Convenient Women Collection

by Delphine Woods

  ‘They are in the library, ma’am,’ Nelly said when she returned.

  Cat ordered Nelly to sit and wait for her, and she would not hear another protest – she was going to listen.

  She used the servant's passage for the first time. It was narrower than any corridor in the main house, its walls and floors bare and windowless, like a wormhole. She emerged just off the great hall, tiptoed towards the library door, and pressed her ear against the wood.

  ‘Calm down, Osborne, please, you will make yourself unwell.’

  ‘I will not! I will not be in the same house as that Irishman’s whore!’

  ‘Osborne, please–’

  ‘I am Mr Tomkins to you, Reverend.’

  Silence. She imagined Mr Turner blushing, the poor, old man so heartlessly plummeted back into his place.

  ‘Mr Tomkins, I would remind you that you knew Catherine’s past before you married her. You made your vows before God–’

  ‘I did not know the truth! She is a trickster and a fraud.’

  ‘I am sure Catherine is not capable of these things of which you accuse her.’

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘She is a Godly woman.’

  The slap of laughter.

  ‘And if she did anything at all … ungodly, it was because of that man, you know that. You know what evil he was.’

  ‘Yes, I do. And I know that she loved him for it.’

  ‘She loves you, Osborne. She has been worried about you all day. She came out to fetch me, in this weather, when you had …’

  ‘When I had what?’ A stretch of quiet. ‘When I had what, Reverend? Defended myself against her? Treated her like the animal she is?’

  ‘Calm yourself now.’ Mr Turner’s voice quaked with anger. ‘I will not listen to you speak like this against your wife.’

  ‘I will divorce her.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Deception.’

  ‘She is carrying your child, Osborne.’

  ‘Is she? Are you sure? Because I am not.’

  ‘Are you accusing her of adultery?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘The Irishman!’

  Her legs threatened to buckle, her weight pressed against the chill stone wall.

  ‘That is impossible, Mr Tomkins.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Mr Tomkins, please, sit down. I will call the doctor to see you in the morning.’

  ‘I do not need any damned doctor! I will have her out. I will have her strung up. She will join that bastard Jonathon Murphy in hell. And you, Mr Turner, will leave my house now if you will side with her.’

  ‘I side with no one, Mr Tomkins. But, Osborne, what you accuse her of is a physical impossibility.’

  ‘Out! Now!’

  She heard them charging for the door. She raced to the servant’s passage just as the library door crashed open. She did not wait to hear Mr Turner depart. She ran all the way up the stairs and to her room where Nelly remained seated beside the fire biting her lip and slammed the door shut. She turned the lock then took the key out of the door and held it to her chest.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  Cat dashed to the window to find Mr Turner stumbling towards the waiting carriage. He glanced up to her, squinting as the rain splashed against his face. She showed him the key, and he nodded, then ducked into the Brougham.

  ‘Ma’am, what is happening?’

  ‘I am in danger, Nelly.’

  ‘What! Why?’

  Footsteps pounded on the landing, then fists against the door. Nelly shrieked as the wooden frame shook and splintered, as Osborne demanded to be let inside, demanded that she leave this house immediately.

  ‘Osborne, please, the baby.’

  ‘Damn that bastard child!’

  Cat pointed at the wardrobe. It was a weight for just the two of them to shift, and even harder with her bad wrist, but fear drove them on. She and Nelly were panting and sweating by the time they had pushed the wardrobe before the door.

  They listened for more, holding their breath, their eyes wide. Osborne had seemed to wear himself out. They waited until enough time had passed for them to assume he had gone away.

  Cat collapsed on the bed as Nelly cried beside her.

  ‘What will we do, ma’am?’

  Cat stared at the doe in the wooden bed canopy. ‘Wait,’ she said, as her eyelids drooped and the doe blurred into blackness.

  Chapter 26

  October 1854. Wallingham Hall.

  ‘Ma’am?’ Nelly nudged her awake.

