But Mary was thinking that what Charles Cooper had never been able to destroy in his wife, he seemed almost to have killed, in the spring, in his youngest daughter.
SIX
At three o’clock in the morning a small but insistent rain suddenly became a downpour. Within an hour mud had formed along the driveway, through the stables, about the cesspools. Lucretia Cooper could be heard crying loudly. Servants ran along corridors. At five-thirty the rain stopped. At six o’clock the servants brought immense amounts of hot water to all the rooms, filled tin baths, brought jugs of cold water. Rays of sun appeared. In the stables the two grooms were cursing the mud that lay everywhere, brushing the horses, tying white ribbons in their manes. Servants ran from the kitchen to the dining room and back again, cursing their masters who of course wanted breakfast (‘Kidneys on a wedding day!’ the cook expostulated) before the wedding feast could be dealt with, and the dog with the splint on his leg, who should have been outside where he belonged, was happily making do with three legs and yelping and barking and getting in the way. Augusta and her mother, half-dressed themselves, were supervising Alice’s hair and her voluminous petticoats and her wedding veil and her wedding posy and her state of mind, while Asobel ran from room to room in her peach flowergirl’s dress, seemingly demented. At seven-fifteen Alice had hysterics and maids ran hither and thither for smelling salts and liquorish and laudanum drops. At eight o’clock the brothers William and Charles Cooper, with various sons and nieces and aunts, were still eating breakfast: the brothers discussed politics and ate kidneys while messages kept arriving for William that he was required by his wife; the visiting nieces ate toasted loaf, giggled and excused themselves. Mary and Harriet were dressed and downstairs, helping with great jugs of white flowers that were to be placed in every corner of the entrance hall. Seeing Asobel at one point about to end her life by leaping over the staircase in her stiff little petticoats and the starched, filled bodice that lay under her peach dress, they repaired with her to the summerhouse and the three recited
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
the dear bespangling herbs and tree!
and saw the uniformed bandsmen unpack their instruments from their cases in the morning sunshine, polish the trombones and the cornets with big red cloths; the first notes filled the garden rather unsteadily.
Somehow, just before ten o’clock, as some villagers wearing bonnets waited virtuously at the very back of the church to see the gowns, and some stood in knots by the churchyard to wave to the Squire and his family, all the Coopers had been transported to the church in the gleaming carriages by the white-beribboned horses. The church was full of guests (including, to Lucretia’s delight, the illustrious and powerful Lady Kingdom of the eligible sons); the groom and his family were there as required at the altar; the vicar stood smiling in his white surplice, and finally Alice and her father walked down the aisle and Alice promised to love, honour, obey and give all her worldly goods to her husband.
* * *
In the end it was a perfect Indian summer day and long after the wedding feast and the toasts were concluded the sun still shone on the marquee, the little attached flags still fluttered in the breeze and the ladies sat in the shade and were brought more lemonade by the servants. Alice and her husband had departed for Ryde (where Lucretia hoped they might catch the eye of Her Majesty), deciding to do most of the journey on the railway (despite Lucretia’s forebodings), and it was generally agreed (very many times) in the relaxed aftermath of the wedding that Alice had looked beautiful and that she and the groom made a delightful couple. The extremely magnificent Lady Kingdom, who had been accompanied by a large clerical gentleman (who Lucretia knowingly assured anyone who was interested was a distant Kingdom relation, and whom Asobel had gleefully dragged Harriet to observe as he staggered somewhat in the gentlemen’s side-tent where alcoholic liquor was dispersed), had long since sailed away in her carriage, but not without looking sharply and somewhat patronisingly at the assorted young ladies through a rather terrifying lorgnette. The band in the marquee, hired till the last guests had taken their leave, was now repeating some of its repertoire: ‘I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls’ and ‘The Loreley Waltz’ had been heard a number of times.
