by Linda Finlay
Lily looked up in surprise. ‘Surely, she was wearing her ring when she was buried?’
‘What, so that the gravies could filch it? I think not, our Lily,’ her aunt snorted. ‘What those thieving scoundrels get up to after a body’s been buried is nobody’s business.’
Lily shivered and was pleased that she’d finished eating her stew.
‘Anyhow, you’d best write a note to Lady Clinsden so she knows what’s happening.’
Robert, hobbling into the room at that moment looked at Lily meaningfully.
‘It’s all right, Aunt Elizabeth. I’ll see her ladyship gets the message first thing. You look tired, Auntie, why not get on home now?’ he said.
‘You’re right, Rob, I am, so I’ll bid you both good night,’ Aunt Elizabeth said, pulling her shawl around her.
When she’d left, Lily smiled at her brother.
‘Thanks, Rob. I think I’ll take a look at Mother’s things before I turn in. Good night,’ she said, going over and pecking his cheek.
Walking into the bedroom where her mother had spent the last few months of her life, Lily saw the little pile of clothes with the Bible and wedding ring lying on top. Picking up the golden band, she caressed it gently. Although it was now thin and slightly misshapen, she knew it had been her mother’s most precious possession. Gently she touched it to her lips then slipped it onto the third finger of her right hand. Standing alone in the dark room, her throat tightened and hot tears flowed like lava down her cheeks. ‘Goodbye, Mother dear,’ she whispered, for only now had it sunk in that she would never see her again.
She woke next morning feeling drained yet somehow cleansed inside. The air was bracing and by the time she trundled the donkey-cart into the hostelry stable yard at first light, her spirits were lifted. She knew her mother would want her to be happy. Having been a proficient lace maker herself, she’d have been proud her daughter had been chosen to make lace for the Queen, especially as she’d been the one to teach her the craft. Although Lily preferred working in the company of others to sitting by herself for long hours at a stretch, all this travelling was very time consuming. If she could find lodgings in Bransbeer, she and Tom would have more time to spend together.
Feeling brighter than she had for a long time, she handed the reins to Ned who, as usual, was looking the worse for wear, and hurried towards Mrs Bodney’s cottage.
‘Lily!’ Hearing her name, she turned and saw Mary puffing along the lane behind her.
‘Morning, Mary, isn’t it a beautiful day?’ she said brightly and the other woman eyed her sharply.
‘Aye, now the blow’s cleared. Look, I wanted to speak to you about the card that came with those flowers. It’s been playing on my mind all night …’ But Lily had seen Tom hurrying towards them and waved.
‘Tom. What a nice surprise,’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t usually see you at this time of day.’
‘I’ll go on then, shall I?’ snapped Mary, annoyed at being interrupted, but Lily was smiling up at Tom and didn’t hear.
‘I’ve not got long. The pots need baiting up,’ he said, catching his breath. ‘I spoke to Mother last night and she mentioned Miss Chicke has a room coming vacant. She runs the lodging house next to High Field up on Long Hill. Mother says it’s respectable so her rooms get taken quickly.’
Lily’s spirits rose higher still. ‘That’s just past High House, isn’t it? That could be very convenient. Thank you, Tom,’ she said, clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘I’ll see if I can pay Miss Chicke a visit during the noon break.’
It was a quiet morning, and whilst the ladies worked diligently at their pillows, Lily walked over to the table and began counting the pile of finished sprigs. To her relief, the lace makers’ hard work had paid off and she calculated they were back on schedule at last.
As the church clock chimed noon, she rang the bell for their break and was just snatching up her shawl when she noticed Anna was screwing up her eyes, a worried frown creasing her face.
‘Is something wrong, Anna?’ she asked, but the older woman shook her head and scuttled outside. Anxious to be on her way, Lily hurried from the workroom.
As she made her way up the main street, past the church and on towards the lodging house by High Field, she prayed the room hadn’t already been taken. Fighting down the butterflies that appeared to be enjoying a summer ball of their own in her stomach, she knocked on the door of the lodging house.
A small, mouselike woman with tawny hair tied up in a bun answered almost immediately. However, there was nothing mouselike about her manner.
‘Yes?’ she barked, looking Lily up and down.
‘Good afternoon. Miss Chicke? My name is Lily Rose and I understand you have a room to rent.’ There was silence for a few moments whilst she was subjected to intense scrutiny from the woman, whose dark eyes reminded Lily of the black flints that jutted out of the chalk cliffs. Finally, she sniffed then motioned her inside. Lily followed her down a narrow passage that clearly never saw any daylight. However, the room she was shown into, although sparsely furnished, was neat and clean.
‘Someone recommend the room?’ Miss Chicke asked.
‘Yes, Mrs Westlake. Her son, Thomas Westlake, is my betrothed.’
Miss Chicke sniffed and looked as if she was sucking on a lemon. ‘I’ll have you know I run a respectable establishment and don’t tolerate any goings-on. No men are allowed in these rooms at any time. Do I make myself clear?’
Lily nodded, wondering what this sour little woman could possibly know about men and ‘goings-on’, as she put it. She must be naïve if she thought they were confined to the bedroom. Besides, that tiny bed would surely only accommodate one body, and a small one at that. With a start she realized Miss Chicke was still speaking and quickly turned back to face her.
‘Front door is locked prompt at 10 o’clock each night. Meals by arrangement, no cooking in rooms, and facilities are shared. Laundry’s extra. How old are you and why are you seeking accommodation?’
