The Wages of Sin

by Judith Cutler

  ‘Two things. That Mr Pounceman cancelled our meeting—’

  ‘So would I, were I suffering from his condition,’ Samuel exclaimed. He dropped his voice confidentially; the effect was to make him sound quite ghoulish. ‘It is hardly any trouble in the young but in an adult male both painful and, I understand, potentially serious. He has’ – he paused for effect – ‘he has the mumps.’

  Did he mean to sound so comic? I certainly thought he was taken aback by the gleeful laughter that greeted the revelation – but then he joined in with a will, even providing his immaculate pocket handkerchief for Beatrice to mop her tears.

  ‘Poor man: I must try to remember him in my prayers,’ Harriet said, though with no marked degree of sincerity. ‘Very well, Matthew, what was the second thing you learned – though I am not at all sure that the first counts. It was, after all, Samuel who provided the important information.’

  ‘True. Now, would one of you be kind enough to pass me that peach? This is better demonstrated than explained.’ I took the fruit, placing it with my fingers spread where Elias had suggested.

  Unsurprisingly my friends looked bemused.

  Harriet, however, lit up with laughter. ‘Of course. But you may need to adjust the angle of your thumb. Oh,’ she said, ‘if only we could all go outside – then we’d see if you’ve mastered it!’ What was wrong? She had clapped her hands to her mouth as if trying to reclaim the words.

  She had almost given away one of her cherished secrets. She had shared it with me once, and I glowed to realize how privileged I was. As such, it was my duty to rescue her. If only I knew how. ‘I have been boasting to Harriet of my bowling skills,’ I began, not inaccurately. ‘I showed her how I held the ball – but Elias, now in his role of wicketkeeper, of course, thinks I can improve the flight. But I fear the flight of a peach would not be very straight, and when it bounced it would spoil a lovely summer treat. I once worked on an estate where the maser grudged every penny he had to spend on his land and even on his succession houses. Yet he constantly complained when his neighbours had earlier fruit or vegetables than he. And his pineapple pits were a disgrace.’

  ‘Our masters are not always wise,’ Samuel said, in view of our earlier conversation rather stating the obvious. But I was grateful as he embarked on a long anecdote involving an earl, no less, who used to instruct his butler to water the wine. The thought of wine sent him to the sideboard, where he had put a lovely dessert wine we could not resist.

  The following morning found me bright and early at the Royal Oak, where Marty was supervising his outdoor lad swilling down the yard. When it was clean enough to satisfy him, he sent the boy, aged about ten, on his way.

  Once his back was turned, Marty shook his head. ‘If only he knew his letters, Matthew. Anything I ask he can do, except he gets bored because he’s so quick to master it.’

  ‘We need a village school,’ I said firmly. ‘So does every village. Meanwhile, why don’t you teach him?’

  ‘Patience – or rather lack of patience.’

  ‘Very well, a school it must be! But it won’t happen tomorrow, sadly. Now, Marty, I wonder if I might pick your brain about another youngster – little Maggie. Mrs Faulkner suggests that she and Mrs Davies should go together to speak to Mrs Batham and demand to see the child. I cannot imagine Mrs Batham rebuffing the two of them, especially as Mrs Faulkner was almost in loco parentis to Maggie. If you have no objection to the notion, and haven’t yet written to Ianto, might you suggest it?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘But how would the good lady get to Wolverhampton?’

  ‘She’d need an escort, of course – and for various reasons it would be good if you were one of them and I the other.’

  ‘What’s her ladyship say about it? Your walking out together, man, not this journey.’

  ‘We have not informed her yet. But logically she should have no objection. I could name any number of butlers and housekeepers who are married yet continue with their employment—’

  ‘Married! It’s gone that far?’

  I shook my head. ‘By no means. But she is the first woman I have ever met who inspires such sentiments and …’ I broke off, ashamed by my hackneyed words.

