by Issy Brooke
She ploughed on with her awkward explanation. “The fact is, Phoebe’s mother, that dreadful Mrs Davenport, is set upon my marriage. She will not leave the house until I am betrothed. She is ashamed of me and also fears for my immortal soul, as my single state puts me in too much danger of falling.”
He laughed at that.
“Stop it. She’s deadly serious. Plus, she is awfully keen on economy being next to Godliness.”
“That’s cleanliness.”
“No, not for her. Living within one’s means is some kind of holy grace in her view. And appearing to be what one is not – either higher or lower – is a sin as one is challenging God’s allotted order of things. It makes little sense to me. Anyway, she has imposed a tight budget upon this household and I am a drain upon it.”
“A budget, you say? Well, that explains the thoroughly rotten wine we have been served. I’ve passed water with a higher alcohol content.”
“I know. It is dreadful. Now, if Mrs Davenport believes I am in with a chance of marriage, she will leave this house. That is all you need to do – just be yourself but do not contradict her assumptions. We need go no further than that.”
“I suppose we are playing along by hiding in the shrubbery.”
“Yes,” Marianne said. “She will be scandalised by the detail but relieved, I think, that it seems I have found a man foolish enough to... sorry. But you know what I mean.”
“He would have to be a fool, indeed. No, Marianne. I cannot play along with this.”
“Jack! I know I have asked a lot of you lately. And don’t fear that I have forgotten my promise to you. When Mrs Davenport has gone from this place, then Phoebe and I can turn our attentions to matchmaking on your behalf.”
“Oh. Oh yes, I should never have spoken of that to you.”
“Don’t be embarrassed!”
“I’m not,” he snapped. “But this has gone too far. Do you know what is annoying me the most?”
“The deception,” she said quietly.
“Exactly so. You should have warned me. I feel as if I have been made a fool of.”
“You might have refused.”
“Perhaps.” He turned as if to go. “What a mess. At least the food was good.”
“Well, that shan’t stay the same for much longer,” Marianne told him. “Mrs Cogwell, the cook, is leaving next week.”
“What? She is a marvel. Where is she going?”
“I don’t know. She has not secured a place yet, so I think she intends to lodge with an aunt in Camberwell.”
He sighed. “And if Mrs Davenport can be persuaded to leave very soon?”
“Then Mrs Cogwell can stay. And you can come to dinner any time you please,” she added rashly.
“Very well, then. I am defeated. I am doing this only for the sake of fresh scallops and divine blancmange. And I may be a fool, but I am no quitter. Oh, Marianne, I will laugh about this, in a few years’ time. Come, then. Would you take my arm, my dear?”
“Gladly.”
They waltzed out of the shrubbery and towards the stone steps of the porch. The door had been left ajar just a little. As they began to ascend the steps, Marianne stopped and turned to look down the gravel drive. She could hear feet crunching and they were coming quickly.
A running figure shot out of the darkness and raced up the steps, his hair and clothing flapping and his breath rasping painfully.
“Simeon! Stop,” she cried, pulling free of Jack’s grasp and jumping up to the top step to intercept her friend. “What’s happened? Have a care; the staff have been warned about you, now.”
“Let him get his breath back,” Jack told her.
They persuaded Simeon to sit on the top step and get himself under control. When he was able to speak, he blurted out, “They’ve arrested Tobias!”
“No. Who? The police?”
“Of course the police! They came – maybe an hour ago, must be more – I ran all the way here – I could not think – he’s going to hang for murder!”
“He cannot.”
“He’s the only one who benefited from that old lady’s death. He is known to be strange.”
“No he’s not,” Marianne protested. “How does a limp and a silent attitude make one strange?”
Jack said, “Such things are said to be a mark of a criminal mind.”
“What nonsense. He is a poor young boy, alone in the world.”
“And likely unhinged. That will be his best defence, according to the police,” Simeon said. “They were gentle with him. They said he ought to claim madness and spend his days in an asylum.”
“This is a travesty. I knew Inspector Gladstone was under pressure but this is a boy’s whole life that hangs in the balance.”
“Hangs,” said Jack. “Good pun. Do you see?”
“Not now. Dear heart,” she added hastily as Mrs Davenport came out of the house, attracted by the noise. “Simeon, run, hide!”
“What?”
Marianne pushed at him and he stumbled down the steps while Mr Barrington, quickly weighing up the situation, got Mrs Davenport’s attention on him. “Madam, please do watch your step. Here, take my arm if you will.” She turned her head to the steward, and Simeon ran off into the darkness.
“Good heavens. What is occurring here?” Mrs Davenport said, staring hard at Marianne and Jack. “You should come back inside at once.”
“Of course. Do forgive me.” Marianne glanced at Jack, who was still looking faintly exasperated at the ongoing charade. He offered his arm once more, and they followed Mrs Davenport back into the house.
As soon as they were in the hall, and Mrs Davenport was sailing towards the stairs to ascend to the drawing room, Marianne wrestled herself free of Jack’s grasp. “I am so sorry,” she said quietly. “I will be back in just a moment. I need to check that Simeon is all right. Um, Jack, do you have any money?”
