Authors: Martine Bailey
This was disappointing. ‘Can you cast your mind back to when you last saw her?’
She screwed up her wrinkled face. ‘Last saw ’er? That were before you come ’ere, mistress. ’Bout a week before you come.’
‘Where was that?’
‘I seen her over in the kitchen. Down by’t fireplace. I were clearing up here in’t scullery and they were in there, laughing and carousing.’
‘Who?’ My mouth was dry. Surely Michael had not openly caroused with our housekeeper in front of Nan?
‘Her and her woman friend. Drinking they were. I told you an’ t’master that. They had a bottle between ’em.’
‘Who was this friend? Did you learn her name?’
‘No, I never learned it. Some gin-biber from the inn I reckon. I scarce saw her, she wore a bonnet low. They was warming themselves by the fire.’
‘And what happened next?’
‘Nowt. That were it. I never had sight nor sound of Mrs Harper again. All her stuff went with her. Left her bed unmade too, the dirty slattern.’
‘Yes – one of her long black hairs still lay between the sheets when I arrived.’
‘One of whose hairs?’
‘Mrs Harper’s.’
Nan fixed me with milky eyes. ‘You got that all arsey-varsey, mistress, if you don’t mind me saying so. Mrs Harper were flaxen, going to grey. A faded sort of body she were.’
This took a moment for me to absorb. ‘So – her friend? Have you ever seen her again, Nan?’
‘Never, mistress. I reckon she went off with Mrs Harper on some sort o’ brazen spree.’
I thanked Nan and gave her five shillings for a new costume, which she blessed me for, hiding the coins in her work-stained bodice. I told her of a good market woman who would supply warm kersey, then asked her how she had hurt her arms.
‘I banged ’em. And sometimes I catch ’em on’t fire, mistress.’
‘Well, be more careful, won’t you?’
Only then did I notice Peg, standing silent and still on the stairs.
‘Peg, what are you waiting there for?’
‘I just this second came looking for you. Should I cord your trunk yet, mistress?’
‘Yes, yes. There won’t be time in the morning. And look at Nan’s ragged costume – I’m ashamed she’s in my employment. She needs warmer clothes this winter. And balm on those scalds.’
Nan had jumped up and was tending the vat of meat by the time Peg reached us.
‘Don’t I know it, mistress. I’ve told Nan to wrap up a dozen times, but she scarce remembers what I tell her, the poor half-cracked thing.’
I left them then, all the time struggling to remember the course of my conversation with Nan. Surely my giving Nan the money and directions for a new costume had taken up a good long spell after my enquiries about Mrs Harper?
18
York
November 1792
~ Citrus Shrub ~
Pour two quarts of brandy into a large bottle and put into it the juice of five lemons, and the peels of two, and half a nutmeg. Stop it up and let it stand three days, after which add to it three pints of white wine; a pound and a half of sugar; mix it, strain it twice through a muslin bag, and then bottle it up.
A very fine cordial as served at the York Assembly Room
Before I set out for York I sought Michael in his room. He was up, but still knotting his neck cloth in front of his mirror. He turned to me with a smile, dressed only in breeches and billowing shirt.
‘Is it true you want me to go?’ I asked, so unaccustomed to seeing him in a state of half-undress I had to look away from the sight of him.
‘Yes. You should take the chance while you have it.’ He reached for his waistcoat and pulled it on.
‘Michael. You never told me what was troubling you?’
He avoided my eyes, busying himself with a clothes brush. ‘It is only the business. I didn’t foresee all these difficulties.’ He came over to me then, and put his hands on my shoulders. ‘Enjoy yourself. I wish I could come with you.’ He kissed me farewell on the mouth, with what appeared to be genuine regret. ‘Write to me, Grace,’ he said, his eyes meeting mine with a plaintive smile as he adjusted the clasp of my cloak.
But within the hour Michael was forgotten in a mood of extraordinary freedom, for Anne’s delight at not taking the public wagon proved contagious. Yet there was something more, for as the carriage threaded its way beneath the dripping foliage of the drive, a backwards glance at Delafosse Hall confirmed the rightness of my decision. The building itself absorbed a solid darkness, a colour I should have painted midnight green; its cloak of leaves saturated with many weeks’ rainfall. I turned back to Anne’s eager face and was glad to talk of such mundane matters as the pots and pans she must buy. ‘All my life must be packed in one trunk,’ she said, ‘and I must pray that even that survives the voyage. Who knows when, or even if – I will return?’
‘You will, I know it,’ I said brightly. ‘And, in the meantime, we must promise to be good correspondents.’ I prattled about the commissions I also hoped to secure in York: china and furnishings and fabrics. ‘You must think me very self-indulgent,’ I said at last.
‘No, not at all. It does me good to see you cheerful. And every impression I receive over the next few days will form a store of memories in my future life. You deserve a fine home.’
‘Well, this refurbishment is also Peg’s notion, in a way. I had not the heart to make a beginning, but she coaxed me to take an interest.’
There was a lengthy silence as Anne looked out on the rainy countryside.
‘You don’t like her?’
Her face betrayed a wince of discomfort. ‘Oh, it is not that, Grace. She seems capable, extremely capable, when she wishes. It is just that – when I first called, I detected an insolence to her character that I did not care for.’
‘In her position she cannot be too bending,’ I suggested. ‘I find her a great support.’ Anne continued perusing the landscape, so I asked, ‘When you first called, did she offend you, Anne?’