  She found herself still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. The curtains remained open, but outside the storm had passed. Dead, sodden leaves stuck to the window, but beyond, the sky was a pale blue laced with thin white clouds.

  ‘Should we …?’ Nelly gestured at the wardrobe.

  It was harder to move the bulky thing this morning, without fear making them strong. The feet of it pushed up the rugs and scraped the floorboards, but they managed to drag it a few feet away from the door so they could get out of the room. A couple of the boys could move it back to its proper place later.

  The landing was surprisingly busy, the servants in a rush, stopping and curtseying to her quickly before moving on. They were scurrying in and out of Osborne’s room, arms piled with towels and hot water jugs and bowls of food.

  Nelly was close behind Cat as she made her way to Osborne’s chamber. She peeked through the door to find Dixon pacing at the foot of the bed, instructing the servants where to place the towels, to take away the chamber pot again, to refill the bedpan.

  Within the bed, Osborne lay shaking. His skin was flamed red and drowned in sweat, but he clutched his covers close to his chin as his teeth chattered.

  ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Master Tomkins has fallen ill, ma’am, during the night.’

  She stepped towards her husband. His eyelids were thin and wet and jerked as he dreamt. She touched his forehead gently, so not to wake him, and gasped at the heat of him.

  ‘Close the curtains,’ she said, taking charge. ‘Stoke the fire. Dixon, you have done well, my husband is gravely ill. We must call for a doctor.’

  ‘He forbade it, ma’am. When he was awake, he said he would not have a doctor in his house.’

  ‘Then he is a fool.’ She caught herself and smiled tightly at Dixon’s shocked face. ‘I will nurse him as best I can, but I fear this is beyond me. Have Cook prepare some more broth.’ She busied herself with a wet cloth, wringing it out and perching by Osborne’s side to wipe his forehead clean. ‘I trust you will send word to Mr Turner to say what has happened?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Dixon bowed and departed.

  Nelly lingered in the far corner of the room, watching. Cat could see the terror in the girl’s face as she looked at Osborne as if she thought he could rise and kill them all at any moment.

  ‘Nelly, sort his clothes, would you?’

  She nodded at the heap of sodden clothes which steamed before the fire. In his rush to care for Osborne, Dixon must have forgotten to have them taken away. Nelly picked them up with her fingertips as if Osborne’s sickness – or madness – might be catching.

  ‘Hurry now. I would not have them pollute the air.’

  The girl did as she was told and disappeared. Only Cat remained in the room.

  ‘What have you done, Osborne?’ She laid the back of her hand across his trembling cheek.

  She should not nurse him like this. She was no healer. And what if he died? What if he died the day after he had told her to leave, after he had said he would divorce her – after she had watched over him, fed him, cared for him?

  She should not be alone with him. She rang the bell, summoning whoever was available, and saw the revolver lying on the dressing table. One of the maids arrived and waited in the doorway. Cat ushered her inside, despite the reluctance of the girl, and told her to keep an eye on Osborne.

  ‘I will not have this in the room.
’ She took the revolver and left the room.

  The revolver weighed heavily in her hand. She held it awkwardly; away from her side, the end pointing at the floor. Her arm was stiff, afraid any sudden movement might make the thing go off. She hurried to the study.

  Being in Osborne’s private world without him was strange. It was like she was a child, wandering into forbidden territory. She held her breath, imagining a hand may strike out and grab her.

  She tiptoed to the desk and perched on the leather chair. It was soft underneath her; the leather stretched over the years by Osborne and his father’s weight. She surveyed the room from this vantage point, and her eyes rested on the papers on the desk. A letter of correspondence from a Mr Griffin caught her attention.

  Mr Tomkins,

  I write to inform you that your orders have been seen to. The last of the cottages have been evacuated, and I have found several farmers eager to take on the larger proportions of land. They shall begin the tenancy by the end of the month under the rent system we agreed.

  Yours sincerely,

  Mr G. Griffin

  She shoved the paper away from her in disgust.

  A few minutes later, she returned to Osborne’s chamber and replaced the gun where she had found it.