His hand patted his jacket. “Yes, thank you.”
“Might I borrow a few coins so that I can send Simeon back to his rooms?”
“Good heavens. We are not even married yet, and you are already bleeding me dry.”
“Jack! He can pay you back, I know it. He has the money that you got him from those brothers. Who aren’t brothers. But I know Simeon very well. He will have not thought to bring anything with him. He has panicked, and he has run.”
“If we must perform this tedious pantomime, allow me to play my full part,” he said, and slipped her a little money. “Now go, but I shall not be able to hold her off for long; she will soon notice your absence.”
Marianne paused, then smiled, warmly and genuinely. “Thank you. Thank you; I really mean it.”
He pushed her. “Go!”
She dashed past the bemused-looking Mr Barrington and out into the night once more.
Twenty
Simeon was crouching in the shrubbery where she had been talking with Jack. The light from the porch was filtered through the branches and falling leaves, casting black and orange blobs over his face.
“Here,” she said. “Take this money. It will be enough to get you home.”
“But what about Tobias?”
“I will speak to Inspector Gladstone in the morning,” she assured him. “But as you can see, I’m rather stuck here at the moment. And they will not hang him overnight. There will be a trial and so on. Except it won’t come to that, once I speak to the Inspector.”
“What can the Inspector do? What can anyone do?” Simeon wailed. He clutched at his head. She could see he was heading into one of his attacks. If he had been a woman, they would have called him hysterical. “Oh, is it my fault? I could have hidden him. I should have hidden him!”
She reached out and patted him. He sank slowly to his knees and she followed him down, slightly awkwardly. The hem of her dress was in the earth and wet leaves. The maids were going to be furious. She would owe them a stint by the copper come Monday, the habitual wash-day.
He rocked forwards and ended up with his h
ead buried in her shoulder. She embraced him and soothed him like he was a child. “You trusted me,” he was moaning softly. “I let you down...”
“Mari-ANNE.”
The high pitched wail of Mrs Davenport split the dark night. Marianne jerked, but held on to the trembling Simeon. She turned to see the shadowy outline of Mrs Davenport, haloed all around by the porch lamps. But she didn’t need to see her face to know that it would be utterly appalled by what she could make out.
Mr Barrington came to Mrs Davenport’s side with a lamp in his hand. There was nowhere for Marianne to hide.
At first she thought that the main problem was simply Simeon’s interruption to the dinner party. She patted his shoulder again as she stood up and said, “Do not be alarmed. It’s just that my friend Simeon has had a terrible shock.”
“That person cannot be your friend. Your betrothed is inside. Marianne, this is debauchery of the very lowest sort and I can only imagine what scandal is already brewing in the minds of our guests. If you come inside now, we can possibly redeem this whole shocking situation.”
“There is no hint of a scandal here,” she protested even as she knew, very well, that women had been ruined for less. Squatting in a shrubbery with another man? Mrs Davenport was quite correct. It was almost insurmountable.
“Marianne, please,” Mrs Davenport snapped. “Do not make this worse. Our dinner party guests are inside and you have a duty. Come inside. Let Barrington expel that person. And he is lucky to escape with his life. He ought to be whipped from the property.”
“He will not!” she said.
“Marianne! I counsel you very strongly against such insubordination. You are so very close to the line.”
Marianne took the decision to dance right over that line. “You are not my mother,” she spat out, knowing such a terrible sentence made her sound quite young and petty and did nothing for creating an impression of dignity.
“I might not be, but I stand here in her stead, and...”
“Actually, you do not.”
Mrs Davenport gaped and stopped talking as Russell spoke behind her, in the strong voice of a man much younger. He must have awoken and come out from his rooms in search of the leavings of the dinner party meal. It was nearly nine o’clock now. He was followed by everyone else: Price, Phoebe, Mr and Mrs Jenkins, and of course, Jack, who was watching proceedings with amusement.
“What on earth gives you the right to upbraid my own daughter, you vile old hag?”
Mrs Davenport quivered with indignation. “How dare you! I have my God-given right to see all of His flock cleave to the straight and narrow path.”
“You are a hypocrite of the very highest order, standing there in your mixed fabrics, with your unceasing attention to how you might be seen in society, your vanity and vainglorious nature, your showy charity, your shallow and flimsy faith, a thing of no substance but that which seems to show you as a righteous person as if you can get to the Kingdom of Heaven by blatant outward deeds, all the while trumpeting your own Christian nature.”
Everyone fell still and silent. He addressed them with the gravity and conviction of one born in a pulpit of fire and brimstone, and Marianne was amazed. Maybe he hadn’t been asleep during any of her long conversations and rants after all. Phoebe had emerged behind Russell, the lights of the hallway throwing an angel-like aura around her. She put a hand to her mouth and watched her mother’s reaction warily.
For Mrs Davenport was not a bad person, not really, thought Marianne. Annoying, infuriating, misguided and yes – vain in the strangest of ways. But she didn’t actively set out to be any of those things. Who did?
She could see that Phoebe’s loyalties were being torn in two.
Simeon quivered and stood up unsteadily. He whispered to Marianne, “I must go. I am so sorry.”
