by Evie Grace
The wedding was simple and straightforward, with none of the pomp and ceremony which had attended Violet and Arvin’s union. Ottilie wore mourning dress and carried a small spray of lilac flowers, and May and Wilson waved them off as they left the house on foot. At the church, the only witnesses present were Violet, Eleanor and the sexton.
When the vicar spoke, he said that he always did his best for his flock, with God as his guide. He was aware that some churchmen might find his decisions unconventional – even objectionable – but his conscience was clear. Violet guessed that he was referring to the outrage surrounding their father’s death and her marriage. His words weren’t soothing – they merely rubbed salt into her wounds.
But Ottilie was happy and that was all that mattered today, she reasoned.
After the service, they went to a local hostelry for a modest wedding breakfast, before John embraced his new sisters and apologised to Violet for what had happened with Mr Brooke, saying that if he’d known what he was like, he would willingly have punched him on the nose. Violet and Eleanor cried when they watched Mr and Mrs Chittenden leave for the station to catch the late morning train to London.
‘We should go home,’ Violet said.
‘At least Mama won’t be upset,’ Eleanor said. ‘That is the one thing we can be thankful for.’
‘You’ve been very brave.’ Violet linked arms with her. ‘I’m proud of you.’
‘We’ve all had to find the courage to get through this, most of all you. Don’t worry, my dear sister. At least we have each other.’
‘You’re right. We’ll make the most of what we have left.’
When they reached the house, there were horses and carts outside, and Wilson was on the doorstep arguing with two men, both swarthy and wearing sombre clothing. Violet hurried towards them with Eleanor trailing along behind.
‘Let us in, sir! By order of the Lord Chancellor!’ the taller of them shouted.
‘We have no business with him, or anyone like him,’ Violet called from behind them.
They turned to face her. ‘Good day, madam. Are you the mistress of this house?’
‘I’m one of Mrs Rayfield’s daughters. Who are you?’ She felt faint, but she would not fall. The men stared at her, and she wondered if they knew who she was. She felt her face flush hot as they took in her figure and the tell-tale curve of her belly.
‘Mr Toke and Mr Tipstaff, bailiff and under-bailiff,’ said the taller one.
Her heart sank. ‘You can’t come in. Wilson, you are right not to let them in.’
‘We have a warrant to remove goods to the value of’ – he named a figure – ‘and evict anyone living at this property forthwith.’
‘That isn’t possible. The house is subject to probate and due legal process,’ Violet said. ‘In the meantime, my mother is permitted to live here. Go and see Mr Wiggins – he’ll confirm what I say. You can’t evict us without notice at least.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Mr Chittenden started bankruptcy proceedings against your father recently. The notice has just been published in the newspapers. Probate won’t be granted until Mr Rayfield’s debts have been settled.’
She looked up at Wilson. ‘Did you know about this?’
‘I was aware of it,’ he replied. ‘I gave my word to the master that I wouldn’t mention it in front of the ladies of the household. He wanted to protect you, miss.’
‘I shouldn’t speak badly of the dead, but he wanted to protect himself,’ Violet said crossly.
‘He was in dire straits by the end,’ Wilson said. ‘That’s why he jumped – he couldn’t bear the shame of being incarcerated in a debtor’s prison.’
‘I wish he’d thought of us and Mama.’
‘He was devastated when he knew she wasn’t going to recover, and then there was all that trouble with Mr Brooke. It broke him,’ Wilson said.
Violet turned back to the bailiffs. ‘You heard all that – you understand how we’re suffering. I beg you to show us compassion. My mother is dying and we have nowhere to go.’
‘We’ve heard it all before, every excuse under the sun, and it makes no difference. May we come in now? It would be better, more discreet.’
‘Won’t you give us another day, just tonight so we can find somewhere to live? You can’t cast my mother out on the street. You wouldn’t treat a dog like that.’
‘You must have relatives you can put her with,’ the bailiff said, his manner softening slightly.
‘She has a sister in Canterbury, but it all takes time …’
‘We’re only carrying out our duties, Miss Rayfield.’