Harriet and Mary had at last taken off their bonnets and were sitting under the oak tree with their cousins John and Edward and Augusta and Asobel. Cousin John, flushed by the wedding and the wine, regarded his cousin Harriet and thought how beautiful she looked in her primrose gown and suddenly wished he might be going to Ryde also. He leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed, and looked slyly at Harriet, and imagined how it might be, in Ryde, as night fell. Asobel was exhausted and began winding herself around Harriet, not whining exactly but letting out a soft, plaintive humming.
‘Asobel,’ remonstrated Augusta irritably, but Harriet did not complain, rested Asobel against her knee, settled her comfortably. Then from the corner of her eye she saw her father walking towards the group.
‘Your legs have gone all stiff, Harriet,’ said Asobel in a tired, sing-song voice.
Cousin Edward, seeing his uncle, jumped up at once. ‘Sit here, sir, sit here,’ but Charles Cooper directed his attention to his daughters.
‘I have received a message, I must return to London at once. Come along, Mary.’
And Mary, with a quick glance to Harriet, began to rise.
‘Father.’
She so seldom addressed him directly that he was almost startled. ‘What is it, Harriet?’
Harriet rose. Asobel, almost asleep, did not complain, but leaned with her arms around Harriet’s skirts.
‘Father, am I to be here for some time yet?’
‘Of course. Until there is some sign that the epidemic is receding. Unfortunately such a sign has not yet been observed.’ His voice was severe as he looked at his beautiful daughter. Did she not understand what torture this was for him?
‘Father, may Mary stay?’ She saw his face close. ‘Just one more day?’
‘Oh yes, Uncle Charles,’ said Asobel sleepily. ‘Just one more day. I haven’t played with her properly yet and I love her.’
‘Asobel!’ said Augusta sharply.
‘Please, Father.’ Her oblique glance was gone, she focused on his face.
There was a pause.
‘I expect I am needed at Bryanston Square,’ said Mary, retying her bonnet.
Cousin Edward stepped towards his uncle. ‘I have to come to London tomorrow on business, sir. I would be very pleased to escort Mary back to town.’
Charles Cooper saw that all the faces were turned towards him, that Harriet’s eyes seemed to brim with something: tears, or anxiety. Or love?
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘if Edward is to be travelling. Come, Harriet, I wish to speak to you before I leave.’
The cousins saw Harriet, who suddenly seemed to shimmer in the pale primrose dress, obediently lift Asobel away from her and step in silence across the lawn. Her father took her arm and drew his daughter close to him. They saw the father and daughter walk past the roses towards the waiting carriage while the band reprised a love ballad.
* * *
In the early evening Harriet and Mary and Augusta and Cousin Edward played cards. Asobel had been put, protesting loudly, to bed; Lucretia and William Cooper and various relations sat in combinations around the drawing room recounting the day yet again to themselves, gossiping about family matters. Cousin John was outside somewhere, smoking a cigar. Everybody was drinking negus, everybody was tired, but nobody wanted to end the perfect day and anyway it was not yet quite dark.
‘It was a great success,’ Lucretia repeated. ‘At last we have entertained Lady Kingdom, and who can tell,’ and she cast a significant glance at Augusta, ‘what this may lead to.’
‘Four hearts,’ said Cousin Edward.
‘My only worry is the railways. The stationmaster at one of the stations has been apprehended for embezzlement, parcels are being stolen from carriages, wh
o knows who is in charge?’
‘But my dear Lucretia,’ her sister offered, ‘Her Majesty after all recently travelled from the Highlands to Gosport, a journey of six hundred miles with only stops for the boiler to be replenished. Her Majesty was loud in her appreciation of such a journey. It is the modern way.’
‘Five spades,’ said Augusta.
‘You are right, I expect. Her Majesty was indeed full of praise.’
‘What are you doing in London tomorrow, Edward?’ asked Mary idly.
‘Avoiding the cholera, I hope, Eddie,’ said Augusta sharply. ‘I do wish you would not go.’
‘Come, Augy, I shall be home before you miss me.’
‘Please take enormous care.’
