I knocked on the door, and was called in. Mrs Stone glanced at my bare blistered feet, and looked away quickly with a little shudder. Mrs Gurney left the room, giving me a curt nod as she passed. Mrs Stone pointed to where I was to sit at the little dining table and we took our places. She had laid out the Bible with some books of sermons and catechisms.
‘You won’t mind me remarking that I was a little surprised when my husband sent word, without any prior discussion with me, that he was bringing a woman to stay with us and I was to instruct her,’ she said. ‘I have to say, I had imagined a person somewhat older and considerably more sober in demeanour.’
I sat still, wishing I could scratch my hands for I’d come out in a nervous rash.
‘I will begin by explaining the simple doctrines you are to impart to the children,’ she said. ‘You will recite them back to me, word for word. This is to ensure you don’t depart from the Good Lord’s intentions when you are teaching the children. Is that understood?’
I nodded. She was staring at my hands, so I looked at hers, so small and white with not a mark upon them, then back at my own, which showed the marks of work and were larger than a fine lady’s, the fingernails cracked and yellowed, and bitten to the quick. Ashamed, I put them under the table.
‘Very well then, let us begin.’
Mrs Stone near ruined the Bible for me. As a child, I’d turned the pages with no other wish than to find out what would happen next, to see if Noah got his Ark built before the flood, or Abraham cut his son’s throat, or Lot lay with his daughter. But this woman made every story into a dismal lesson about right and wrong. She talked in the main of Jesus and his Disciples, forgetting the Old Testament stories which were far better for quickening the pulse. But the Bible was a stale old yarn after Lady Rosemount’s letters and I swore to myself that I’d read the rest of her book if ever I got the chance.
I listened, straining to follow her, my hands twisting in my lap. As the morning wore on, I stumbled over the words she made me repeat, not knowing their meaning. The only sound was the tick-tock of the standing clock, which grew more vexing by the minute. Every time it chimed at the quarter hour I near leapt out of my skin. My mind was forever straying to the minister, and wondering when I would next set eyes on him.
She could tell when my mind had wandered, and tried to catch me out. ‘Now, what do you think the Lord means here in John when he says: And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd?’
‘The sheep are us, his children, I suppose?’
‘Of course the sheep are his children! But what is he saying in regard to them?’
‘Not to forget about poor folk – who live far away and might get looked over?’
‘Wrong, again. He means that all people must become part of his church. All people, everywhere.’
When she was done with the gospels, she told me her notions of schooling. ‘It may interest you to know that I once paid a visit to the Sunday school in Redruth, which I believe was the first in all of Cornwall,’ she said. ‘I encountered various children on my travels, and there was a marked distinction between those who attended the school and those who did not. The latter were quite evidently disinclined to submit to the restraint and discipline that a good school imposes. So we can have no doubt that instruction in Sunday school is the surest way to inspire a more respectful behaviour in children.’
I nodded, but my fists were clenched under the table.
‘Now, will you tell me something of your own church-going history?’
‘Well, I have been to Mass quite often, at Easter or Christmas or for a wedding or a Christening betimes.’
‘And that is all? Heaven help us! What about the Sabbath?’
‘The old church in Porthmorvoren has fallen into rack and ruin, and we have had no rector for a good many years.
Sometimes we have to walk to the church in Paul.’
‘But that must be ten miles, at least. You take the Sacrament, I hope?’
I looked into my lap, ashamed because I did not get her meaning.
‘You take Communion?’
I shook my head.
‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ She began gathering together the books on the table. ‘Well, I think that will be enough for today. In fairness to you, your knowledge of the Scriptures is a little better than I feared it might be.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Stone,’ I muttered.
‘However, your notions of the moral lessons to be drawn are rather fanciful and misled. Especially your understanding of the parables, which is often far from what the Good Lord intended.’
Before lunch, Dr Vyvyan came to look at my feet. It was strange to see him there, when before I’d only ever seen him on his visits to the cove. Remembering the last time I’d seen him, I blushed. Now that he was here, Mrs Stone was all smiles, and seemed much more bothered about my feet than she’d been before.
‘I am somewhat surprised to find you here,’ he said to me. ‘I hope your doubts about the efficacy of modern medicine have lessened since our last encounter. Or perhaps I should hang a poor plucked bird from the ceiling?’