  Cat stroked Osborne’s head as Nelly came into the room with a tray of broth. ‘Osborne? Osborne, can you hear me?’

  He grunted as his head jerked from side to side.

  ‘Osborne.’ Cat shook his shoulders as the two servants watched in silence. After another gentle nudge, his eyes opened. They were red around the rims, sore and dry, unseeing for a moment until recognition clouded his face.

  ‘You must eat something, my love.’ Cat held the bowl before him.

  Osborne dashed it from her hands, and the scalding liquid seeped through her dress. She leapt away, pulling her skirts off her legs.

  ‘Don’t come near me,’ Osborne said, his voice rough and low.

  ‘Osborne, I am trying to care for you.’

  ‘What was in it? What have you put into it? Poisoner!’

  Cat fled from the room, followed swiftly by the servants.

  ‘Get Dixon. He is the only one Osborne trusts.’ The maid ran through the servant’s doorway. ‘Nelly, you must call for the doctor.’

  ‘Master Tomkins said–’

  ‘I know what he said, but does he look like a man in his right mind to you? Without a doctor he will die, and I will not have that on my conscience. Fetch the doctor at once.’

  Inside her own chamber, with the door locked once again, Cat found the bottle behind her bed. She unplugged the stopper and sniffed one last time, then threw it into the grate. The glass smashed and fell into the flames.

  Next, she threw in the wig and shoved all the windows in her room as far open as they would go. As the fire roared and the cold wind whipped her back, she watched the glass and the horsehair burn, until the final bits of her past had disintegrated.

  The chill would not cease. The piles of blankets crushed him, but still, Osborne could feel no warmth. His damned teeth would not stop chattering; his muscles in his jaw were beginning to ache and spasm. And all he saw, when he dragged his eyes open, was Dixon staring at him.

  Then, his stomach convulsed, and he arched over the bed. Dixon was swift with the bowl, and a trail of clear gloop spilled from Osborne’s mouth, scratching his throat as it came up. He collapsed onto his pillows, cringing at the gush of cold air against his back. His mouth gaped open, searching for breath, and Dixon was beside him, wiping a damp cloth over his face.

  Something caught his attention, something by the door. Knocking? Dixon left his side to answer it, and a man entered. He could not make out his features, nor his words until he came closer, then, a face not much older than his own, appeared.

  Blonde haired and handsome. Stephen.

  His friend had returned to him. How could he have ever let him go for that whore? Tears slid across his temples as his friend sat beside him.

  ‘You came,’ Osborne said, struggling to lift his arm out of the covers to touch his friend.

  ‘How are you, Mr Tomkins?’

  ‘Do you forgive me, Stephen? I should never have–’

  ‘Mr Tomkins, my name is Norton.’

  Osborne frowned at the figure beside him, the stranger, not at all like Stephen – he could see now.

  ‘I am a doctor.’

  Osborne scuffled backwards, but he was too weak to get far. ‘Get out of my house.’

  ‘Please, Mr Tomkins, I am here to help.’

  ‘She sent you.’

  ‘Dixon, your man here, sent for me.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Mr Tomkins, you have an extreme fever. You are very ill, sir, and I will try to help you.’

  ‘You will take me away.’

  ‘I shall not take you anywhere. You are to stay in this bed until you have recovered, I will not have you moved.’ The doctor turned his face to Dixon. ‘Keep the room warm and clean. Clean clothes and sheets daily. Plain food, little and often.’

  ‘He won’t eat,’ Dixon said.

  The doctor turned to Osborne again. ‘You must eat, Mr Tomkins, to keep your strength up.’

  ‘She has poisoned me.’

  ‘Who has poisoned you?’

  ‘My wife.’

  Hovering above him, Dixon and Norton looked at each other uncertainly.

  ‘She is trying to kill me. She is a whore, a trickster. She has been feeding me poison.’

  ‘What kind of poison?’

  ‘Laudanum.’

  ‘You do not show the signs of taking laudanum, sir. You have a fever, most likely brought about by being outside all day in the storm.’