  He held up his hand. ‘Matthew, my friend, if she is the one, don’t delay, I beg you. I am glad that I had at least a few years with my beloved …’ He swallowed. ‘I promise I will say nothing, and, if you wish, I will pooh-pooh any rumours, though they’re so rife no one will believe me.’ He looked at me sideways. ‘If an engagement is in the air, then I wonder if it might be politic to speak to her ladyship. Upfront and honest, if you see what I mean. I know it’s risky, but if she just happened to find out …? Anyway, of course I will suggest to Ianto the possibility of a little outing for the three of us. Especially if we could improve it by having lunch at that hotel near the railway.’

  ‘You don’t think Mrs Davies would be offended?’

  ‘It’s a temperance hotel, and we’d invite her husband too. I’m sure Ianto would agree to a change from her cooking. Everyone deserves a bit of a treat, if they can get it.’

  ‘They do. It will be my treat and no arguments, Marty. As for your advice about Mrs Faulkner and me – you’re sure it’s not a bit premature?’

  ‘Is it? Only you two can say that.’

  Why had I never grasped until now that, should she deign to, her ladyship could watch what was going on in the grounds of her son’s estate? It wasn’t just the lake that she could see. A bizarre desire to wave at the blinds of her boudoir shook me. They were still closed, of course, even though the morning sun was shining warmly and it was a treat to be out in it.

  Clearly I needed a very private conversation with Harriet – but one I must not rush. I recalled her shock when I first kissed her – not a physical one, so much as a profound fear of … something. Until I knew what that something was, I did not want to push her into anything for fear of losing her altogether. For that reason I must not seek her out, not offer any more pressing attentions than I had so far – all of which seemed to be happily received, I had to admit. Apart from that first, impulsive denial. Instead I knocked on Samuel’s pantry door, where, using a magnifying glass, he was engaged in checking the state of the huge silver epergne which usually dominated the state dining room.

  ‘It takes three footmen to carry this safely,’ he said. ‘But three is an awkward number. I’m always afraid I shall see a dent on it when it comes in here for cleaning.’

  I scratched my head. ‘George is very busy with work on the roof just now,’ I said. ‘But surely when there’s a wet day he could make a little trolley for that.’

  ‘I believe you’re right!’ He gestured various dimensions. ‘Yes! You could let down one side to ease the epergne in place, then fasten it up … What a good idea, Matthew. But that wasn’t what brought you here, not at this hour of the day.’

  ‘In fact it was an entirely private matter, one that I hardly like to broach. Samuel, some time ago you mentioned your interest in Beatrice. It’s clear that you take as much pleasure in each other’s company as Harriet and I do in ours. The whole village is apparently expecting to hear our banns read any Sunday now; I dare say they gossip just as much about you two. The problem is, what if this comes to her ladyship’s ears? You know her so much better than anyone else in the House. Knowing how loyal you are to her, to the whole family, I understand that you might not want to answer this question, but I must ask anyway: how would she respond – in either case?’

  Sighing deeply, he put the magnifying glass back in its velvet lined box before he answered. ‘I do not care to speculate. Even ten years ago, there was always courtesy in her treatment of me. Offhand, dismissive – because I am, when all is said and done, a servant. But even at her coldest, she maintained her dignity. Since the death of his lordship’s father …’ He broke off, shaking his head – in a way the Bard described, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘In answer to your question, I might escape the worst of her temper, be
cause there is, of course, almost a tradition of the family butler marrying the cook or the housekeeper. But I have been in her service for enough years to point out, with some humility, that she would not like the effect on her comfort, on the smooth running of the entire house, if I left, taking my bride with me.’

  ‘I, on the other hand, am a newcomer with whom she has already crossed swords. Sadly for her, she can’t dismiss me: only his lordship can do that. But she could get rid of Harriet, couldn’t she? Which would thrust her into a … it might mean she feels obliged to enter a marriage she does not want.’

  ‘My friend,’ he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, ‘there is no doubt in my mind that she loves you. But I can understand that you would like the relationship entered into absolutely freely. And there is something in her past – no, I’ve no idea what it is … She won’t even tell Beatrice.’

  I nodded slowly. Before I could speak, the clock, a particularly intrusive one, struck the half hour. ‘Heavens! I shall be late at my desk.’

  ‘Don’t worry: if anyone asked I should say you were advising me about the epergne.’