‘I will, I will, dear Augy,’ Edward answered and for once she did not say: ‘Do not call me Augy’ or ‘That is ridiculous’ and Harriet, who had hardly spoken since her father left, saw how Edward smiled at his sister, and she at him. They are fond of each other, she thought to herself in surprise. When she was younger, and often alone with her brothers and with Mary, writing TO THE DEAR READERS OF MY JOURNAL to entertain them, there had been warmth and teasing among them, but now, older, her brothers seemed to become more and more like their father, and older sibling relationships remained a mystery. Over the cards she saw that Augusta’s face still wore the supercilious expression that seemed to have become part of her, but she looked drawn too, as if this wedding of a sister who was younger had been even more of a trial than they had guessed. Harriet with an effort put her own, darker thoughts away; she smiled at her cousin.
‘I like so much your gown, Augusta,’ she said. ‘You looked lovely today.’ And was surprised again: her cousin blushed at the unexpected compliment, then her eyes filled with involuntary tears, then in great embarrassment she put her hand up to her face and gave a half-stifled sob. Her brother and her two cousins all leaned towards her across the card table, as if to shield her from the rest of the room.
‘Don’t, Angy,’ said Edward quietly. ‘We all understand.’
‘Stop!’ hissed Augusta in despair, and it seemed that she was going to burst into tears completely at this mortifying invasion of her privacy but somehow with a supreme effort she regained her composure. The card game continued all this time and the older people went on congratulating themselves on the success of the wedding.
Edward said suddenly, ‘It is not quite dark. Will you all come outside with me. I want to show you something.’ The three women, surprised, obediently got up from the table, picked up their shawls from the back of the chairs.
‘Are you going to bed already, my dears?’ said Lucretia.
‘No, Mamma. We are just going to get a breath of air,’ called Edward as he led the three women outside. Lucretia’s voice echoed after them, ‘Such a success, such a success!’
Edward led them, slowly so that Mary could keep pace, past the summerhouse and into the further fields. The chill in the air was notable now and the girls pulled their shawls tightly around them.
‘Autumn. It is really autumn,’ said Mary, gazing about her in wonder at the difference from London. All the wheat was harvested now; the neat sheaves leaned against each other, strange embracing patterns in the dusk, and a bright full moon shone down, lighted their way. They had to cross a stile; Edward helped Mary who stumbled against the step, the other girls lifted all their petticoats and climbed over and into another field.
‘Here we are then,’ said Edward. In one corner of the field a clearing had been made. A small, strange edifice stood before them. They all stared.
‘It’s a bit dark,’ said Edward, ‘but you can get the idea. What do you think?’
‘It looks like a room, with a roof on,’ said Augusta dubiously.
‘Bravo, Augy! It is a room with a roof on! Look, you can walk in,’ and he took them round to the other side where a door swung open.
‘But what is it?’ asked Harriet. Mary, who was still breathing heavily from her exertions over the stile and was leaning on her sister’s arm, said, ‘Have you built yourself a house, Edward?’
‘Yes! Look, look!’ Inside the house was a candle which he lit and they saw he’d made a small bed and a table, but at that moment a fieldmouse, disturbed, scurried under their feet and the girls screamed. Edward seemed exasperated at their silliness. ‘No, but look!’ He led them outside again: they held their petticoats and looked for more mice. Edward had acquired an old kettle, it stood on some iron bars with small pieces of wood underneath. Edward cleared his throat proudly. ‘I made everything myself.’
He made them come and sit inside the room. The three girls sat very uncomfortably together on the wooden bed, squashing against one another in their wedding gowns. Edward sat on the table beside the candle, shadows flickered across his face. With the best will in the world none of the three girls quite knew what to say. They couldn’t imagine what Edward meant by showing them this. The candlelight threw strange shapes on to the roof.
‘Are you leaving home, Edward?’ enquired Harriet finally.
‘Yes!’ cried Edward.
‘But Eddie, that is ridiculous, why on earth would you want to live here?’ Augusta looked around her disbelievingly. ‘You are so comfortable at home.’ She pulled her shawl more firmly about her, looked around again.
‘No, no, I won’t live here! I’ve just been practising. I’m going to Canada.’
Harriet’s head snapped round to regard him. ‘Why is everyone going to Canada?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘There’s no work for us,’ said Edward.
