by Nancy Carson
‘It’ll be plastered all over the front of the Brierley Hill Advertiser as well,’ she said. ‘The gossips are going to have a field day.’
‘It’ll be just another nine-day wonder, I expect.’
‘But Algie, I s’pose it’ll say you was in court as co-respondent, as well as all the stuff about Aurelia.’
‘So?’
‘So everybody’ll know you was together in London, and if they know you was stopping at the same hotel…’
‘Seasoned meat for the gossips, my flower. There’ll be some who’ll add two and two together and make sixty-five.’
‘But it ain’t as if she’s ugly, is it?’ Marigold persisted. ‘What I mean is, because she’s such a nice-looking girl, she’ll be seen as somebody that men go after.’
‘I agree, she is a nice-looking girl and men do turn their heads to take a second look. But so are you…and the gossips can prattle till their tongues fray. Let it come. You’ll just have to rise above it.’
‘I’ll do my best, Algie. But if it gets me down from time to time…’
‘If it gets you down, I’ll understand,’ he said consolingly. ‘But don’t be swayed by any of it. It’ll only be gossip. I swear it. What’s in the past is passed. I’ll never hurt you, my flower.’
She smiled lovingly. ‘Well, I’m going to call on Aurelia today. I’ve decided. I imagine she’ll want to talk to somebody, ’specially if she’s going to lose little Benjie – he’s such a lovely little chap.’
‘Not a bit like his father – yet…’
* * *
When Algie arrived at the three shacks that comprised his little factory he received a letter in the post addressed in ornate swirls. It was from a firm of Stourbridge solicitors, and read:
Dear Mr Stokes,
NOTICE TO QUIT
We are instructed by our client to give you notice that the month to month tenancy agreed with your previous landlord, for use of the three buildings specified for rent in your agreement, is to be terminated. You may be aware that ownership of the land upon which your business is conducted has been transferred into new ownership as of the 1st day of January in 1893, and we are acting under instructions of the new owner, our client. As the new landlord is irrevocably committed to developing the land forthwith you are hereby given notice to quit the herein mentioned premises by Saturday the 25th day of February in 1893, and on said date deliver up to our client the possession of the premises now held and occupied by you.
Algie sat back in the rickety chair that adorned his makeshift office and scratched his head.
Clarence bloody Froggatt.
This was Clarence Froggatt’s doing. Algie was aware that Clarence Froggatt had purchased the land with his rumoured new-found wealth, but he had not expected to receive an immediate notice to quit. And Clarence bloody Froggatt must surely be aware of the total disruption that upping sticks and resettling the business elsewhere would entail, let alone the substantial additional costs. Funny how this had more or less coincided with news of his involvement in Aurelia’s divorce. Were the two situations connected? Algie, with his preparedness to give Clarence the benefit of the doubt, decided they were not. Life was too full of odd coincidences.
If the matter of the divorce had never happened, Algie would have sought out Clarence at once, to try and agree some stay of execution. Yet simply because of the divorce, and the gossip that would be fuelled by Harriet and her prattling sisters, he decided it would not be a sensible course to take. He was not ready to confront such challenges. He therefore had no alternative but to seek other premises quickly, from which to conduct the business.
* * *
Chapter 19
Clarence and Harriet Froggatt had decided to invite Harriet’s older sister Priss to dinner that Saturday evening, along with her beau, the parish curate, Cuthbert Delacroix. Both women had so much to talk about, so much to say, and were looking forward to it enormously. Priss and Cuthbert had been meeting regularly for four months by this time, and everybody, quite reasonably, regarded them as a courting couple.
Cuthbert, who lodged at the vicarage, called for Priss on the way, and the womenfolk of the Meese household made a great fuss of him, which he enjoyed, for nobody had ever made a fuss of him before. Priss had bagged herself a man at last, and a man at that who had some ancestry, albeit ancestry not quite as lofty as first thought. Cuthbert was always the essence of genteel politeness. He had a sharp sense of humour too, often self-deprecating, which matched that of Priss, and enhanced his appeal. Priss, however, sometimes did not know quite what to make of his irreverence for the established church and, short of asking him privately, wondered whether he actually believed in a Christian God. Irreverence, disbelief or not, Cuthbert was improving his lot within the same established church; they had some news for the Froggatts and were keen to impart it.