  XXI

  Nurse has brought down a rush basket, which she puts on the table.

  ‘Just right,’ Mrs Baird says. ‘Not that the poor mite has much to put in it.’

  They exchange a smile.

  ‘Let’s see. There’s her shifts; stays; drawers; stockings; indoor boots; a shawl.’ But now Nurse is smiling at me. ‘It gets very quiet in the nursery sometimes, and it’s nice to have something for my hands to do. Here: I know you’re growing like a young plant, but I’ve made sure there’s a good deep hem on these so you can let them down.’ She holds up two of the prettiest print dresses I’ve ever seen.

  ‘And you’ll need some ribbons to go with them.’ Mrs Baird produces a tissue-wrapped packet. ‘I saw how you loved those blue ones and these are the nearest I could get.’

  There are blue ribbons on the bonnet she holds up; they match the blue of the cloak she carries over her arm. ‘Come on: put them on. We don’t want to keep Carter Joe waiting, do we?’ She ties the ribbons under my chin.

  ‘But the most important thing is this,’ Nurse says, holding out another package. ‘No, open it when you get there, not a minute before. And no tears, Missy – you’re going on an adventure, that’s what.’ She hugs me to her, as tight as she can. I cling to her. She is safe and I love her. I feel her sobs match mine.

  Mrs Baird eases us apart. Her embrace is shorter, but just as kind. She kisses my forehead. ‘Off you go. Do us credit.’

  Nurse says, ‘And do yourself justice, my love.’

  All of us are in tears, but Carter Joe is lifting up my basket and now he’s lifting me.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Most of my married contemporaries had known the women who were now their wives for a year or more before they became engaged. Then there was an equally long period before the marriage took place: compared with my relationship with Harriet they were love affairs in slow motion. There were many other differences: the men were young enough to have to secure their future careers before committing themselves to maintaining a wife and family. None of them, to my know-ledge, had married a woman with a career of her own, even though it paid pitifully little and involved long hours and very little free time, with the notion of taking a holiday while her employer was in residence anathema – especially to the employer. Nor had their future wife carried the secrets of a past she was not yet ready to share – possibly could never share. And much as I hated myself for it, I wanted there to be complete openness between us on all things, great and small.

  And then I had something else to hate: those words echoed the poem quoted by Mr Pounceman, justifying the great divide between people like my employer and the Mrs Billingses of this world, and for the rest of the day the banal little rhyme ran round and round my head, no matter how I tried to replace it with something else. It bounced through the credit and the debit columns of the accounts; it scurried along the lines of final demands and the minutes of meetings. It gnawed at the problem of my missing employer and his valet. Finally, towards evening, it drove me out of my office towards the home farm, where perhaps communing with a pig might finally dispatch it.

  Hargreaves was involved in a serious argument with one of the labourers, not, I fancy, staged for my benefit, though I had known other occasions when they were. Until it was over I confined myself to discussing life, perhaps one-sidedly, with a sow suckling no fewer than ten piglets. Ten! The number seemed overwhelming. Yet how many human families were as big or even bigger: indeed, many of my uxorious friends liked to describe themselves as polyphilop‌rogenitive, as if begetting a huge brood was to be admired, possibly as much as having an erudite vocabulary. Having seen the exhausted state of their constantly pregnant wives I was less sure; emphatically I wished to save Harriet from such a life. And then I drew up short. This was something we must discuss; I did not even know her exact age yet, much less whether she was able to bear children any longer. If she was already past the age, did I care? My immediate response was that I wanted to share my life with her, not any putative heir. But could I look her in the eye and swear that was the case if she questioned me?

  ‘Looks good, don’t she?’

  ‘Goodness, Alf, I nearly jumped out of my skin! Is everything all right?’ I nodded over my shoulder at the man slouching away.

  ‘It is and it isn’t – which is the way of the world, I suppose. He’s been helping himself to pigswill once too often. Once in a while you turn a blind eye, but sometimes you have to have a bit of a word. The lads – they know where they stand. But Wilf, he gave me a bit of back-chat I didn’t like and I told him so. Calling my Luke a murderer indeed!’