She raised her chin at that. ‘Offend is too strong a term. But why did you not receive my letter giving notice of my arrival? I posted it four days ago. I questioned your woman, and she was not helpful, Grace. If a letter is lost, one may expect sympathy, not stony-faced disbelief.’
‘I apologise on her behalf.’
‘No, I will not accept it. It is your servant who must treat guests with greater civility. Now I hope you don’t mind, but my stomach quails. Might we take a little food?’
I lifted the spotted cloth from the basket, and found inside a wine-roasted gammon, pigeon pie, tarts, and buttered spice breads. We dined in style, feeling like a pair of queens.
‘Very well, your Peg is forgiven,’ Anne joked, as she devoured a slice of crisp and fragrant pear tart.
Anne fell asleep at once, but though I tried to doze, I had forgotten to pick up Dr Sampson’s medicine and my mind began to operate at a faster speed. Anne’s letter might easily have been lost on its route, but why was this the first I had heard of it? There was no doubt in my mind that I would have to speak to Peg on my return. Tiny matters had concerned me these last few weeks, nothing that alone would have merited a rebuke, but taken all together I believed Peg was growing complacent. Not in cooking, that was true, nor even in managing the house. Indeed, she was a faultless servant. Instead there were tiny pinpricks of memories, half-forgotten incidents that left me wondering if she presumed too far on my friendship, and took too great an interest in my personal tastes.
One incident had occurred only a week earlier. Coming to my chamber I had spied Peg through the half-open door, standing at the pier glass with my blue silk hugged tightly to her own breast. I was about to rebuke her, but was struck by something pitiable about her. She stood entranced in a dream, twirling the hem and murmuring as she postured in the mirror. The sad fact was that the dress cost more than twice her year’s salary. She would never, herself, own such an item. So I had tiptoed away, loath to shame her. A few days later I gave her five shillings as allowance for new clothes. She appeared grateful, but no new costume appeared. The nub of it was, that I had spoiled her by letting her speak to me as an equal.
Then, sitting with my eyes closed, another remembrance struck me. As the weeks had passed, Earlby society still had not called on me. Michael breezed about the place, forever riding off to hunts and gentlemen’s jaunts. A suspicion that had fretted me when I was ill returned: had Dr Sampson spread a rumour that I was difficult, or foolishly nervous? Or after I had taken Peg from her, had our bitter neighbour, Sybilla Claybourn, warned our neighbours not to call on me?
It must have been the wine that lulled me into a long refreshing sleep, for when I woke, the ancient city of York rose in the distance, like a great stone island in an ocean of green pasture. The road grew busy with every sort of cart, carriage, and gilded coach, whilst in the dirt below, ragged folk tramped along with bundles on their backs. ‘Look,’ I called, as we halted behind a lumbering wagon. Together Anne and I pulled down our carriage glass and drank in the view. The city lying before us had a quaint and medieval appearance, studded with church spires and towers and high circling walls. Over all loomed the might of the Minster Cathedral, towering above a labyrinth of gabled roofs.
We passed straggling houses, a windmill, an ancient convent, and then passed into the narrow throat of the city through a barbican of crumbling stone. Inside stood brick residences of the modern sort, with fanlights and sash windows; but jumbled about these were cottages with overhanging storeys, many of them beautifully carved, like ancient churches.
Our lodgings were on a turning from shop-lined Coney Street, above a genteel milliner’s. There our landlady, Mrs Palmer, showed us a pair of neat rooms and sent up tea and seed cake on our arrival. Anne and I pulled off our outerwear, looked about ourselves, and both pronounced ourselves entirely satisfied.
I had just begun to unpack when Mrs Palmer knocked and told us a gentleman waited downstairs and gave me his card. ‘It is Peter Croxon,’ I said with some annoyance. ‘Michael’s brother. What on earth does he want? Shall I send down that we are resting?’
Anne insisted he should be shown up. Nevertheless I was irked to see his grinning countenance as he sat down before us.
‘I was walking down Ousegate when I said to myself, why, there is Michael’s carriage. So I followed you here. Well, what a pleasure to see you looking so well, Grace. I can scarcely believe my eyes, when Michael is forever protesting you are too unwell to call upon.’
‘I have been ill,’ I said firmly, and introduced him at once to Anne. I could see that Peter’s charm worked upon her; in no time at all he insisted on accompanying us to a concert the following evening. She is eating from his palm, I told myself inwardly, busying myself about the room.
‘I should take a pair of muskets if I were you.’ Peter’s voice startled me from my chores, and I glanced at Anne’s crestfallen face.
‘Is that really necessary?’ I asked.
‘I have a friend at the colony, a marine officer who corresponds with me. If your husband travels away from home, as he is bound to, you must be on guard, Mrs Greenbeck. The felons transported there are of the worst breed – spared the gallows by a hair’s breadth. You must protect yourself.’
‘Are you sure of your information?’ Anne inquired, looking stricken. ‘I saw such a beautiful prospect of Botany Bay in
The Lady’s Magazine
. And Jacob says we are best protected by our Bibles. Nevertheless . . . does your friend give mention of any other items he wished he had taken with him?’
Peter’s affability grew strained. ‘Food, Mrs Greenbeck. The government rations are insufficient. You need a good stock of dry stuffs for your first season, and then seeds and tools to grow more. I understand the wheat crop has failed. I will consult his last letter again, and send you word.’
The conversation could not recover its earlier light tone. Soon Peter stood to make his farewells, taking Anne’s hand and trying to make a jest of his ominous news. Then, turning to me as I accompanied him to the door, he said, ‘It has cheered me no end to find you well, Grace. I should be obliged for a little of your time before you leave, to speak of family matters.’