He looked at her with his face full of pain and rage. ‘If I must go dragging my leg about for the rest of my days, I’ll see you don’t go easy, either, curse you! I’ll see that you don’t forget Harry Black. You think you can throw back the present I bring you? ‒ I’ll make you wish you’d crawled for it on your knees!’
He stopped, exhausted with the pain and effort.
She backed away from him, numbed with fright. Her shaking fingers tugged clumsily at the latch. She tried to mouth words to soften him, but she could say nothing. The late sun washed over her again, and she looked at it, bewildered and unbelieving that it should still be there. She clutched her torn bodice and started to run across the yard. Before she reached the kitchen she heard Harry’s shouts.
As Jane entered, Sally paused in her task of basting the poultry on the spit. A look of alarm crossed her face.
‘Why, child ‒ what is it? What under Heaven has happened to you?’ Her gaze took in the torn bodice, Jane’s dishevelment. As she put down the basting ladle the noises in the storeroom reached her.
‘Jane ‒ what’s going on?’
Already the two stable-boys had gone to answer his cries. Jane had a sense of pressures closing in about her; she felt the beginning of a frightening chain of events she had no way of stopping. Abruptly she seized Sally’s plump hand and pulled her towards the pantry, then closed the door quickly behind them both.
‘I have to tell you first. In a few minutes Harry will be in here screaming lies about me, and I want you to have the truth.’
Sally’s florid face grew still more flushed as she listened. She made little clicking noises with her tongue while Jane talked. At the finish she shook her head despairingly.
‘I’m not saying he can set the magistrates on you, Jane ‒ but I’m not saying he can’t, either. Tom Black’s a powerful mean man when he’s aroused, and there’s no telling how he’ll take it ‒ Harry being his only son and all. And there’s no witnesses to say that you didn’t entice him up to the hay-loft …and that being the case, a man would be entitled to some …’ A sharp look crossed her face. ‘You didn’t entice him up, did you?’
Jane gave an exclamation of disgust.
Sally held up her hand. ‘All right, Miss High-and-Mighty. It might have been better for you if you had!’
Jane wrung her hands. ‘But what am I to do? That’s the story he’ll put about, for certain, and when he does …’
Sally cut her short ‘There’s only one thing to do. I’m not saying it’s the right thing ‒ but it’s all I can think of.’
‘What is it?’ Jane demanded.
Sally hesitated, her broad, rough hands outstretched for just an instant in an uncharacteristic gesture of indecision. It wasn’t one thing she was thinking of, but many. The first of them was Jane’s safety, and Sally hadn’t lived here all her life without learning how far and how powerfully in this district Tom Black’s influence could stretch. But there was another aspect of the matter that troubled her, and which she didn’t try to put into words for Jane. From this point onwards she knew that Jane would have no use for The Feathers, and The Feathers no use for her. Whatever the outcome of Harry’s threats, Jane’s life would be a misery in the village, and The Feathers would be housing someone who had suddenly become hostile to those about her. In this final and savage rejection of Harry Black, Jane had placed herself beyond the sympathies of the people who had accepted her as part of their world; she had rejected The Feathers as well as Harry. She had, as plainly as if she had spoken, told this small world that she had outgrown it. The alternatives to The Feathers were uncertain, and they might hold a more distasteful future than Jane had even now. Sally knew Jane thoroughly, knew her as wilful, proud, and, as yet unchastened by life; she loved her also, perhaps even more than her own daughters because Jane demanded a different kind of love. Her heart ached at the thought of what she had to do.
‘Come here with me.’ Sally flung open the pantry door. She strode across the kitchen, and reached for her shawl which always hung behind the door. ‘Where’s yours? ‒ well never mind that now! Quickly, put this on! It’ll cover you up a little for the time being ‒ you’re such an indecent sight, you’ll have everyone on the highway stopping you.’
‘The highway?’
‘You’re terribly slow-witted, Jane, for someone who’s in trouble.’ Sally was already reaching down from the tall dresser the copper jug where she kept a little money, out of Tim’s sight and knowledge. She bundled it into her handkerchief and thrust it into Jane’s hand.
