by Janet Woods
‘Dear Miss Price, I would suggest that your knowledge of legal matters is sadly lacking and you shouldn’t test your brain with such assumptions.’ He gave her an effusive smile and loosened his collar by running his finger around it. ‘But we’ve strayed from the matter in hand, have we not? I’m a man with a mission,’ he said with awkward gallantry.
‘Then let us come back to it by all means.’ She stood, obliging him to do the same. ‘Mr Avery, I’m afraid that I must refuse your proposal, and since you’ve insulted me at every turn, I therefore must conclude that I’m unworthy to become your wife. There, your mission is no longer valid, sir. We shall put it behind us, and allow our acquaintanceship to remain on a business level. As soon as possible, Mr Avery, I will require an accounting of the worth of my estate, since I need to know exactly where I stand.’
He looked bewildered. ‘You can dismiss my petition just like that? But why?’
‘You have made it quite obvious that I’m not worthy to hold such a position as your wife. Jane may have been satisfied with that, but I’m not. Besides, Mr Avery, because you’ve been so very persistent, I might as well tell you that I do not admire you enough to marry you.’
‘Your money will not be able to maintain this house indefinitely. Will you allow me to buy it from you? There’s a nice little cottage in the next village that would suit a spinster in your position admirably.’
‘I do not intend to move at the moment, Mr Avery. My sister Alice may return. In fact, I’m thinking of having a search made for her.’ She’d thought no such thing until this moment, but now it seemed like a good idea. She’d been thinking a lot about Alice and her child since her own mother and sister had died.
An expression of extreme uneasiness crossed his face and she leaned forward. ‘Why Mr Avery, you look quite put out. Is there something you’re not telling me?’
Gathering his things together the solicitor stood, saying in great huff, ‘Only that you do not have the resources to hire a man to carry out the search. The house will deteriorate and my next offer will not be so generous. However, if you married me I could attend to the matter for you.’
She drew herself up. ‘You have already had my answer on that. The next time you visit I’d be obliged if you would confine yourself only to business matters. You have my instructions. I’ll expect a full accounting of my affairs within the month . . .’ something she suspected – correctly as it turned out – that wouldn’t happen.
Hearing Millie with the tea things Harriet opened the door and said, ‘Mr Avery is just leaving, Millie. Take the tea back to the kitchen and I’ll join you in a few minutes.’
As Arthur Avery was on the way home he passed a beggar girl pushing a cart with a child seated inside. She was coming in the opposite direction, limping. Her hair was in a tangle and she looked fatigued.
She waved him to a halt and asked, ‘Can you direct me to Hanbury Cross, sir?’
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘It’s three miles back that way. You take a right-hand turn. It’s signposted, so you can’t miss it. But don’t expect any handouts from the villagers. We don’t take kindly to wanderers in these parts.’
‘I’m not a wanderer. I have kin living there.’
Some of the field labourers, he supposed sourly. The peasants didn’t seem to mind crowded conditions, and they crammed as many relatives as they could into their cottages.
If Arthur had stopped to think, he would have known it was an unfair assumption, since the residents of Hanbury Cross did no such thing. Their cottages were well maintained, clean and tidy, and definitely not overcrowded . . . which was the very reason Arthur had set his sights on living there, in Chaffinch House.
‘Is there a farmhouse hereabouts? We haven’t eaten since yesterday.’
The child stared hungrily at him and held out her cupped hands, making him feel guilty and aware of his own corpulence. She was thin, though not emaciated, and her eyes were bright. It wouldn’t hurt the child to miss a meal.
Arthur was in a bad mood after his meeting with Harriet Price. The woman was troublesome. She was a shrew, and her tongue too sharp and to the point for comfort. No wonder nobody had ever offered for her hand.
Arthur was glad Harriet hadn’t accepted him. She was too astute and capable a woman for his liking. Jane had been more biddable, though, more like her mother, who’d responded to flattery. Now he’d have to find all the receipts and get the ledgers in order, and he’d just dismissed his clerk. It was selfish of Harriet Price to want everything to be in order within the month.