Wilson let them into the house, closing the door behind them as Mr Toke went on, ‘We never enjoy doing this to a respectable family, but Mr Rayfield was declared bankrupt and it’s his creditors now who suffer.’
‘Isn’t there any way?’ she tried again.
‘The house is mortgaged almost in full. It belongs to the bank. Anything left after it’s sold will be used to pay the creditors. Now, down to business. How many people live here, including servants?’
‘There’s Wilson here, and one maid, my mother, my sister and me.’ Violet slipped her arm around Eleanor’s waist to comfort her. The bailiffs were about to evict them and now her shame knew no bounds.
‘May has gone away, miss. I believe that somebody told her that the master had been declared bankrupt.’ Wilson gazed down at his shoes, and Violet couldn’t help wondering if that was the whole story.
‘Where is your mother?’ Mr Toke asked.
‘In the parlour – she has her day bed in there.’ Violet headed towards the foot of the stairs.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘To pack – you can’t possibly put us out of the door with nothing.’
‘Go and wait with your mother. Both of you, and the manservant! You must allow us to get on without interference.’
‘I wish to go upstairs – you can’t stop me.’
Mr Toke stepped up close to her until she could see the brown stains on his teeth and smell his stale tobacco breath. ‘I can, and I will.’ He took her arm. ‘Show me to the parlour.’
‘I won’t go with you, sir,’ she snapped, feeling his fingers bruising her flesh.
‘Mr Tipstaff, go upstairs and search the rooms – go through the chests and jewellery boxes.’
‘The valuables belong to my mother,’ Violet argued. ‘Unhand me!’
‘We’re authorised to seize all assets of value from this address,’ the man said. ‘In the eyes of the law, a wife’s property belongs to her husband. You haven’t the luxury of picking and choosing what to keep.’
‘You are vultures!’ she exclaimed.
‘Call us what you will. We’re used to it.’
He was serious, she realised as his grip tightened, and if she continued to fight him, he would certainly win.
Giving in, Violet accompanied Eleanor and Wilson to the parlour where they waited with Mama, listening to the sound of the bailiffs stripping the house of their belongings: the furniture; their mother’s trinkets and curios; her father’s books; the dinner service, cutlery and fire dogs. The carts came and went, laden with the Rayfields’ possessions, and soon there was very little left. They even took Mama’s day bed, having lifted her bodily into her bath chair, a carriage mounted on three wheels with blue velvet cushions.
Mr Toke came in to speak to them.
‘Where does the missus keep her jewellery?’
‘In the box in her boudoir,’ Violet said. ‘You must have found it.’
‘We found a box, but there isn’t much in it. Did Mr Rayfield have a safe?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware.’
The bailiff walked across to Mama and picked up her left hand. ‘Where is her wedding ring?’
‘How dare you, sir?’ Eleanor said. ‘You’re scaring her.’
‘I don’t think she knows I’m here.’ He dropped her hand which flopped back into her lap. ‘The
ring? She must have had a ring, and brooches at least. Has she put them in some other hiding place?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Nor mine,’ Eleanor added. ‘She never was one for wearing jewellery, was she, Violet?’
‘No, she didn’t condone vanity in any form,’ Violet elaborated.
‘I wish I could believe you.’
‘You have no choice than to take me at my word. You must have more than enough to satisfy the creditors – you’ve taken nearly everything except the clothes from our backs.’
‘We’ve turned everything out, Mr Toke,’ Mr Tipstaff said.
‘In that case – out of the goodness of my heart – the young ladies can have the half-hour that remains before the locksmith arrives, to pack anything they want from what’s left. You’ll be gone by then or we’ll forcibly evict you, according to the terms of the warrant.’
‘You’ve made it very clear,’ Violet said stiffly.
She and Eleanor ran upstairs and threw some clothes into bags.
‘My embroidery and the sewing box? They’ve gone. They’ve taken them. Oh, this is the end …’ Violet burst into tears.
