Off the Rails

by Beryl Kingston

  It was growing dark by the time he turned into Goodramgate and his intended had lit candles in the shop and was outside in the half light closing the shutters. Time for a little chivalry.

  ‘Let me do that for ’ee,’ he said, stepping forward and putting his hand on the nearest shutter.

  She didn’t seem to understand that he was offering her a favour. ‘I allus does the shutters,’ she said. ‘’Tis no hardship.’

  It was offputting to be rebuffed and for a few seconds while she finished her task he stood where he was, wondering what to offer next. ‘I’ll sweep the shop then, shall I?’

  ‘All done,’ she said, walking through the door. ‘There’s only the accounts.’

  But there was nothing special about the accounts. Nobody could see them as a love offering. He did them all the time.

  She had the candlestick in her hand. ‘I’ll give ’ee good night then,’ she said, and stomped towards the stairs.

  Damned stupid woman, he thought. Why can’t she pay attention? Well, I shall just have to think of something else, that’s all. Sweetmeats or summat.

  Over the next few days he tried a seed cake – but she said she didn’t like caraway seeds and gave it to Richard – a marzipan frog – she didn’t like that either and gave it to Becky – even a liquorice stick – which she left under the counter until it went hard. It was all a waste of time. She simply didn’t see that he was trying to court her. Any other woman would have taken his gifts and encouraged him. But then any other woman would have jumped at him. He was a good catch, God damn it. Handsome – no one could deny that – clever, well dressed, quick-witted, and he knew how to make money, which was more than could be said for her fool of a brother. If he could just get his feet on the ladder with a partnership, he’d end up a very rich man. Any other woman would be glad to get him.

  He was in a fury of impatience and frustration and spent several evenings making brutal use of the local ladies of the night. But nothing he said, thought or did made any difference to the courtship he couldn’t begin.

  When Christmas came, he hung a sprig of mistletoe in the shop – which she ignored. On Christmas Day they all dined together upstairs in Mrs Bell’s dining room and Mrs Norridge roasted a goose with a plum pudding to follow and the pudding gave him another opportunity because he was the one who found the lucky charm. He made a great to-do over it, explaining to them all that he only had one thing in his life he really wanted and making eyes at Lizzie all the time he was holding it in his fist and wishing.

  ‘’Twill be for money, sure as fate,’ Richard said.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he told his rival happily. ‘It’s nowt to do wi’ money. There’s more to life than brass.’

  ‘Is there any more cream?’ Lizzie said.

  In January the snows began and went on for weeks. Their customers stayed indoors by the fire telling one another it was no weather to be thinking of new clothes, nor anything else for that matter. Mrs Bell and her brother and sister all had heavy colds and were red-nosed and miserable. Even George succumbed to the sniffles for a day or two. There was nothing to be done but to get on with his work, feed his dreams and pray for spring.

  Jane Jerdon was praying for the spring too; in her case with an ever-present anxiety that kept her wakeful by night and watchful by day. It had been a bad winter, for fever had come to Foster Manor with the chilling weather and the governess had been struck down with the shaking sickness even before the snows began to fall. Sir Mortimer had dismissed her and sent her home as soon as he heard of it, naturally, but now they were all living in fear in case any of the children had taken it. Infections hopped from child to child as quickly and silently as fleas, as they knew only too well, and what could any of them possibly do to prevent it? This was the moment Jane had been dreading ever since Sir Mortimer had given his stern instructions to Mrs Denman. His voice had been echoing in her head ever since. ‘Should there be any sickness in her whatsoever, you will remove her from the nursery forthwith.’ My poor Milly Millstone, she thought, as she brushed the child’s pretty hair. How would she make out if they took her away from me? She’s only three and a half, poor little mite. No age to be taken from her ma. And no age to take the shaking sickness either.