At this mention of the bird, Mrs Stone put a hand to her mouth, as if in horror. I noticed she’d turned quite skittish since the doctor had arrived, not at all like how she’d been with me.
‘I’ll tell you the story some time, Ellie,’ Dr Vyvyan said to her.
He asked me about Mamm, and I said she was doing as well as could be hoped. The thought of Mamm, wheezing in her chair so far away, brought the tears to my eyes, and when the doctor saw this he put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
‘I’ll make sure to drop by the next time I’m in Porthmorvoren,’ he said. ‘Now let’s have a look at those feet of yours.’ He took one ankle at a time and turned my foot in his hand to look at it from all sides, prodding the blisters with his forefinger and making me wince.
‘There’s nothing here that won’t heal in a few days,’ he said. ‘You’re quite right to leave the skin exposed to the air, and let Nature do her work.’ He put a little round pot on the table. ‘Here is some balm. You’re to apply it to the blisters morning and night.’
For the rest of Dr Vyvyan’s stay, Mrs Stone and he talked among themselves, as if I wasn’t there. When he was leaving, I heard her out in the hall, seeing him off.
‘You’ve been an absolute saint as always,’ she said, her voice light and girlish. ‘Let me fetch my purse.’
‘I won’t hear of it, Ellie.’
When he was gone, she came back into the parlour, prim and stiff as ever she’d been.
‘You will eat dinner with me at six,’ she said.
‘Will Mr Stone be having dinner too?’
‘I’m afraid Mr Stone will not. He has been obliged to absent himself during your stay. He’ll be abroad on his visits to the stewards of the Penwith societies for the coming week. It’s most provoking for him, of course, but he has rather neglected his circuit work due to his labours in that cove of yours. What is the matter with you, Sister Blight? You’re a peculiar colour all of a sudden. I sincerely hope you’re not about to fall ill?’
I was so miserable at dinner, Mrs Stone sent me to bed early. Most of that night I lay awake, and all my vain hopes unravelled in the darkness. Without owning it to myself, I’d dreamt that while I was in this house Providence would somehow throw me into Gideon Stone’s path. My hopes were raised when he picked me up bodily and put me in the cart, looking into my eyes a moment longer than was proper. And later, when I saw how his wife’s play acting and falseness irked him, I let myself believe it was all proof of some secret feelings he had for me, like those I had for him. But now Gideon had run off and left me here for a whole week with a woman I loathed, and who looked down on me, and I saw that all along he wanted no more than to make me Sunday school teacher in the cove. Almost without admitting as much to myself, I’d hoped Gideon would help me flee the cove an
d raise me above the bettermost of Porthmorvoren who ill wished me and wanted me brought low.
The next morning, I had some peace from Mrs Stone because she went on a trip to Truro with Miss Rebecca Vyvyan, the tall woman I’d seen the night I came. As Miss Vyvyan was the sister of Dr Vyvyan, the two were able to go in his carriage. Mrs Stone got back again mid-afternoon with flowers that she put in a big urn in the hearth. I was dazzled, so lovely they were, violet asters and white roses, with bleeding hearts trailing over the sides. When the blooms were all arranged to her liking, Mrs Stone wearily sat on her settle, while Mrs Gurney pushed a cushion behind her mistress’s back. I watched them from the window seat, a book of sermons in my hands.
‘Such artistry!’ said Mrs Gurney to Mrs Stone, beaming at the flowers.
‘I do what little I can to bring art and delicacy into this modest home,’ said Mrs Stone.
‘And such a perfume! Why, the parlour smells like Lemon Quay on market day,’ said Mrs Gurney. ‘A pity you have no grand acquaintances to visit and see what you are capable of.’
‘More than a pity, my dear. Miss Vyvyan and I took a stroll down Princes Street today. Balls are held there most weeks. The Boscawens and the Lemons were in attendance at one only last night. Happier people than I, able to enjoy the Theatre and the Assembly Rooms. Miss Vyvyan would admonish me if she knew I hankered after such amusements, but surely I can be forgiven for imagining the sensation I might make among new people?’