“I’m coming with you,” she announced, loudly.
“I should not have come.”
“You did exactly the right thing.” She faced the assembled onlookers who were crowding at the top step. “I have a real and important role,” she said proudly. “A job which I intend to do. I am sorry, but business calls me away from this otherwise enjoyable meal. If my intended can understand this, then so can all of you. Thank you.” Her heart was pounding with the illogical fear and anxiety that speaking out brought; it was silly to be scared of speaking like this to people one knew, but she felt it anyway. Then she caught sight of her father and he was miming applause. She flashed him a quick smile.
Mrs Davenport looked pale and shaky, as if she was going to faint – a real one, not a fake Mrs Newman kind of flutter. Mr Barrington was at her side instantly. Phoebe took a step towards Marianne.
“No, you have a duty here,” she said to her cousin. “You must stay. Please look after your mother.”
“Where are you going? You cannot go!”
“I am clearly not welcome here any longer. I suppose that I am ruined anyway. I am so sorry...”
She turned around and walked down the steps with Simeon hunched at her side. He had stopped muttering now. She knew he was frozen into silence by the heaps of guilt he would currently be piling onto his own head. She whispered, “It will all turn out for the best. Let us just get to your rooms.”
He didn’t reply but she took it as agreement.
A moment later she heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. It was Jack, catching her up, with his outdoor coat slung over his arm.
“I rather think that you both need escorts at this time of night,” he said. “Keep walking. Stay warm. But I have asked for my gig to be made ready; I will go back and assist, and then catch you up. Stay on the road.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugged. “It will give them all a little more to gossip about. I have no reputation to sully anyway. On you go.” He darted back to the house and the stables.
She realised she had not returned the money that she had borrowed. She patted her purse. She would have to remember to give it back.
Marianne took Simeon’s arm and they pressed on until Jack came by and wedged them all, most tightly and uncomfortably, into the tiny gig, and the horse strained on into the ever-busy streets of the city.
ONCE AT THE WORKSHOP, she thanked Jack over and over and then urged him to go home, which he did willingly. She helped Simeon up the rickety steps to his rooms. She had nothing but her good dinner party dress and impractical shoes, and her father remained at Woodfurlong. She had completed her public fall from grace into shame and ignominy. Marianne began to feel nervous.
But also very, very tired. She was, really, relieved to be away from Woodfurlong, and worried for her father, and cross with Gladstone for arresting Tobias, and annoyed generally at the whole mess of a situation that she was embroiled in.
Then she thought, I ought to be grateful for this. At least life is interesting. It might end up being short – what with all these ruffians and threats of whippings and what not – but no one can say that I didn’t make the most of it. I am doomed anyway, almost utterly ruined, a spinster and most unnatural – why not pursue adventure?
“You’re smiling in a sinister way,” Simeon said, fumbling with his key. “Don’t. This whole thing is just a mess without that.”
“I know. I am sorry to have brought all this on you. I am so tired.”
“Oh – oh no. I don’t have a spare bed. I will take the sofa,” he muttered as they went into the freezing cold workshop. He flapped around, and she let him be in motion, as it seemed to calm him down to be moving and active. Within fifteen minutes, she was tucked up under layers and layers of blankets with a hot brick wrapped in cloth at her feet, and Simeon was already snoring in the next room.
At least he could sleep.
She said another prayer of gratitude, and fell asleep herself.
Twenty-one
She woke up. It was very early and she had not had enough sleep, but she was itching to get on with things. Everything had to be made right, somehow.
The events of the previous night were already a blur with sharp edges of pain when she recalled certain things that had been said or done.
She had thought, last night, that her fall from polite society must be complete and irreversible now. This morning, she wondered if that were true. Perhaps it was not the end for her. She had to act as if she had a future. The world was changing every year, every month. Perhaps it could change to accommodate her.
She listened but could not hear anything but Simeon’s light breathing and occasional dry snores, so she wrapped a blanket around herself and peeped through the door. Simeon was sprawled on the floor although whether that was by choice or accident, she could not tell. Otherwise, the place was empty. The high windows let in a greyish light. She padded around silently, found some cold water, and took it back to the other room for a wash. It wasn’t really a bedroom except that it had Simeon’s bed in it. There were also mirrors and springs and boxes of ribbons and a stuffed parrot in an elaborate cage. It wasn’t a spacious set of rooms but it was unusual for London. She cast her mind back to how Judy was living, in one pokey closet down that smelly side street. And she was lucky to have her own bed, though it was just a plank of wood.
Marianne hoped that would not be her own future.
When she came back out again, cleaner and dressed in a presentable way, Simeon was awake too. He had slept in his clothes, and he did not smell fresh.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked. She opened the main door onto the wooden steps, and looked down into the street which was teeming with life. It was a sea of moving black and grey and blue, just hats and umbrellas making an almost unbroken platform. She fancied she could jump down and walk across the street at head height.
“Full of regret.”
“That’s how most people wake up once they become adults.”
“Ha. It doesn’t seem real. What are you going to do?”
“Have breakfast,” she said.
“I have bread that isn’t totally mouldy.”
“How tempting. And coffee?”