  ‘Why can you not see? It is her!’ His arm sprang free of the covers and gripped the doctor’s hand. ‘You must tell the police.’

  The doctor pulled his hand away as he stood. ‘I will do all I can, sir, I promise you, but for now, my priority is to ensure your recovery. You must rest and calm yourself.’

  ‘How can I be calm when she remains in this house?’

  ‘Mr Tomkins, I promise you she will not come near you.’

  ‘You will tell them?’

  Sensing the vague motion of Norton’s head moving up and down, Osborne slumped onto his pillows, exhausted.

  ‘Thank you.’ He closed his eyes, finally able to rest.

  Cat crept away from the door and waited down the landing. Doctor Norton emerged from the room, sagging, different from the spritely man she had seen hop down from his cab and make his way to the door less than an hour ago. He pulled out a patterned handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands on it.

  ‘Doctor?’

  She waited for him to approach. There was mistrust in his face as he regarded her.

  ‘How is my husband?’

  ‘The fever is bad.’

  ‘Will he recover?’

  ‘I will do my best for him. You are to keep your distance.’

  She nodded and retrieved her silk handkerchief to dab her eyes. ‘He hates me.’ Her voice broke. ‘I don’t know how it has happened. He will not let me near him. What have I done?’

  Doctor Norton cleared his throat. ‘He accuses you of–’

  ‘I have only ever loved him. He saved me, Doctor. He saved me from the most terrible man, and now he thinks I wish to kill him. Why? Why would I want to do such a thing? I am carrying his child.’

  The doctor stepped forward, surprised. ‘Mrs Tomkins, I did now know you were expecting. I would urge you to calm yourself for the sake of the child.’

  ‘How can I?’ She sobbed and turned away from him, and his hand came to her face.

  ‘What is this?’ He touched the edge of her bruise.

  ‘It is nothing.’

  ‘Mrs Tomkins?’

  ‘He was so angry with me.’ She held out her hand. Her wrist still throbbed, and it had swollen and bruised. ‘Can you help with this, Doctor? I would sit down if that is all right with you?’


  He followed her to her chamber. She sat on one of the chairs and rested her feet on the stool as the doctor fastened a sling around her arm.

  ‘You must rest it and let it heal. I will send a surgeon to see if the bone needs resetting.’

  ‘Tell me, Doctor,’ she gestured for him to sit beside her, ‘what it is my husband accuses me of.’

  He took the seat. Cat noticed the way he sat, his legs wide, his clean, soft hands resting on his knees. He glanced at the fire, then to her, then back at the flames.

  ‘I do not wish to upset you, Mrs Tomkins.’

  ‘Please.’ She reached for his hand, then pulled away quickly. ‘He accused me of poisoning him earlier today. I only tried to feed him. I have not even been into the kitchens since his illness, I swear. I am only trying to help him, that is why I sent for you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You will help him, Doctor? You will help him in all the ways that you can?’ She stared at him, willing him to understand. ‘He needs rest, Doctor. Did you help him before?’

  He shook his head. ‘My father.’

  ‘So, your father understands him. Good.’ She dabbed her eyes again. ‘Please, let him be a father, Doctor. Let him be able to love his child. I do not care if he despises me forever, but let him love his child!’

  It was Doctor Norton who reached for her this time. She let him hold her hand, softly, as though he were an old friend, as he promised that he would do whatever he could.

  Chapter 27

  October 1854. Wallingham Hall.

  Dixon helped Osborne dress. His clothes felt alien as they slithered onto his skin, too hard, too constricting, compared to his nightclothes. They made him stand up straight, and his muscles trembled as he did so.

  He coughed – a hacking cough, like usual. He spat into the bowl, then rinsed his mouth. The water shook as he held it to his lips, and he had to sit down on the bed to stop the room from moving around him.

  ‘Sir, are you well enough for dinner?’

  He pointed at the revolver on the cabinet, and Dixon fixed it around Osborne's waist. He saw Dixon’s frown, felt the man’s unease, but Osborne would not be in this house without protection when she still lived in it.