‘You certainly may be forgiven, Mrs Stone. A fine lady like you shouldn’t be hidden away from the world.’
‘Well, tomorrow, at least, I will have some company. There is a reason for my unaccustomed extravagance with the flowers. I am having a little tea party, and have invited Miss Vyvyan and Mr Dabb, who is the new Justice of the Peace.’
‘I’d better come over early and start baking, then,’ said Mrs Gurney. ‘We’ll want scalded milk too. And the house will need a good clean, of course.’
‘No effort will be spared in achieving an impression of careless negligence,’ said Mrs Stone, with her silvery laugh.
There was a knock on the door, and Susan went out to answer it. People were always calling, I’d noticed, selling their wares. A moment later, Susan came into the parlour and handed a note to Mrs Stone.
‘Who gave you this?’ she asked.
‘It were Miss Vyvyan’s maid.’
Mrs Stone looked at the envelope. ‘Yes, I do recognise Rebecca’s hand.’ She opened it and took out a note. When she had read it, she turned pale, and the hand that held the note fell to her side. ‘Shall I fetch the salts?’ cried Mrs Gurney.
Mrs Stone shook her head.
‘Will I plump up your cushions for you, my dear? Or bring you a slice of heavy cake? You haven’t overdone it, have you?’
‘Please don’t fuss!’ said Mrs Stone, waving her away. ‘Find something useful to do. I wish to have a moment to myself. I’ll call you if I need you.’
Mrs Gurney looked most put out, but did as she was told. I rose to follow her out, but Mrs Stone’s voice stopped me dead, just as I got to the door.
‘You stay here, Miss Blight,’ she said. ‘I have a matter to discuss with you. Sit down over there.’
I sat in a straight-backed chair, as ordered, and waited. Mrs Stone looked me over, her head on one side. It set my nerves jangling, being inspected like that, so I took hold of the cloth of my skirt and twisted it into a little pucker, a habit I had.
‘I am sure it will surprise you to learn that my dear friend Rebecca has requested that you join us tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Join you?
‘At the tea party. You might well look alarmed. I’m afraid that Rebecca is nothing if not capricious. Of course, you’ll find yourself out of your depth in such company, but you’ll have to put a brave face on it. Naturally, Mrs Gurney will be most disconcerted that you’re invited and she is not. I shall have to think about how to break it to her.’
‘But what would Miss Vyvyan want with me?’
‘Oh, she’s quite taken with you. She spoke of little else in the carriage this morning. I imagine she wants a new mascot for her benevolent society. But rest assured, she’ll tire of this latest whim soon enough. Just make sure you do nothing whatsoever to embarrass me in front of my acquaintances.’
Just before the tea party was due to begin, I went into the parlour and found Mrs Stone putting a book on her French coffee table, Thoughts on Slavery by Mr Wesley. I’d never once seen her peruse the book, yet she put the stem of a pressed flower in one of the pages as if she had. There was a loud knocking on the door and suddenly the room was full of noise. Her visitors had come at one and the same time. Miss Vyvyan came into the parlour and gazed open-mouthed at my bare feet.
‘Do forgive Miss Blight’s feet,’ said Mrs Stone, hurrying in after her. ‘They got dreadfully blistered crossing the moor. As soon as they are better I intend taking her to Penzance to have her fitted for a new pair of boots.’
‘Bare feet? Oh, but that’s sublime!’ said Miss Vyvyan, laughing. ‘I hope you succeed in starting a new fashion. Nothing would delight me more than wandering about bare-footed. Or perhaps even dancing to a gypsy guitar?’ Mr Josiah Dabb, the Justice of the Peace, grinned at this, as they all moved towards the dining table. ‘Such unadorned simplicity and elegance,’ said Miss Vyvyan, taking her seat.
‘You’re too kind,’ said Mrs Stone.
‘As if a Grecian nymph had wandered out of a grove in a painting,’ Miss Vyvyan cried, beaming at me and showing her crooked teeth. Mrs Stone looked most put out, realising it was me being praised. Abashed at all this talk of my feet, I pushed them out of sight. Miss Vyvyan sat at the head of the little table facing Mrs Stone, while Mr Dabb was on the other side to me.
