate material and let the silk fall in shimmering folds, Lady Cavendish’s eyes feasted with greedy delight. She positively purred. Celia Cavendish clapped her hands in delight. ‘Arbella, you’re going to look so beautiful. James Polcarrow is a lucky man and when he sees you wearing this beautiful silk, well…’
Mother looked shocked and caught my eye. I wish she had not looked quite so pained. A furious blush began spreading across my face, burning my cheeks. I turned to the bureau, pretending to busy myself with the accounts.
‘James Polcarrow doesn’t know how lucky he is,’ Lady Cavendish retorted waspishly. ‘With all her beauty, Arbella could have married a Lord. She could have been a duchess. I’m not saying she’s throwing herself away exactly, but with all her beauty she should have married a viscount.’
‘Mother, please!’ It was the rst time Arbella Cavendish had spoken and her embarrassment was obvious. Celia Cavendish saw her cousin’s discomfort and came to her aid.
‘As you’re going to look so lovely, I’m going to have to have a new gown, too. I have my eyes on this beautiful blue organza. Aunt Martha, what about you? You and Mother agreed your gown was hopelessly out of date and you need a new gown – if not two. You can go back to Dominica and show them what we’re wearing in England these days. Where are those fashion plates, Madame Merrick – the latest ones from France?’
‘Huh! France! Why do you want to wear French designs, Celia? Don’t you know we are at war with France? Anyway, I’m not going back to Dominica, not for a long time. I shall be needed here. I will take up residence in Polcarrow and will oversee the rebuilding work.’
‘Rebuilding? I didn’t know Sir James was thinking of rebuilding,’ replied Celia.
‘Sir James may not yet have thought of rebuilding, but it’s quite obvious Arbella cannot possibly live in that hideous, draughty place, crammed so close to the stinking town with the smell of rotting sh on the doorstep. Arbella is used to better things. She’ll need a bigger house away from town, on higher ground. We will need a lake and enough parkland to ensure our privacy but at least we shall be nearer to you, Celia – you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Not that we expect to spend much time down here in this ridiculous hellhole – no, Sir James will have to buy a London house, too. I can’t believe he does not have a London house – but that’s so typical of the man. No, I’m in no hurry to return to Dominica – and certainly not until I’ve made some signicant changes.’
Her outburst was met with complete silence. Celia Cavendish looked stunned, Madame Merrick looked distinctly uncomfortable, Mother nervously averted her eyes and Elowyn’s jaw was in danger of catching ies. Only Mrs Jennings had been watching Arbella. She saw the colour drain from her face, watched her sway slightly, and rushing from her chair, offered her arm for support. ‘Are you alright, Miss Cavendish?’ she said, leading her to a chair.
‘Yes, quite alright, thank you, Mrs Jennings – only it’s rath
er hot in here.’
‘Perhaps you would like some more tea, Miss Cavendish?’
Arbella Cavendish dabbed a handkerchief against her pale forehead and nodded. ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Jennings, if it’s not too much bother.’
I had never really understood the fuss about tea but, as we sipped the amber liquid, peace was restored and spirits lifted. Even Lady Cavendish took a dish as she contemplated the Mantua silk. The conversation became lively, at times distinctly jolly. Mother and Elowyn ran backwards and forwards with material, lace and ribbons until the table groaned under the weight of so much choice.
Celia Cavendish persuaded her aunt to order two new gowns, though agreeing on the style of these new gowns was proving difcult. Madame Merrick was quietly cajoling.
‘Believe me, Lady Cavendish, nobody of high fashion wears a bustle any more – they’re quite a thing of the past. Look, waists are getting higher and sleeves are getting narrower…’
‘How can you be certain, Mrs Merrick? How do I know these plates are recent?’
‘I am right, am I not, Miss Cavendish? Perhaps you can reassure Lady Cavendish this is what everyone of fashion is wearing in London.’