‘They are just things,’ Eleanor said gently. ‘They can be replaced.’
‘But they are precious to me – the box belonged to Mama and her mother before her. Without it, well …’
‘We will buy another one. Hurry, we haven’t got very long.’
Returning to the parlour, they dressed Mama in her day clothes, a coat and a big blanket over her knees. Violet put on Mama’s gloves, noting how her soft white fingernails were peeling away from her fingertips.
‘I’m mightily sorry about this,’ Wilson said as he helped them carry Mama and her bath chair from the house and pile up their luggage on the pavement outside. ‘What are your plans?’
‘All I can think of is to take Mrs Rayfield to our aunt’s and throw ourselves on her mercy.’ It was that, or a night on the streets. ‘I have a few coins in my pocket. What will you do, Wilson?’ Violet asked, putting the bath chair’s canvas hood up. ‘Have they seized your valuables too?’
‘Knowing for a while how the land was lying, I took the precaution of sending my possessions to my sister in Deal for safekeeping. Don’t worry about me, ladies. Let me help you to the station – where do you wish to go?’
Violet gave him her aunt’s address.
‘Where’s Dickens?’ Eleanor said suddenly. ‘Have you seen the cat?’
‘He must have taken fright,’ Wilson said.
‘We have to find him – he’s always been Mama’s favourite.’
‘We can’t take him with us,’ Violet said.
‘He’ll die if we leave him behind – he’s too stupid to catch mice. Wilson, there’s a basket in one of the attic rooms. Fetch it while I look in his favourite spots.’
Violet didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed, when her sister reappeared with the cat trapped in a wicker basket, the lid tied down with string. Eleanor put the basket on Mama’s lap and held her hand as they waited on the pavement, attracting a small crowd of onlookers, curious to find out why an invalid would be out on the street in the rain.
‘She’s taking the air,’ Violet kept saying. ‘Doctor’s orders.’ She couldn’t wait to get away, but Wilson was taking his time to leave the house.
‘Good afternoon.’ Mrs Pryor, their neighbour, came stalking up to them. ‘Oh, you are in a poorly way, Mrs Rayfield. I saw the removal men outside and I said to myself, they’re moving without telling me. Well, I shall find out where they’re going, so I can keep in touch.’
Violet had no idea why she’d want to do that when Mrs Pryor had been avoiding her and the rest of the family as if they’d been suffering from a fatal contagion.
‘We’re taking my mother to stay with our aunt for a while.’
‘I heard from the maid that Ottilie’s married her sweetheart. That was done very quietly considering the celebrations your father had for your marriage …’
Violet knew very well what she was suggesting.
‘Would you celebrate within a week or two of your father’s burial? No, I thought not.’ She turned away, not caring that she appeared rude. Mrs Pryor wasn’t worthy of her attention. She, Eleanor and Mama would leave, their heads held high, carrying two bags and a suitcase containing a few chemises, odd stockings, and a vanity set that the bailiffs had left behind in the empty bedrooms. She looked down at the basket – and a cat.
Aunt Felicity would take care of them for a while, at least, but what would happen after that? Where would they go? How would they live?
‘It’s time to leave, miss,’ she heard Wilson say. ‘I’ll help you as far as the station.’
Chapter Eighteen
A Peculiar State of Affairs
Did she have enough money for three tickets to Canterbury? Violet counted the coins from her purse and put them on the counter at the ticket office.
‘One way?’ the ticket seller enquired.
‘Thank you.’ She nodded, feeling a pang of regret that they wouldn’t be returning for a while, if ever. Dover had been her home all her life. Apart from the vague notion she’d had of moving to France, she’d never expected to have to move away. She thought of William and her heart broke in two – she doubted she would ever see him again.
‘Miss, your tickets,’ the ticket seller said, pushing them towards her.
‘I’m sorry. I was miles away.’ She picked them up and returned to where Wilson was waiting with Mama and the bath chair, and Eleanor was talking to one of the porters.
‘The last train from Dover Priory to Canterbury arrives in five minutes,’ Eleanor said, turning to Violet.