They strolled to the rented home of the Froggatts while Priss chatted animatedly, her arm linked through his. The rain had stopped by this time, but both were wearing warm winter coats, hats, gloves and scarves. On arrival, they approached the back door by way of the entry, their footsteps echoing through it and amplified by the tunnelled confines of the walls and ceiling. She tapped on the back door, opened it and announced their arrival. By this time the Froggatts, commensurate with their vastly improved financial standing, had employed a maid, their first, and she hovered hesitantly, dithering in the cold night air between the outside brewhouse and the scullery door, while the visiting couple made their entrance.
The aroma of roast mutton greeted them as Harriet ushered them through into the parlour where a coal fire was burning brightly.
‘Sadie will take your things…Sadie?’
Sadie was nineteen years old, snub-nosed, plumpish and plain. She stepped forward, arms outstretched, ready to accept the heavy winter garments, which they piled remorselessly onto her.
‘So that’s Sadie,’ Priss remarked when the maid had gone to dispose of the couple’s outerwear. ‘Has she cooked the dinner?’
‘No, I’ve cooked the dinner,’ Harriet replied, half in protest at the notion. ‘But I confess Sadie helped, and she’ll serve it. She seems quite able for a young girl, but then she has been in service elsewhere for five years.’
‘And comes with a good character, I suppose?’
‘Do I look like a fool, Priss? Of course, her previous situation spoke well enough of her. When we move we’ll employ a cook as well.’
‘A cook as well? Oh, of course,’ Priss said, with a hint of well-intentioned sarcasm. ‘One wouldn’t be without a cook, would one? So when is one moving? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’
‘Please sit down, Cuthbert,’ Clarence invited, and Cuthbert duly sat, crossing his long legs. Clarence sat in the chair opposite. ‘Could I tempt you with something to drink?’
‘I’ll take a small dry sherry, if it’s available,’ Cuthbert said.
‘Of course.’
‘Excellent. Perhaps if I bless it I can look upon it as communion wine.’
‘Dry sherry it is,’ Clarence replied, typically failing to appreciate Cuthbert’s humour. ‘And you, Priss?’
‘Oh, dry sherry would be perfect, thank you, Clarence, blessed or not.’ She returned to Harriet. ‘So tell me about this moving house. I’m intrigued.’
‘Clarence has bought a plot of land in Kingswinford, very nicely situated on Stream Road backing onto open fields.’ Harriet answered pretentiously. ‘Show them the plans, Clarence. Get Sadie to serve the sherry.’
‘Too late, I’ve done it,’ he replied. ‘In the front room then, everybody.’
They filed into the front room, which accommodated a table laid out for dinner, four chairs and a cosy fire burning in the cast iron and tiled grate. Under the heavily curtained window stood Clarence’s desk. He grabbed a roll of cartridge paper and duly unrolled it. On it, beautifully drawn, were the plans for the new house, its black and white Tudor-style front elevation immediately obvious.
&nbs
p; ‘My, that looks really something,’ exclaimed Cuthbert sincerely, poring over the plan with unfeigned interest. ‘Has building started yet?’
‘Any day now. The land has yet to be properly surveyed and accurate levels taken. I’m hoping to get that done next week. Building should start soon after. I’ve appointed a building firm we deal with at the practice.’
‘Our Harriet,’ Priss chimed, ‘you’ll definitely need a cook and no two ways in that house. How could you not, when I bet you’ll be entertaining regularly? I would, if I owned such a house. My, how you’re coming up in the world.’
‘Actually, I’m building two houses adjacent to each other,’ Clarence informed them, whereupon Priss and Cuthbert looked at him with quizzical admiration. ‘I intend to sell the second one once it’s finished. The profit I make will cover the cost of building both.’
‘So you’ll be getting your house for nothing,’ Cuthbert divined.
‘That sums it up, Cuthbert. Of course I have to stump up for everything beforehand, but yes, effectively I’ll get my house for nothing.’
‘Very astute.’
‘So you’ll be getting a carriage as well,’ suggested Priss, ‘if you live that far out.’