  But in the event it wasn’t Milly who caught the fever. It was Felix. Sir Mortimer was distraught with worry, sending for one physician after another, keeping fires lit in the nursery day and night, so that everyone in the room, Felix included, was uncomfortably overheated, ordering medicinal syrups to be made, which the poor child couldn’t swallow and which Jane threw in the chamber pot as soon as she could, and visiting the nursery two or three times a day to check on his progress and to complain that not enough was being done. Luckily, after ten days of incessant fussing, he had letters from Westminster requesting his presence there ‘at your earliest convenience’ and so he had to leave, explaining to Mr Glendenning that it would only be for a day or two and that he would be home again as soon as it was possible.

  Jane was heartily glad to see the back of him. Now she could nurse the poor infant in her own way, by following her instincts, giving him sips of water and letting him suck whenever he wanted to, keeping him warm but not too hot, sponging his poor little sweating head and keeping his poor, sore bottom clean and dry. It took her a long time and so many sleepless nights she lost count of them, but gradually and very, very gently, she eased the little boy back to health. By the time his father was being driven home for Easter and the daffodils were shaking their trumpets in the gardens, he was crawling about the nursery again and even riding the rocking horse – with Milly sitting up behind him to hold him steady – pale and skinny but happily alive.

  Sir Mortimer declared himself well pleased and explained to Mr Glendenning that this was proof, if any were needed, that the most efficacious way to ensure a good outcome to a child’s illness was to insist that the physicians did as they were told. Then, having satisfied himself that the family line was secure, he ate a large supper and took himself off to bed, where he slept soundly until mid morning. But Jane was awake all night.

  She lay on her back in her comfortable bed, watching the full white moon as it rose serenely and carelessly from pane to pane in her window and listened to the soft soughing of her babies’ breathing and worried her way through the night. While she’d been nursing Felix she’d had no time to think of anything except how to cure him; now she was wondering what would become of her and Milly when her services as a wet nurse were no longer required. She’d seen how ruthlessly Sir Mortimer had got rid of that poor governess, for all his gentlemanly ways. She would be feeding Felix for another year at least, possibly more, but after that there would be no job for her. If the worst came to the worst, she could probably go back to Aunt Tot and work in the scullery but she’d had a taste of a richer life now and wanted something a bit better than that – and besides it would take her too far from her mother and she’d grown used to seeing her regularly. I think I could make a good housekeeper if I set my mind to it, she thought. Happen Mrs Denman would teach me, if I asked her politely. I could learn a lot by just watching how she goes on. I’ve a year’s grace and I could learn a lot in a year. I’ll start today, she thought, as the dawn chorus began. The great thing is to be ready and prepared to take anything that offers.

  George was taking delivery of a new batch of ribbons ready for the spring trade and was examining them carefully for flaws.

  ‘They’re pretty,’ Lizzie observed, as she passed his counter. ‘That yellow’s like daffodils.’

  The comment was so unexpected it sent his thoughts spinning. He’d never heard her say anything about the stock, not once in all the time he’d been there. Happen the spring’s getting to her, he thought. Is this the chance I been waiting for all this time? A ribbon?

  ‘Come and have a look,’ he said, holding up a handful of assorted colours. ‘There’s nowt to do in t’shop.’ Which was true enough for it was early morning and the custome
rs hadn’t started arriving.

  She stood beside him at the counter and took the ribbons rather daringly into her hand. ‘We’re not supposed to handle the goods,’ she said.

  ‘I won’t tell her,’ he said, giving her the full beam of his smile. ‘Which do ’ee think is the prettiest?’

  She considered them, taking it very seriously. ‘The green,’ she said.

  ‘’Tis yours,’ he said and cut off a length with a flourish. ‘Your first sale of the morning.’ And he took the coins from his waistcoat pocket and laid them on the counter. ‘An excellent choice, madam, if I may be permitted to say so. Exactly the colour of your pretty eyes.’

  She blushed. Progress at last. ‘My eyes aren’t pretty,’ she said, gathering up the coins.

  ‘They are,’ he told her earnestly, putting his right hand over hers, coins and all. ‘You should have a new gown all in green to match ’em.’