He tried to ignore the child, but she was making persistent little pleading noises. They started begging young so they didn’t have to work for a living, he thought. It was easy money, and thank goodness they didn’t all take up begging to earn a living.
Wearily the older girl murmured, ‘Thank you for the directions, sir. God willing, I should make it by nightfall.’
Hadn’t the reverend preached about charity the previous Sunday?
He’d said that generosity towards the poor would be returned twofold.
‘If you take the next turn to the right there’s a cowshed, and the herd was being milked when I came past. This should buy you a cup of milk.’ Fishing thruppence from his pocket he spun it through the air and she deftly caught it.
‘You’re most kind, sir.’
At least she had good manners, he thought, and clicking his tongue he urged his horse forward, glowing inside from his generous gesture.
Despite her sore feet and tiredness, Celia grinned. There was nothing like a mention of the Lord to bring out the good in people.
Nine
Dusk was nearly overtaken by night when Celia took the turn-off to Hanbury Cross.
She’d nearly missed the sign, a weathered plank of wood nailed to an ivy-covered wall that had the name of the village carved on it.
The countryside sloped down in a gentle incline, then up again. Celia could see the village in the distance, the windows just beginning to glow as darkness fell. Beyond it was a copse, and behind it was revealed the rooftop of a house. It was the one she’d been looking for. Chaffinch House.
The village still seemed a long way away, but at least it was downhill at the moment. It had taken her longer than she’d expected to get here, and she’d missed Johnny’s help in pushing the cart. She’d lost her direction many times over the past two days. Now it seemed as though the end of the journey was finally within her grasp.
Her mother had told her the house was one of the larger ones. It was called Chaffinch House and set a little way apart from the village.
Filled to the brim with milk straight from the cow, Lottie had fallen asleep. Her body was quite relaxed, for she was used to the movement of the cart as it jolted through the potholes.
Celia trudged on into the darkness. The lane beneath her feet was covered in loose stones, and her torn and blistered feet were an agony with each automatic step. She’d lost track of time. When darkness fell, she and Lottie usually slept in some corner of a field, a haystack or a barn. She slept like the dead, with Lottie tied to her wrist by a strip of rag, in case the child wandered off in the dark.
The air was cool, but soft. It smelled of cow dung, hawthorn flowers, bruised bluebells and cut grass – an odd combination.
The wheel of her valiant little cart had worked loose, and it wobbled back and forth. She hoped it would last the journey. It had to, because she didn’t have the strength to carry Lottie. In fact, she was too fatigued to carry herself much further.
She looked into the infinity of the sky, where the scattered stars winked and twinkled. There were such wonders in heaven and on earth to enjoy, she thought. A glow on the horizon signalled the appearance of the moon.
She whispered a little rhyme that came instantly to her. Oh, glowing moon that shines so bright, lead us to Chaffinch House this night, and may we find some welcome kin to invite such weary travellers in.
An unwelcome thought eroded her c
onfidence. What if her family no longer lived there?
‘Then you’ll go to that church and you’ll swallow your pride and throw yourself on the mercy of the rector,’ she said out loud.
The moon appeared, rising up from behind a stand of trees with a fierce incandescent glow. It was a good omen to light her path to the village.
It was a friendly place with its twinkling windows, and the moonlight shining on the water of a pond. But dogs began to bark at her passing, and she was glad she hadn’t walked through the village during the day, for even though it was dark she saw the curtains twitch and sensed curious eyes on her.
Celia walked on, and the copse was a dark rustling place on either side of her. But ahead was a light, and she saw the house. It seemed familiar, as though it had burned into her memory from her fleeting visit here when she was but a child. A welcoming light burned in the window.
‘Chaffinch House,’ she whispered, and the weight of the past journey hit her so hard that she wondered if she’d be able to reach the front door.