‘It’s certainly on the agenda,’ replied Clarence.
‘Which will mean a driver or footman – or both,’ Priss said.
‘Let’s eat, shall we?’ Harriet suggested, wishing for no more boasting, because Clarence’s plans were only possible due to his inheriting a fortune. ‘I’ll get Sadie to serve us.’
She alerted Sadie, they all sat down at the table, and Sadie brought in mutton chops. Boiled potatoes also appeared, with winter vegetables and a gravy boat. Clarence served wine to Cuthbert, but the ladies declined, and they began to eat.
‘We had mutton chops at home yesterday,’ Priss murmured as clearly as a mouthful of mutton chop would allow, ‘but they weren’t as tasty as these.’
‘That’s because I don’t buy meat straight from the butcher, like mother does,’ Harriet declared. ‘Buying straight from the butcher is a big mistake as far as I’m concerned, as well as being an extravagance.’
‘What a brilliant housekeeper you are, our Harriet,’ Priss remarked. ‘I only hope I shall be your equal.’
‘Why?’ asked Harriet, somewhat startled by Priss’s unusually positive vision of her future. ‘Are you anticipating a change in your circumstances sometime soon, dear?’ She couldn’t help casting a glance at Cuthbert.
Cuthbert in turn looked at Priss and Priss looked at Cuthbert. There seemed to be an unspoken accord between them, revealed in that look, that it was in order to reveal a monumental secret.
‘To tell you the truth, Cuthbert has been gifted with a new living – as vicar at a parish in Worcestershire. Well, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life dashing between Evesham and Brierley Hill so, at the end of my school term, and once Cuthbert is settled in, I think we shall get wed, shan’t we, Cuthbert?’
‘As vicar, I shall need a helpmeet, and who better than Priscilla?’
‘But you’ve only been courting five minutes, our Priss?’
‘Four months, to be fair.’
‘All right, four months. But isn’t four months a bit soon to be contemplating marriage?’ She looked from one to the other, her loaded fork poised precariously between her plate and her mouth.
‘Some folk might think so, and who can blame them? But we are sure of each other, aren’t we, Cuth?’ She looked at Cuth for reassurance, and Cuth nodded.
‘Then congratulations,’ Clarence chimed in with a rare smile, and offered his hand to Cuthbert across the table. ‘We can expect the announcement of your engagement fairly soon then?’
‘Yes, quite soon,’ Cuthbert replied, returning the smile.
‘Does father know?’
‘Not yet, our Harriet. So don’t let on.’
‘He’ll have a set of jugs! Not that he won’t be happy for you, our Priss, of course he will, but he’ll be thinking of the expense, I’ve no doubt.’
‘Oh, we are not fussed about having a big expensive do like yours, are we Cuth? Just family. A small do. After all, there’ll be five other daughters for the poor old devil to see the back of, in due course.’
‘So how come you’ve been offered a living in Worcestershire, Cuthbert?’ Clarence asked.
‘I believe the Bishop of Worcester, John Perowne, had something to do with it. He knows my background, and he comes from Huguenot stock himself, although he was born in India. It was in his gift to offer me the living and I believe the Huguenot connection swayed it.’
‘Proving it’s not what you know, but who you know.’
‘Just so,’ Cuthbert conceded. ‘Plus the fact that when he queried my marital status, I felt it expedient to declare that marriage was imminent.’
‘Congratulations. But, we have some news too,’ Harriet declared. ‘Don’t we Clarence?’
‘So it would seem,’ Clarence responded, lifting his eyes from his dinner.
‘As well as the new house?’ Priss queried.
‘Yes, as well as the new house…I’m having a baby, our Priss…’ She paused for effect.
‘Oh, our Harriet…’ Priss got up from the table at once and shuffled round to the other side to embrace her sister, hampered somewhat by the lack of space and her billowing skirt. ‘But so soon,’ she added. ‘I thought you might have waited.’
They kissed, and Cuthbert returned the former compliment by stretching across the table to shake Clarence’s hand.
‘Why wait?’ Harriet said. ‘Clarence was keen to start a family straight away. He’s promised me a houseful of kids.’
‘So when is it due? This firstborn.’
‘I’m not exactly sure.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘June or July.’