  ‘That wouldn’t look right at all,’ she said.

  ‘’Twould look gradely,’ he assured her, still wearing his earnest expression, ‘and so would you.’

  Her blush deepened into a really ugly red. She pulled her hand away. ‘Where would I wear it?’

  ‘At t’theatre for a start. ’Twould be just the thing.’

  ‘I don’t go to t’theatre,’ she protested.

  ‘You could though. You could come with me.’

  She was so surprised her mouth fell open. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘What would Becky think?’

  ‘Don’t tell her.’

  She was shocked. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ he said, teasing her. ‘What the eye don’t see the heart can’t grieve over. Anyroad, why shouldn’t ’ee see a play once in a while? There’s nowt like it. An evening out wi’ your young man.’

  ‘You’re not my young man.’

  Why did she have to make everything so difficult? ‘But I could be.’

  ‘You’re an apprentice.’

  ‘I shan’t always be,’ he told her. ‘Give me another two years and I shall run my own company. I’m going to be a rich man.’

  Her eyes widened but she didn’t argue.

  ‘Tell ’ee what,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the fashion books down for you and you can chose the style and the cloth and I’ll get it made up for you. You’ll feel quite different about the theatre if you’ve got the clothes for it.’

  It took her two weeks to decide that she would actually quite like a new dress and another two to persuade her sister to let her have it and to choose the pattern for it. By the time it was made and ready for her to wear, the summer had come, the city gardens were full of roses and songbirds and the walls of the Minster were creamy with sunlight. It was the perfect time for courting.

  But it was all wasted on Elizabeth Nicholson. The first time he took her to the theatre she fell asleep in the middle of the second act and although she told him it had been ‘reet gradely’ she hadn’t seen more than a third of it. The second time she was certainly snoring before the interval. So he stopped wasting his money on tickets, abandoned theatre-going as a bad job and started to take her out for long walks in the country, usually on Wednesday afternoons when Richard was in charge of the shop. At least she couldn’t fall asleep if she was walking about. But being alone with him made her speechless and although it was pleasant enough to tell her of his ambitions and brag a little, it didn’t give him the chance to edge towards any sort of proposal.

  It wasn’t until October, when they were walking along High Ousegate towards the river, that he finally got his opportunity. They were passing the Church of All Saints when a wedding party came chattering and giggling out of the door, the bride very grand in a blue silk gown and an elaborately feathered hat, and all the men in top hats and carrying canes. To his great satisfaction, Lizzie paused in her walk to watch and admire.

  ‘What do ’ee think a’ that bride?’ he prompted her.

  ‘She looks lovely,’ she said, her eyes shining.

  ‘You’d look better,’ he told her. ‘A sight better.’

  She sighed, still gazing at the bride. ‘Chance ’ud be a fine thing,’ she said, sadly. ‘I can’t see anyone wanting to marry me.’

  It was the perfect opportunity. He leant towards her until their cheeks were touching. ‘Heart of my heart,’ he said, remembering Mrs Norris, ‘I do.’

  She was so confused she could barely catch her breath and she was blushing so furiously her cheek was quite hot. ‘You’re never proposing,’ she said.

  ‘I am,’ he told her, adding with a flourish, ‘Name the day.’

  ‘My dear heart alive,’ she said, turning her head to look at him. ‘I do believe you mean it. Whatever will Becky say?’

  ‘Damn Becky,’ he said, and that much at least wasn’t feigned. ‘It’s nowt to do wi’ her. ’Tis what you say what counts.’

  ‘Well, as to that,’ she admitted, ‘I’d say yes if ’twere possible.’

  ‘That’s all tha needs to say,’ he told her. ‘I’ll make it possible.’

  She touched her hot cheeks with her fingers. ‘My dear heart alive,’ she said and looked up at him hopefully.

  He had to kiss her as she was so plainly expecting it. It wasn’t too unpleasant, which was rather a surprise given how unattractive she was. The great thing was that they were engaged and now Becky would have to accept him as family and take him into partnership. I’ll give Lizzie time to get used to the idea, he decided, a week or two should do it, and I’ll put a ring on her finger, what’ll please her, and then we’ll tell her brother and sister.