‘You must go to your mother, of course. She’ll surely have friends who’ll help you if Tom Black brings charges. And Master Black’ll not be so quick to act if he thinks you’ve someone behind you, by the same rule.’
‘Oh, Sally …!’
‘Quickly now, before Harry has the whole house listening to his woes. I want you out of the way before Tim starts arguing the whole thing.’
A brief kiss on Sally’s cheek, a briefer glance at the open door of the storeroom where she could dimly make out the figures of the stable-boys bending over Harry; then she was on the village street, running and keeping the shawl wrapped well about her. The village was past ‒ familiar houses she had known all her life. Then the open fields again, and the dip of the road southward.
She slowed her pace a little. She was on the road to London.
Two
Jane spent the night in an abandoned barn, whose fourth side was open to the skies, and to the piercing cold showers which fell before dawn. Sally’s money was too precious to be spent on lodgings, and even at the humble inns along the road she would be a suspicious figure arriving without baggage or decent clothes. There was always the possibility that Tom Black might have sent after her directly he had learned she was gone. With this in mind, she left the London road immediately she was past the village, cutting eastwards across the fields, and making wide detours of the hamlets, and even the isolated cottages. Just before dusk she judged that she was far enough beyond any immediate pursuit, and she turned south again along a narrow lane. She followed it until it merged with a broader road; there seemed to be a fair amount of traffic here for the time of year ‒ carts laden with market produce, poultry and meat. There wasn’t any doubt that they were making for the capital. She watched them for a time, and then went back along the lane to the empty barn she had noticed. The February night had turned raw and cold.
All night she lay in the dirty straw, miserably clutching her stomach, and listening to its empty rumblings; and the night seemed endless. She began to scratch at the lice which already crawled on her body and hair, ashamed to think that she would have to present herself to Anne to-morrow in this condition. She was frightened ‒ frightened of many things … of Tom Black, of Anne who very likely would not welcome her, frightened of the thought of arriving in London with only a few coins in her pocket. The only thing that seemed worse than her present condition was the vision of herself married to Harry Blake, enduring his coarse love-making, his infidelities, and his stupidity with a dull, impotent hatred. All the same she was hungry and frightened enough to weep a little, and then to dry her eyes angrily because tears were so little help; so she just lay in the straw, sleeping fitfully, and waiting for the morning.
She was on the road early, walking briskly, and trying to stop thinking of how hungry she was. By sunrise she could already see the outskirts of the city lying before her, the morning still grey with mist, though the sun was breaking through and just tipping the chimney tops. The sight of it tore down the depression of the long night; she gazed at it with mingled satisfaction and wonder, smiling suddenly to herself, and enjoying the sensation of a new confidence and excitement.
She decided, then, firstly that she was a fool to go hungry when she had money in her pocket ‒ and after she had filled her stomach, she would find someone to give her a lift. She was still several miles from Anne’s doorstep, and the road was crowded with carts and wagons. Among all of them,
one of the drivers was going to respond to a smile from her.
The tavern she chose was a poor place by comparison with The Feathers, and the clientele was shabby and hungry. But before its door stood a number of carts, so she walked boldly in, and asked for buttermilk and bread. Grudgingly she paid for it, and as she ate, began to take stock of the inhabitants of the smoky room. She wasn’t conspicuously dishevelled among them, she decided ‒ and a great deal cleaner than most. Hurriedly she sifted them all ‒ and finally fixed her gaze on a man whom she had seen tending an ancient equipage outside.
He responded almost right away; coming over confidently and dropping down beside her on the bench.
‘That’s a mighty fine eye y’ve got there, luv.’ He had a dark, gipsy-like face, which looked as if it had been screwed up like a bit of old paper, and stuffed under the battered hat. ‘What happened? ‒ did someone ’it you?’
Inwardly she cursed Harry, and at the same time forced a bright smile on to her lips.
‘Looks as if I walked into the bedpost when the candle went out, doesn’t it?’ She grinned impudently at him, and winked with the good eye. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Everyone in the room turned to look at the pair, and some of them laughed also. Suddenly Jane had a mental image of the sight she must present ‒ almost in spite of herself she joined in the laughter.