The gate squeaked as she pushed it open. Her trembling legs could hardly hold her upright and she had to support herself on the cart. The porch was a dark space ahead of her. One dragging step took her closer . . . then another. It took all of her will to place one foot in front of the other, to get herself up the path. The wheel came off the cart and went spinning off into a flower bed.
She reached the tiled entrance and fell to her knees, crawling the rest of the way to scrabble at the door with her fingers.
Lottie woke, shouting out her name in alarm. ‘Celia!’
‘I’m here, Lottie.’
Climbing from the cart Lottie came to where she lay and cuddled close to her. ‘I was afraid.’
‘There’s nothing to fear. Bang on the door, Lottie.’
‘Are we there?’
‘We will have to be, for I can’t go a step further.’
A gleam of yellow light spilled across them as the door opened to Lottie’s thumping. A woman gazed down at them. She held an oil lamp in one hand and had a poker held aloft in the other.
There was another woman behind her, and her hand flew to her chest when she saw them. ‘Oh, my goodness, it’s a young woman and a child. She looks to be at the end of her tether. Help me to get them inside, Millie.’
‘You be careful it isn’t a trick, Miss Price.’
‘Are you Jane Price?’ Celia croaked.
‘Gracious . . . no . . . I’m Harriet Price, Jane’s sister.’ The woman’s arms came round her. ‘Can you stand, my dear?’
Celia managed it, and with Lottie clutching at her skirt tottered into the nearest room, where she sank on to a sofa. The lamp was set on the table, another one lit.
A circle of light framed the woman’s face. It was a kind one, and there was the look of Celia’s own mother about her.
‘Mama,’ Lottie whispered uncertainly, and pressed against her.
Celia placed an arm around her. ‘The lady looks a little like mama, but it’s not her. Mama has gone to live in heaven.’
‘What’s your name, dear?’
‘Celia Laws.’
Shock and recognition came and went in Harriet’s expression, and questions tripped from her tongue one after the other. ‘Celia Laws? Are you my sister Alice’s daughter . . . yes, you must be . . . has Alice passed away? She must have, for where else would you go? We’re kin, after all, though Alice swore she’d never come back while she had a breath in her body. How odd that I was thinking of you today, as though it was meant to be. Your poor feet, they’re all cut and blistered. Have you travelled far?’
Celia managed to get a word or two in. ‘From London.’
Harriet gasped. ‘All that way . . . Millie, go and put the kettle on, and make up a bed for them. Use Alice’s old room, because her things are still there. The child can sleep in the same room, on the daybed, so she won’t feel alone. We must see what we can do for them. Are you hungry, dear?’
‘We’ve only had a cup of milk and a chunk of bread each in two days.’
On cue, Lottie cupped her hands and held them out to the woman. ‘I’m hungry, missus.’
‘This is Charlotte, my little sister. Don’t beg, Lottie darling. However hard life was for us, mama wouldn’t have approved of it,’ Celia said, feeling like the biggest hypocrite on earth for playing on this woman’s emotions.
Harriet burst into tears. ‘Oh, my dear, I’ll warm you some broth. Then when you’ve eaten it you can rest.’
‘My cart . . . the wheel’s broken.’
‘We’ll drag it into the porch, in case it rains. Nobody will steal anything from it here. Goodness . . . imagine walking all this way from London. How brave of you . . . your poor, poor feet.’
Celia wanted to cry too, mostly because of her aunt’s kindness, but she couldn’t give in now she’d achieved what she’d set out to do. Her tattered feet were placed in a bowl and gently soaped and bathed in blissfully warm water. A soothing salve was applied to her blisters and they were bandaged with strips of clean linen.
The two women fussed around, trying to do everything at once, tripping over each other. Somehow it all got done. Lottie lapped up her broth then fell asleep against Celia’s shoulder, her dirty little face so innocent and sweet in sleep that Celia nearly cried out with the wave of love she felt for her. She gently kissed her cheek, hoping the journey was finally over and they’d be offered a home here.
Harriet bent to the sleeping child. ‘I’ll carry her upstairs. Do you think you can manage alone?’