  In fact he waited until Christmas Day and told her when he and the family were sitting at table replete with roast goose and wine and Mrs Norridge had gone down to the kitchen to fetch the pudding. Richard was surprised but obviously pleased.

  ‘What a lark!’ he said. ‘Our Lizzie a bride.’

  But Rebecca was very definitely not pleased. ‘Engaged?’ she said. ‘What sort of nonsense is that? You’re – um – an apprentice, let me remind you. Apprentice boys don’t get wed. I never heard of such a thing.’

  Lizzie was squirming on her chair with embarrassment but George had seen this coming and was wonderfully cool. ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘No more they do. But I’ve finished my apprenticeship to all intents and purposes. I’ve learnt nowt new since Michaelmas. Fact of it is, I doubt there’s any more I can learn. Very well then, ’tis time for me to move on, get me a partnership and take me a wife, what’ll move on with me.’

  Rebecca looked at him shrewdly. He was a good worker, there was no doubt about that. He knew the ropes and he’d brought in a lot of trade. And Lizzie was useful too. She wouldn’t want to lose them both. Not when she could keep them both with a bit of bargaining. ‘We’ll not quarrel over our – um – Christmas dinner,’ she said. ‘I tell you what I’ll do. Serve out another six months, what’ll finish your apprenticeship. Then we’ll talk again. How would that be?’

  It was agreed, as the pudding came steaming into the room and the first snow of winter swirled against the windows.

  But by the time the summer sun was shining and George had served out his apprenticeship, Rebecca had thought of another and more formidable obstacle.

  The articles had been signed and sealed, his apprenticeship was formally completed and he and the family were sitting round the table in the back parlour, Lizzie in her green gown, smiling happily, Richard looking pleased with himself as though the ceremony had been all his idea, Rebecca thoughtful, fingering the lace on her sleeve.

  ‘Now,’ George said, ‘we’ll need to fix the wedding, eh, Lizzie?’

  ‘Well, as to that,’ Rebecca said, ‘there’s a little matter of – um – earning your living. I can hardly let my – um – sister marry a man who couldn’t support her.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ George said, giving Lizzie the benefit of his grey eyes. ‘You’d be no sort of a sister were you to allow that. So I’ll tell you what I intend to do. I intend to apply, here and
now, for a partnership in this business, what I could handle easily, you got to allow. Keeping it in the family like, all fair and square and above board.’

  ‘Well, as to that,’ Rebecca countered. ‘There’s a matter of money to be considered. If you were to enter into a deed of – um – partnership with us, you would have to be prepared to pay a considerable – um – equity.’

  He was all boldness now, for he knew what was coming and how he would answer it. ‘Name your figure,’ he said.

  She told him with the air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, ‘Six thousand pounds.’

  Lizzie drew in her breath with surprise and shock. It was a parlous amount of money. He’d never find that, surely, clever though he was. He patted her hand reassuringly. ‘I will see my uncle about it at the first opportunity,’ he said.

  He saw him on Sunday after church and told the old man the whole tale – with happy embellishments. The two of them were out in the garden where the air was a good deal sweeter than it would have been in that musty bedroom and Uncle Matthew was in rare good humour.

  ‘The woman’s a fool if she thinks she can outwit my nephy,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘My sentiments entirely,’ George told him. ‘I’ve had her measure for years. She don’t like it seemingly but there’s nowt she can do about it. She’ll just have to lump it.’

  The old man chuckled. ‘Aye so she will. So I tek it you’ll marry the wench?’

  George laughed too. ‘Aye, now she’s willin’, and I’ll tek half the firm into the bargain. The old gel thinks she’s stopped me wi’ her talk of money. She don’t know I’ve a friend at court. And afore you starts calling me a vulture, let me tell ’ee I’ll pay it all back, every last farthing, and with interest.’