‘Then I’ll leave you ladies to it,’ Wilson said. ‘I wish you all the best … If only things had been different …’
‘We’re very grateful for everything you’ve done for us.’ Violet swallowed a sob. ‘I hope you find another situation very soon.’
‘I’ve received an offer of employment from a mutual acquaintance of ours, Mr Chittenden. His butler’s on his last legs and he wants to put him out to grass, so to speak.’
‘Good luck then, Wilson.’ Violet stepped back as the train, painted in gleaming black livery, came squealing and hissing into the station. When it came to a halt, the station boys ran alongside it, opening the doors to let the passengers off.
‘Can I help this lady into one of the carriages? The chair can be stowed in the guard’s van for the journey,’ the porter said.
‘She must stay in her chair,’ Violet said. ‘She can’t sit up by herself.’
The porter pushed the chair along the platform and shoved poor Mama up a ramp into the guard’s van with Dickens still in the basket on her lap. A young man loaded a box of live lobsters with their pincers tied shut, three sacks of flour, several boxes of new shoes, and a crate of walking sticks on after her.
‘Where should we travel?’ Eleanor whispered in her sister’s ear.
‘With Mama, of course. I’m not letting her out of my sight.’
‘Ladies, please take a seat in one of the carriages,’ the guard said, joining them. He was wearing a peaked cap with lettering on the front, an enamel badge, and a jacket with brass buttons which barely did up across his large belly. ‘I can’t let you travel in the van. Rules and regulations.’
‘We can’t possibly leave her on her own – she’s ill,’ Violet argued.
‘Don’t you worry – I’ll keep an eye on her.’
‘No, sir. She must have one of her daughters with her at all times. It isn’t right to treat her the same as a box of lobsters. It’s disgraceful. I’ll be writing to the manager of the railway company.’ Violet stopped abruptly. She could see from the guard’s expression that it was no use arguing.
‘In you get, or the train’ll go without you,’ he said, and Eleanor grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the adjacent carriage. They clambered on and the door slammed behind them. As they took their seats, the guard blew
his whistle and the train pulled away, the engine settling into a pounding rhythm which reminded Violet of the Samphire. She felt a sense of foreboding which she couldn’t shift.
‘We’re on our way,’ Eleanor said. ‘This has been a terrible day, one of the worst, but now we’re on our way, it can only get better.’
‘I wonder what’s happened to May,’ Violet said. ‘I expect she did a runner when she saw the bailiffs. It’s a shame she didn’t leave word about where she was going. She’s been very good to me and I consider her a friend, not just a maid. I don’t mean to sound superior when I say “just a maid”. She’s the most capable woman I’ve ever met – she can turn her hand to anything except for baking cakes. When we were at East Cliff together, she took to embroidery like a duck to water. Her work is flawless.’ Violet gave her sister a nudge. ‘Eleanor, are you listening to me?’
She answered with a quiet snore.
‘Oh, you poor thing. You’re worn out.’ Letting her sister sleep, Violet looked out of the window, counting down the stations to their destination: Shepherds Well, Adisham, Bekesbourne … The train rattled and lurched through the Kent countryside, which was turning gold in the evening sun. They passed the hop gardens where the bines were twiddling up the chestnut poles, and the orchards where the blossom was drifting from the trees. Eventually, the towers of the cathedral came into view.
‘Eleanor,’ she said, gently shaking her shoulder. ‘We’re nearly there.’
Eleanor yawned and stretched as they got off the train in Canterbury. The guard and one of the porters struggled to unload Mama, because she’d been blocked in by more boxes and crates since they’d left Dover. Dickens yowled as they jolted the bath chair on the platform.
‘There you are, ladies,’ the guard said. ‘I wish you a pleasant onward journey, wherever you are going.’
‘Thank you,’ Violet said, feeling guilty because she couldn’t afford to tip the porter.
‘Do you want to push or shall I?’ Eleanor asked.
‘We’ll take it in turns.’ Violet gathered up their luggage. ‘You first.’