Celia nodded. She was warming to this woman, who’d welcomed a complete stranger into her home, accepting her for what she was without asking questions.
She followed her up two flights of stairs, hobbling with each torturous step. They turned into a room where a night light burned in a saucer of water.
‘We’re both dirty,’ she said when she saw the crisp, white sheets.
‘As I see. I can also see that you’re fatigued beyond measure, and that must take precedence.’ She slid Lottie’s ill-fitting boots from her feet and removed her clothing, leaving the child in the flannel smock Mrs Busby had fashioned for her. Lottie was tucked into her bed.
‘There, that will do her for tonight. Tomorrow you’ll both take a bath and we’ll talk. You must tell me about Charlotte and the circumstances you find yourselves in. Millie has put a nightgown and robe out for you to wear. Things will look better tomorrow, I promise.’
‘You’re very kind, Miss Price.’
‘Aunt Harriet,’ she said firmly, and gently kissed her on the forehead. ‘Goodnight, Celia dear. Wake me if you need anything during the night. My room is opposite.’
It would indeed be a good night, Celia thought as she sank into the feathery depths of the mattress and kept on sinking.
Celia vaguely remembered hearing a cockerel crow earlier, something she’d managed to ignore. Now she was woken from sleep by a beam of sunshine shining through a crack in the curtains, determined to single her out for attention.
She was reluctant to leave her warm and comfortable nest. Lottie’s little bed was empty. Swinging her legs out of bed she winced as she gingerly put her weight on her feet, and called out, ‘Lottie, where are you?’
Footsteps came pattering up the stairs, and a knock at the door was followed by the appearance of Harriet, wearing a smile. ‘The child is downstairs, and Millie is going to take her into the garden to collect the eggs after breakfast. She’s been bathed in the laundry sink and I took the liberty of looking in your cart for a clean smock. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, I don’t mind. Both her smocks are dirty.’
‘So I noticed. I’ve washed the spare one, and it should soon dry in the wind. You are quite the pair of ragamuffins, but it can’t be helped, I suppose.’
It was said so kindly that Celia couldn’t feel angry.
‘Put on your robe, my dear. We’ve filled the bathtub, but it’s downstairs in the laundry room. There’s a
clean gown for you to wear afterwards; it used to belong to my sister, Jane, but she has no use for it now. You can wash your hair first. There’s a mirror and a hairbrush on the table to use. I’ll see to your feet afterwards and you will soon be comfortable.’
Celia’s glance darted with some alarm to the dirty skirt she’d laid over the back of the chair. She was relieved to find it still there, for the pocket contained all her money. Before she went down, creeping on her sore feet, she removed the money and slid it under her mattress.
The laundry room was large, and had a stove in the corner on which to heat the water, so it was pleasantly warm. The soap smelled of lavender, reminding her of the soap she’d stolen from the stall in London, which had been a rare treat. Celia stayed in the tub until the water grew cool then dried herself. As well as sore feet, her muscles ached. She groaned as she stepped out of the tub.
The gown her aunt had left was blue checked, with a little lace collar. There was also a cotton petticoat. Celia felt shiny and new in the clothes, as though she’d just been born.
Her aunt came in and doctored her feet before handing her a pair of cotton stockings and some shoes of soft leather. ‘These might fit you; they used to belong to Jane.’
‘What happened to your sister?’
‘She and our mother died within days of each other a year ago from a throat infection.’
‘I’m so sorry . . .’ I shouldn’t have babbled on about my own troubles when you had your own loss to bear.’
They left the bath water running into the garden, using a hose attached to a small tap near the bottom of the bath.
Harriet came to stand in front of her, gazing into her eyes. ‘You weren’t to know, and look what has come of it. We’ve been brought together, and perhaps that was meant to be. Now, come and have your breakfast.’
Wearing a milky moustache, Lottie smiled at her when she entered the kitchen. ‘Mrs Millie has a cat called Moggins. Can we stay here always?’
‘I don’t know. That rather depends on Aunt Harriet.’