She could feel the laughter down inside of her ‒ deep in her throat and belly. After the miserable hours of the night it was a good feeling to be laughing again; she was grateful to the grimy little carter. She liked the twist of humour on his lips. Still laughing, she turned to him.
‘Heading into the city?’
He nodded. ‘Aye, luv.’
‘Got room for me?’ She thrust a foot forward, making sure to uncover and display her ankle. ‘My shoe rubs, and I’ve no mind to walk farther.’
He looked at the ankle, and then nudged her sharply in the ribs. ‘Always got room for a spot o’ company ‒ specially when it’s red-headed!’
She gazed at him hoping she looked helpless, but not too demure. ‘Going anywhere near Albemarle Street? I mean … well, I’ve never been to London before, and I’m dead sure to get lost …’
His brow wrinkled. ‘Well … I wasn’t exactly going in that direction. Got a call to make on the Oxford Road, and then I’m ’eadin’ for Battersea. But seein’ as yer foot ’urts …’ Then he brightened up, and nudged her again. ‘Well … what the ’ell! The master’ll not know it, and what’s an hour or so when it’s t’ oblige a lady?’ He slapped his thigh in satisfaction. ‘What’d me ol’ lady say if she could see me with a red-head!’
So when Jane entered London at last, it was in the company of a ragged carter, and seated behind his skinny horse. His dark little eyes noted the wonder in hers as she gazed at the brightening spectacle of the city, stared at the tall, crowded buildings. With a gesture that indicated the jumble, he said:
‘If yer the kind that takes t’ city ways ‒ then it’s the fairest place y’ could wish t’ see! They got everythin’ ’ere ‒ just everythin’! And all y’ need is money …’ He turned and inclined his head towards her with a grotesquely gallant bow … ‘or a pretty face!’
They turned south off the Oxford Road, and made their way through the great fashionable squares lined with the high, narrow houses. Servants with sleep still in their eyes polished the brass door-knobs and lanterns, and swept the refuse into the mud-filled streets. In one of the crowded lanes between the squares, a pail of slops, thrown energetically from an upstairs window, caught the horse squarely across the back; he was too weary and too old to be startled by it. The hem of Jane’s gown was soaked. She stared back indignantly at the window, but there was no one there.
The carter, whose name was Mick, grinned cheerfully.
‘All in a day’s work, luv. Y’ve just got t’ mind where yer goin’ in this man’s town!’
The city was like a confused dream to her ‒ so many faces and people, and noise such as she had never heard before.
The noise was everywhere; it seemed to come from the ground and the rooftops ‒ raucous voices shouting at each other, tunes being whistled, and cries of anger as people stepped back out of the way of heavy coaches. The dirt was everywhere too ‒ mud and refuse underfoot, the suffocating odours of rotting food, the smells from the fishmongers and the livery stables, the cloying smells of unwashed humanity, the smell of excrement.
Mick had spent a long time over his call in the Oxford Road, and the city was getting into the stride of its day. The shutters were down from the shop fronts, and she feasted her eyes on the displays, the milliners, the gun-shops, the wine-shops ‒ but it was still far too early for fashionable folk to be astir, Mick told her. But she saw carriages and coachmen waiting before the doors of some of the great houses, and the coffee-shops were open, with the newspapers fresh on the racks.
Her senses drank in the excitement of it ‒ the feeling that all the world was gathered here in this awakening city; here lived riches and fame and splendour. The sun burned away the early mists; it lay on the slanting roofs and gave brilliance to the suits of livery she saw all about her, the gold and silver braid shining as if they were polished. The heavy, pungent odours drifting from the bake-shop made her realise that she was hungry again. She sniffed the London air ‒ the stench and perfume ‒ and her teeth chattered with indefinable excitement and dread.
They came to Albemarle Street at last ‒ Jane suspected that Mick had taken her there by a roundabout way. She glimpsed the clock on St. James’s Palace at the bottom of the slope on the other side of Piccadilly, just as Anne had described it to her, suddenly she knew that all of Anne’s world was before her. They found Anne’s house ‒ elegant and in good repair, though Jane noticed the mud of several days caked on the doorstep.