  ‘Heavens! That’s dreadful! Will you let him keep his job?’

  He sucked a piece of straw. ‘Thing is, gaffer, he’s got a new baby, well, a few months old now. A bit sickly, it is. And if I sack him, well, it’s not just him as’ll suffer, is it – it’s not cricket, you might say. Same as if I stop his wages. Truth is I don’t know what to do. So I just gave him a mouthful back, and I can’t say I’m proud of myself.’

  I scratched the sow, only to have her rear up, squealing. I backed away sharply.

  ‘Have to be careful, gaffer, when they’re with their litter. I’ve seen them knock down grown men. I even heard tell of one tearing a man’s leg off. Half-eaten he was when they got to him. If they’d left it any longer I reckon there’d have been nothing left of him.’

  ‘A pig eat a whole man? Never!’

  ‘Maybe not all at once. I reckon they could drag what they couldn’t manage into their shelter – I’d not want to be the one to go and look – and finish the rest as and when.’

  We watched her in silence. Finally I felt able to ask, ‘Why on earth should Wilf make such a terrible accusation against Luke?’

  ‘Well, I’ve never denied the lad’s got a temper. But he knows he has to watch himself – and Mr Bowman himself told me the lad was a credit to me.’

  ‘He is indeed,’ I agreed heartily. I added, from experience, ‘But every man has a breaking point, and his lordship might not be the easiest master. Has he ever done anything that might infuriate Luke beyond endurance?’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Young men often fight over a young woman, for instance. Did Luke have a sweetheart?’

  Did Alf’s reply come too quickly? Too huffily? ‘Not that I know to. You’d know more than me, working in the House.’

  I nodded. ‘Unless they both met someone on this tour of theirs …’

  ‘Some servant wench his lordship had a taste for, you mean. No, I reckon Luke’d know when to steer clear. He wants to get on in life, gaffer, even if that means swallowing his pride. No, someone must have harmed them both, stands to reason, or surely they’d both be home by now. Unless his lordship’s done a bunk, of course, which I can’t see he’d have reason to, or maybe been kidnapped and any day someone’ll come asking for a
whatever-you-call it.’

  ‘Ransom,’ I said automatically. ‘Alf, I know you don’t know your letters as well as you’d like. Could it be you’ve had a letter from Luke you can’t quite read? You know I’d always be happy to read it to you, and that the contents would be quite private between us.’

  ‘Not a word, as God’s my witness. It’s the business of this smashed-up carriage of his that worries me, gaffer. The horses – well, a team of gypsies could make them vanish into thin air in two shakes of a bee’s ankle, and they’d turn up at a horse fair a different colour and no questions asked or answered. The luggage: a nice lot of things to clothe a poor family there. The cases or valises, whatever Elias called them, they’d be tucked away at a pawnbroker’s or even a fence’s before you could say knife.’

  ‘Leaving two strong fit young men dead?’ I wrinkled my nose as I shook my head. ‘What does Elias think of your theory?’

  ‘He huffs and he puffs and won’t say anything – and I daresay he’s right: he’s got to do his job the best he can. But I don’t think all those fancy telegraphs he’s been sending have got the answers he wants yet. I reckon he and his gaffer will be back soon, wanting to talk to her ladyship some more. When they do, ask about Luke, will you? As a favour to me? A man wants to know if his son’s in trouble. Or dead.’

  ‘I give you my word. If you give me your word you’ll pass on any letter he should send you.’

  We shook hands on the deal. He looked at me sideways. ‘Of course, ’twas your Mrs Faulkner who got him to learn his letters and read like a gentleman.’

  ‘Alf, you must not call her “my” Mrs Faulkner. I admire her greatly, but it’s … everything is at a delicate stage, as you must recall from your courtship.’

  He snorted. ‘Well, so it ought to have been. But we both had too much cider at the Harvest Home and after that there wasn’t much courtship as a bit of explaining to do. And her dad a sidesman at church, too … I’ve got no regrets, mind, never have had. Never so much as looked at another woman since. And if you don’t think your eyes will ever wander, then what are you waiting for?’