‘Miss Blight will hardly gain the respect of Sunday school children looking like an indigent. So new boots she will have,’ said Mrs Stone, laughing and twinkling with all her might. I caught Mr Dabb giving her a little wink as he put his napkin in his lap. He was a short, thickset man with a red face and white mutton-chop whiskers.
‘Miss Blight, would you mind if I called you by your Christian name?’ asked Miss Vyvyan, leaning towards me and smiling.
‘It is Mary,’ I said.
‘And you are from Porthmorvoren, Mary? Is life harsh for you there?’
I looked at Mrs Stone, not wanting to say the wrong thing, but her gaze was on Miss Vyvyan.
‘Mary, do tell me about your family,’ said Miss Vyvyan.
I cleared my throat, remembering to put my hand in front of my mouth at the last moment. ‘There’s only me and Mamm, and my sister Tegen.’
‘No father or brother?’ I shook my head. ‘But that must be dreadfully hard on you.’
‘It is hard, ma’am. But we do the best we can.’
‘Such quiet stoicism.’ She looked at Mrs Stone and Mr Dabb, and they both nodded assent.
‘Your neighbours help you, I suppose?’
‘Some do. And some don’t.’
‘Oh dear! And what is your work?’
‘Whatever we can find, depending on the time of year, packing pilchards, mending or tarring nets – filthy work, that is. Or tracing rushes to make them into maunds for field work just like you trace a little maid’s hair.’
‘Maunds?’ said Miss Vyvyan.
‘Baskets, I mean. And smashing the lode-stuff at the mine, and stitching sack, and making the wicks for candles and fish-oil lamps.’ Miss Vyvyan was nodding away at everything I said, so I went on. ‘And when food’s short, ma’am, me and Tegen go shrimping at slack water, or looking for crabs. Then there’s always baking to be done, and fetching water from the well, and laundering and darning and weaving.’
‘Well, that has given us all a very good idea how Miss Blight spends her time,’ said Mrs Stone, to put a stop to it.
‘And how do you endure all this?’ asked Miss Vyvyan, still set on quizzing me.
‘Well, now and then we might have a rummer of bran
dy grog. As for me, a little scrap of a song helps cheer me.’
‘Songs, how lovely! Which are your favourites, Mary?’ asked Miss Vyvyan.
‘Oh, any lively catch that takes my fancy.’
‘Well, we should hear you sing another time.’
I looked into my lap, wishing she’d leave me be.
‘How delicate you are, Mary. I suppose that sometimes you must go hungry, despite all your labours?’
I nodded.
‘What would you say to me paying a visit to your village? I should love to see it with my own eyes.’
‘You might find my neighbours a bit rough and ill mannered, ma’am.’
‘Come now, Mary, no more of this “ma’am”. I insist on you calling me Rebecca. Now tell me – is Ellie a splendid gospel tutor?’ I nodded, but not as quickly as Mrs Stone would have liked, going by the look on her face. ‘Ellie tells me you have a quite remarkable knowledge of the Bible?’
‘I’m fond of the stories, ma’am.’
Miss Vyvyan turned to the Justice. ‘Well, Mr Dabb, don’t you agree that this young woman is an excellent example of an individual from the poorer classes making efforts to improve herself?’ she said. Mr Dabb smiled. The man had a loud, gruff voice and a way of speaking that was foreign to me. He began telling Mrs Stone that he was a benefactor to Miss Vyvyan’s Benevolent Society for the Relief of Indigence, and that he hailed from somewhere called Hanley which he said was in the north, and full of converts to Methodism. He was in Cornwall to advise the mine owners about steam pumps, and had only lately been made Justice.
Miss Vyvyan turned to Mrs Stone. ‘Ellie, you must let me borrow Mary so I can present her at our next public meeting.’
Mrs Stone tried to force a smile but I saw her tea party wasn’t going quite as she’d hoped. To my relief, at that moment Susan came in with the tea tray wobbling in her hands. The scones were still warm and the smell made my tummy rumble. And there was sugar for the tea in a pretty crystal bowl.
‘Ellie, I hope you’ll join me on our visit to Porthmorvoren?’ said Miss Vyvyan, buttering her scone. Mrs Stone nodded, spreading jam on hers.
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