‘But – you have the farm,’ said Augusta and her voice sounded suddenly fearful.
‘John has the farm. You and Asobel need income from the farm. None of us has got a proper job of work, none of my friends. It’s all right for Richard and Walter,’ naming Harriet’s and Mary’s brothers, ‘Uncle Charles has got them positions with the Water Boards, because he is an influential man. But it’s London where everything happens, not here.’
‘Perhaps Father could get you a position also,’ said Mary.
‘I don’t want to work for the Water Boards. What ever would I do? I would require them to clean the Thames, for a start. I considered going to California where the gold has appeared but I fear it is a dangerous, reckless life and I am not, perhaps, a very reckless person. But I know about land, and working the land, a little anyway, and these colonies are promising good land to people like us, they want us there. That’s why I’m going to London tomorrow, to visit the Canada Company, and the Colonial Land and Emigration Commission, see if they’ll have me. And so—’ and he gestured towards the walls and the roof of his little building, ‘I thought I would teach myself to build a house, in case I have to later. Some of the lads in the village do building work. They gave me advice. About how to join bits together. See?’ And he took up the candle and showed where the roof met one of the walls. ‘I came down here this morning after the rain stopped and it was almost completely dry in here.’ And in the candlelight they saw a big smile on his face as he studied his handiwork.
‘Well?’ he said, turning back to them at last.
‘Yes!’ said Harriet and Mary almost simultaneously.
‘But Edward. I will miss you so and I will never see you again.’ And Augusta burst into the tears that had lain behind her eyes all day. She sobbed and sobbed, apologising. Mary put her arm around her on the small cramped bed.
‘Don’t cry, Augusta. It was a lovely day. It will come for you too. And Canada isn’t so far away these days, lots of people are going there and making a new start.’
And Edward said: ‘You could come to Canada too, Augy.’
Augusta’s sobs hiccoughed at last to a surprised halt. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘There must be hundreds of men like me travelling to somewhere else to get away from here. They won’t be the boring chaps, the settled chaps, like Alice has acquired. They’ll be more like me.’
Augusta gave a half-laugh.
&nb
sp; ‘But it’s true, Augy. I was thinking about it in the church today. Lots of men like me. Full of energy and plans.’ He waved his arms about in enthusiasm, throwing more strange shadows on the walls. ‘And when we have established ourselves, bought our land, built our houses, we shall all want wives, shan’t we? Lots and lots of energetic and extremely handsome chaps like me,’ and all three girls laughed. Edward had so many good qualities but he was not, exactly, handsome.
‘Does Papa know? Will he give you money?’
‘To start me off? Of course. He wants to help me.’ And Harriet at once remembered the look at the dinner table that she’d seen pass between father and son. ‘He remembers the trouble he and Uncle Charles had about the farm before Uncle Charles got married.’ It was Uncle William who had told the girls the story when they came to stay three years ago: their father, Charles, was the younger son and there were some dreadful months – after the war, after Napoleon had been trounced at last by the Iron Duke, before he met his future wife and her fortune – when it seemed as if the dashing, still uniformed Charles Cooper might have to become a clergyman.
‘I need money to start off,’ Edward went on, ‘it would be too difficult otherwise.’ (And Harriet thought of John Bowker and Seamus and Rosie and the pig that represented their savings.) ‘Father knows I am going to London about all this tomorrow. I was just waiting until Alice was safely married. And who knows? I may make my fortune and all the family could join me.’
‘Harriet! Edward! Where are you?’ Cousin John’s voice called them from far across the fields.
‘Well. You have seen it now anyway,’ said Edward proudly. ‘We had better go back.’ The girls stood up from their cramped seat. Edward saw them safely into the field and then blew out the candle and shut the door of his little house behind him.
They all adjusted their eyes to the night; the moon shone brightly. Edward took Mary’s arm and helped her back over the stile.
‘Harriet! Edward!’ John’s voice sounded angry, and in the distance they saw the light of a lantern moving in the darkness.
The Trespass: A Novel Page 9