Celia Cavendish smiled. ‘Yes, indeed! I love the idea that waists are rising. And even if you hate the fashion, just think of the practicalities – with no restraining stays, we ladies can loosen our corsets and no one need know.’ She had spoken light-heartedly, but Lady Cavendish looked furious, her eyes narrowing as she glared at her niece. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Martha – I meant only to jest. It’s just it would be so liberating not having to wear corsets all the time.’
Madame Merrick intervened, asking Arbella Cavendish if she was ready to be measured. Arbella nodded her consent and Madame Merrick pointed to the tting room. ‘Through here, if you please, Miss Cavendish.’
‘Measure her here,’ snapped Lady Cavendish, her tone turning decidedly sour.
As if struck, Madame Merrick raised her eyebrows, but Miss Arbella only nodded and smiled. She answered softly, with little enthusiasm, ‘I’m happy to be measured anywhere, Madame Merrick.’ She seemed indifferent to all the excitement and I found myself getting increasingly angry with her. It seemed her cousin was more excited than she was.
‘You must make your choice, Arbella. Which design is it to be?’
Arbella Cavendish pointed to the second fashion plate and Madame Merrick began frowning with concentration as she wielded her tape measure, her deft ngers darting backwards and forwards like butteries. Standing on the stool, suspended in air, a shaft of sun striking her blonde hair, Arbella Cavendish looked even more like an angel. Everything about her was radiant and delicate and my stomach tightened. She was looking down at me and, reluctantly, I caught her eye. I have never seen such a look of happiness and when she smiled her shy smile, I felt I was being bathed in honey.
Madame Merrick put down her tape measure. Lady Cavendish struggled to her feet, heaving herself out of the chair in order to see the nished sketch. She pointed to the measurements written alongside. ‘You’d better widen the waist and add width to the bosom.’
Madame Merrick looked horried. ‘Lady Cavendish…my measurements are never wrong.’
‘That may be the case but Miss Arbella has been ill these past months. The long sea voyage has not been kind to her – she’s had terrible sickness. But that’s now ended and her appetite has increased – quite considerably, it would seem, and I’m glad to see she is regaining her fuller gure – men do not like a skinny woman, Mrs Merrick.’
Madame Merrick shrugged her shoulders, ‘I suppose I could…’
Lady Cavendish cut her short. ‘What I am saying is that her gown should err on the side of looseness, rather than tightness. Therefore more allowance round the bosom, Mrs Merrick, and a corresponding loosening of the waist, if you please, or we will go elsewhere.’
Madame Merrick looked astonished. Celia Cavendish glanced at Arbella who, lifting her quivering chin, turned her back to everyone in the room. Only Elowyn remained oblivious to the tension. She was intent on sorting the lace from the ribbon and was carefully separating the threads. She was growing very particular about how the material was to be stored. She liked everything to be just so, and it was obvious Madame Merrick’s untidy rolls were beginning to annoy her.
Chapter Thirty-three
Madame Merrick watched the ladies depart, curtseying deeply and smiling happily. She nodded quite particularly to Mrs Jennings, who glanced backwards out of the carriage as it jolted across the courtyard. She even managed a small wave from the top of the steps before crossing the room in great haste, making directly for the bottom drawer of her desk. Opening it quickly, she took out what looked like a very expensive bottle of French brandy and three rather nely cut crystal glasses. Uncorking the bottle, she poured a generous portion into all three glasses.
‘There are times when only brandy will do,’ she said, handing Mother one of the glasses. She turned to me. ‘Will you join us, Miss Pengelly? Or does all that rightful indignation of yours forbid you a small celebration?’
I smiled, ‘Are we celebrating or recovering?’
‘Celebrating, of course, Miss Pengelly,’ said Madame Merrick, downing the contents of her glass in one gulp, ‘although I will concede Lady Cavendish is a trie trying.’ With steady hands, she poured more brandy and raised her glass. ‘Let us drink to the health of the future Lady Polcarrow.’ Mother raised her glass and, she too, nished her drink in one gulp. Mother never drank brandy.