Mick leapt down, and rapped on the knocker with his whip. He rapped twice again before the door opened; the sullen face of a young girl, bedraggled hair under an untidy cap, appeared. Her brows were knit sharply in a frown.
‘Well? ‒ what do you want?’ She looked critically at them both.
Jane drew herself up stiffly. ‘I wish to see Mistress Howard,’ she said, with her best imitation of Anne’s voice.
‘Mistress Howard doesn’t see anyone at this hour in the morning. Come back later.’
Jane began to climb down off the cart. ‘I’ll wait,’ she said shortly. She stepped up to the door.
The girl half-closed it with a threatening motion. ‘Look ’ere, you dirty baggage ‒ you can’t come in ’ere unless the mistress says so. So just come back at a decent hour.’
Mick waved his whip at her. ‘You mind yer tongue ‒ y’ nasty bitch! This ’ere young lady’ll wait … an’ I’m ’ere to see she does!’
Jane put her hand on the door. ‘Mistress Howard will see me. I’m her daughter.’
The girl’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. ‘G’on ‒ don’t give me none o’ that …’
Then she screwed up her eyes, looking closely at Jane. Her brow furrowed again; she put her head on one side, studying the other’s face intently.
‘Well … I must say you do look like the mistress ‒ that red hair an’ all …’
Mick lowered the whip slowly; he stared wonderingly at Jane. ‘Y’ mean t’ say yer mother’s the mistress here!’ His eyes ran significantly over her dirty gown and Sally’s old shawl. He pushed his hat to the back of his head. ‘Well ‒ I dun’ know. There’s never any accountin’ for ’ow folks’ll act. Y’ll be tellin’ me next yer a bloody duchess!’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not! … more’s the pity!’
He was already backing away; the game between them was ending and he clearly indicated that he didn’t expect to have further dealings with folk who lived in Albemarle Street.
‘Well, Duchess … thanks for yer company.’ The battered hat came off in a flourish. He climbed into the cart, and sat waiting to see her admitted.
Jane saluted him briefly. �
��I enjoyed the ride ‒ thank you. You saved my feet a lot of walking.’
He nodded, and winked. ‘An’ what use would yer pretty face be t’ y’, if it couldn’t save yer feet.’ He touched his hat with the whip. ‘Good-day, t’ y’ Duchess! ‒ and good luck!’
Jane turned from him, and the girl opened the door reluctantly.
‘I suppose it’s all right t’ let y’ in … though I ain’t takin’ the blame if yer not supposed t’ be ’ere.’
She brushed past Jane, and started to walk towards the back of the house, with a sullen, lumpish gait.
‘Just a minute!’ Jane’s voice was firm. ‘Please tell Mistress Howard that I’m here.’
The girl spun round furiously. ‘Tell ’er yerself! I ain’t takin’ no more orders in this ’ouse, believe me!’
‘What do you mean?’ Jane said. ‘You work here, don’t you?’
‘Not any more, I don’t! Not a penny piece of wages ’ave I seen in three months ‒ ’n’ I’m packin’ me bag this very moment, an’ I’ll ’ave the law on ’er if she don’t pay up!’
Jane looked at her for a moment in silence. This was as bad as anything she had imagined ‒ and yet there was no time to sit and lament about it now. She wasn’t going to wait around down here, feeling her confidence ebb away with every minute. She had to see Anne now, while she could still use her tongue to convince her mother that Sally’s idea had been the right one. To confront Anne now would give her the advantage: if she waited she would lose courage, and become the frightened servant girl from The Feathers.
She stiffened her neck, and looked at the girl coldly. ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head!’ She gestured towards the staircase. ‘Where is my mother? ‒ is she still abed? Where is her chamber?’
The girl shrugged indifferently. ‘Y’ figgerin’ t’ go up and see ’er … in that case y’ can announce yerself!’ Then she hesitated, and when she spoke again her tone was silky. ‘Y’ll find ’er abed, all right. It’s the big chamber two floors above this … above the drawin’-room.’ She indicated the way briefly, and then stood watching in silence while Jane moved past her to the staircase.
Blake's Reach Page 3