‘You’re not showing yet.’
‘To tell you the truth, Priss, I am. Just. But you can’t see because of what I’m wearing.’
‘So it’s going to be a new house and a new baby.’
‘And a new cook,’ Harriet said, smiling proudly.
‘And a new carriage – oh, and a new nanny for the baby, I’ll warrant, the way you two are going,’ Priss remarked. ‘Hey, but just make sure she’s not a pretty nanny. You don’t want the same shenanigans that have gone on with the Sampsons—’
‘Oh, the Sampsons!’ Harriet put her hands to her face in a theatrical display of being scandalised. ‘And Algie Stokes. Have you read in the paper about the divorce?’
‘I haven’t seen a paper,’ Priss said, her face an icon of wide-eyed expectation. ‘Do tell me.’
‘Everybody’s talking about it and you haven’t seen a paper? Get the paper for our Priss, Clarence.’ Clarence dutifully left his dinner and got up to find the newspapers. ‘It’s in all the dailies, and the Brierley Hill Advertiser.’
‘I’ll read it when I’ve finished my dinner,’ Priss said. ‘But don’t keep me in suspense, Harriet – do tell me all about it meanwhile.’
Harriet took a deep breath and leaned towards her sister as if to impart another great secret. ‘In short, Algie Stokes and Aurelia Sampson had a torrid affair. They used to go off to some seedy hotel, quite regularly apparently, posing as husband and wife, to have sexual intercourse – which must have been exquisitely passionate, I’m sure. Whenever Benjamin was away on business, it seems.’
‘Goodness. You make it sound quite scrumptious, our Harriet – passionate sexual intercourse indeed.’
‘Harriet has a vivid imagination,’ Clarence remarked derisively.
‘So have I,’ Priss countered. ‘Go on, our Harriet.’
‘Well, I’m sure it must have been passionate – for them…That second child she had – the little girl – is Algie’s.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. And the judge not only granted Benjamin the decree nisi, he also awarded him custody of the son. Aurelia pleaded for custody, but his barrister tore her to shreds, according to the report in the Advertiser. It said she used to
leave the child alone while she went off with Algie. You simply have to read about it. It’s such a scandal.’
‘But we all know that Benjamin, too, was having an affair, and he fathered a child, apparently, with their ex-nanny.’
‘Oh, but that doesn’t count,’ Harriet proclaimed. ‘He was entitled to have an affair. It seems men are, but women aren’t.’
Priss looked at Cuthbert. ‘But that’s not fair, is it, Cuth? Why should a man be able to get away with having a mistress, but a wife can’t take a lover without being reviled?’
‘As a matter of fact, that reminds me of a joke,’ Cuthbert said. ‘What’s the difference between a mister and a mattress?’ He looked from one to the other and they looked back at him patiently. ‘Why, a mistress, of course.’
‘Oh, very amusing, Cuthbert,’ Priss chastened, but privately amused. ‘We’re trying to have a serious conversation here, and you haven’t answered my question – why should a man be able to have a mistress, while a wife can’t take a lover without being reviled?’
‘Because, Priscilla, the consequences of an affair have the potential to be far more serious for a woman,’ Cuthbert replied. ‘Specifically, having unwanted children out of wedlock.’
‘So are there no consequences for a man?’ Priss argued. ‘Is it not true that incontinent married men are very likely to pick up unmentionable diseases along the way, and pass them on to their unsuspecting wives?’
‘Since you mention it, my dear, I don’t think either should be having affairs, then there’d be no fear of babies conceived out of wedlock and no danger from incurable diseases. Couples take marriage vows before God, promising to keep each other only unto them. In common parlance, that means no shenanigans outside of marriage.’
Priss pushed her plate away and complimented her sister again on the mutton chops. She picked up the copy of the Advertiser and read the report. The others watched her, and Clarence topped up the wine glasses.
‘I feel very sorry for Aurelia,’ Priss declared solemnly when she’d finished reading. ‘I do, even though she’s evidently no angel. She was only doing what her husband was doing, and doubtless she felt the need to. Can’t you imagine? He was betraying her, she felt unwanted and neglected. When she met Algie, she must have felt something very special for him—’