‘I could not ask for anything more…’ Madame Merrick said, taking out a delicately embroidered handkerchief to dab her eyes. ‘Have you ever seen such rare beauty? Lady Polcarrow will be my new patroness and everyone will want to emulate her...and Miss Celia Cavendish – though not quite such a beauty – is so knowledgeable about fashion. That organza she chose is my absolute nest and she spotted it straight away…but then it is in her blood…she has true breeding you see. Her grandfather – on her mother’s side – is an earl and her uncle is a marquis. You are either born to quality or not, and she is, very much so. Miss Pengelly, will you not celebrate my success?’
‘To the success of your business,’ I said, raising my glass, ‘long may you prosper, Madame Merrick.’
The brandy was smooth, burning my throat. I had tasted brandy many times as Father always celebrated a launch with a glass of brandy. I would sit by his chair, watching the ames leap in the re and sip the ery liquid, feeling hot on the outside and warm on the inside. But the thought of drinking a toast to the Cavendishes galled me.
‘Madame Merrick, you shouldn’t have to fawn like that,’ I said, before I could stop myself. ‘You’ve more nesse in your little nger then Lady Cavendish has in her whole body. She’s overbearingly rude and you deserve better. I hate to see you treated like that by a woman who has no merit.’
Mother was leaning against the table, two red spots, the size of plums, glowing like beacons on her cheeks and more hair than usual escaping from under her bonnet. She looked so happy. ‘But you’re wrong, my dear,’ she said, her eyes shining, ‘Lady Cavendish has great merit, because for every gown she buys, we’ll need at least three gown’s worth of fabric.’ She stied a giggle. ‘Madame Merrick’s set to make a prot out of Lady Cavendish and that can only be seen as merit.’
Madame Merrick dabbed her eyes. It had been the day she had long dreamt of and I decided to leave the two of them together. They had already begun fussing over the designs and were busy collecting together the chosen fabrics, when Madame Merrick’s voice suddenly rang across the room. ‘What are you doing, Elowyn?’
I looked round, anxious at the sudden change of mood. Elowyn was rolling away the fabrics. She had nished tidying the lace and was standing with the sorted rolls and several slips of paper on the table in front of her. In one hand she held a pen, in the other a measuring yard. She was writing on the slips of paper before pinning them to the rolls.
&n
bsp; ‘I’m gettin’ a little bit bothered ’bout not knowing how much’s left on the roll,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘So I’m measurin’ how much we’ve got left and pinnin’ a note on the end. That way…if we take away the amount we use, we’ll know how much we’ve got left – we’ll not need to measure it each time.’
Madame Merrick looked speechless. Holding her lorgnettes beneath her perfectly arched brows, she stared at Elowyn before turning to Mother. Mother shrugged her shoulders, biting her bottom lip. ‘Rosehannon’s been teaching Elowyn a few calculations,’ she said softly.
Madame Merrick inched. ‘Now, why does that not surprise me, Mrs Pengelly? I knew it would be only a matter of time before that daughter of yours took it upon herself to incite sedition and riot among my women. Calculations…for goodness sake, whatever will she think of next?’
But whether it was the brandy or just the light, the eyes that turned on me seemed less like a hawk and more like a dove. And whether it was the brandy, or Mother’s smiling face, I found myself responding with a glow of warmth. Suddenly, inexplicably, I was lled with a ood of affection for this extraordinary woman who had become so very important to us both.
At the cottage there was no sign of Father or Jenna. The kitchen door was ajar and though a lardy cake stood temptingly on the kitchen table, I left it untasted, crossing the back yard instead, to search the cliff path, worried that Father would tire himself if he went too far. Almost immediately I saw him standing on the cliff top, facing the sea, a letter in his hand.
‘I never gave up hope of smellin’ the sea again,’ he said, his back to me. ‘I clung to hope even at my most desperate. Stubbornness – that’s what most people call it – but I call it hope. We must always have dreams.’ I felt a change in him. He was standing tall, his head held high, and I noticed he had come without his stick. ‘Aye, Rose, what it is to have friends in high places!’
My heart sank. He knows about the log pool, I thought.