‘I’m seventeen years of age, Miss Chicke, and the cottage we rent went with my father’s job. He was killed when the byre collapsed earlier this year. Squire Clinsden’s hired someone new to help on the farm, which is why I need to find somewhere to live.’
‘I see. Sorry about your father, I’m sure. Right, I’ll take a look at your testimonials then.’
‘My what?’ she asked.
Miss Chicke sniffed. ‘Testimonials. Guarantees of your qualities and virtues. You could be anyone, for all I know.’
‘Oh, I see. I’m sure my employer, Mrs Bodney, will provide one.’
‘Right, and I’ll need one from your present landlord too.’
Lily’s heart sank, although she knew there was no reason for the squire not to provide one. Their rent had always been paid on time and they’d been good tenants. However, the thought of having to ask him for one didn’t sit well with her. In fact, the idea of having to ask him for anything sickened her stomach.
‘Are you sure the one from Mrs Bodney won’t suffice? I’m an excellent worker and although I’ve only been with her a matter of weeks she’s already promoted me to overseer.’
‘That’s as maybe, but the rules of my house dictate two must be provided,’ the woman sniffed, then led Lily back down the corridor. ‘If you want the room, bring me two testimonials. Otherwise there’ll be others glad of the opportunity, I’m sure,’ she said, sniffing again as she pushed the door firmly shut.
Out on the street, Lily took a deep breath. Goodness, the woman was a right shrew – and Lily had thought Mrs Bodney was a tartar. Still, she’d been told respectable rooms were hard to come by and if she wanted this one she’d have to bottle her pride and ask the squire for a testimonial. She grimaced, imagining the supercilious sneer on his face when she did.
CHAPTER 14
As Lily hurried back to work, the sun blazed overhead and it wasn’t long before her black dress was clinging to her legs, hampering her movement. Beads of perspi
ration trickled down her back, making her corset stick to her body. She stopped to tuck a lock of hair back under her cap, and saw a mob of youths huddled alongside the brook, goading a small boy. She smiled, remembering Tom telling her jumping the brook was regarded as a rite of passage and that no male could be regarded a man of Bransbeer until he’d fallen in at least once.
As she watched them frolicking, she couldn’t help wishing she was that young again. Not that she’d ever enjoyed the luxury of such freedom; as far back as she could remember her days had been spent making lace. However, the sun sparkling on the water looked inviting, and she had a sudden urge to take off her clothes and jump in.
A burst of raucous laughter brought her sharply back to the present. Spinning round she realized she was standing outside High House. The door was open and she ran up the steps and followed the sound of merriment through to the workroom. She stood there for a few moments, but the ladies were so engrossed in their fun they didn’t notice her. Rapping sharply on the table, she waited until silence descended.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice steady as their questioning looks turned belligerent.
‘We was doing no harm,’ muttered a woman she recognized as Cora’s sister.
‘And no work either. I’m surprised at you. Return to your pillows and I will check your work.’ She watched as they slunk back to their stools and then went around the room inspecting each pillow in turn. To her relief all the lace was beautifully worked, although under the circumstances, she knew better than to remark on the fact. Walking to the front of the room, she addressed the now silent lace makers.
‘You are all aware this job is confidential, are you not?’
‘Course we are,’ they chorused, looking affronted.
‘Then why was the front door open? Anyone could have entered the building and with the noise you were making, you’d have been none the wiser.’ There was silence.
Then a timid voice squeaked, ‘It was me, miss. I went outside to relieve myself and must’ve forgot to shut the door when I came back. Will you tell the missus?’ A young girl, not much higher than her stool, was staring at her wide-eyed. The mood of the room was sombre now as they stood there waiting for Lily’s response. Instead of answering, though, she had a question for them.
‘Are you going to reach your quota of work before Mrs Bodney returns?’
As one, they nodded vigorously. Fixing them with her fiercest glare, and leaving the question hanging in the air, she turned and walked out of the room. The silence behind her was palpable, and she trusted they would make up the time they’d wasted. With employment at a premium and money short, nobody in their right mind would incur the wrath of Mrs Bodney and risk losing a well-paid job like this.
On legs that wobbled like jelly after her confrontation, Lily made her way back through the village. Being an overseer wasn’t easy and she hoped she’d handled the situation correctly. She just trusted her ladies weren’t misbehaving in her absence.
She quickened her step, but when she entered the workroom, everyone was busy at their pillows. Gratefully she sank onto her stool but as she worked, she wondered. How could she obtain a testimonial from the squire? And if she didn’t get one, how could she secure the room?
By the time the shadows had lengthened and she was able to dismiss the ladies, her head was pounding. Grateful for the sudden silence, she walked round the room inspecting their work. It all looked satisfactory and she was just breathing a sigh of relief when she reached Anna’s pillow, and saw the sprig she’d been working on was badly distorted. Further examination revealed that two of the pins had been enclosed in the wrong place, and the lace was wrongly tensioned.
She then remembered that the woman had seemed to be having trouble with her eyes earlier. Why on earth hadn’t she checked her work when she’d returned from High House? Sinking onto the stool by the woman’s pillow, she began the arduous task of weaving back the threads. It would take her an age to rework the sprig, but she had nobody to blame but herself. The light was failing now but she daren’t light a candle for Mrs Bodney would be sure to ask why it had been necessary to use one. Besides, all materials had to be accounted for. She moved her pillow directly under the window and was thankful the moon was full.
As ever, the reworking took much longer than she’d anticipated and by the time she left the workroom she was dropping with exhaustion. Clouds had covered the moon and she had to pick her way carefully over the ruts in the back lane as she made her way to the hostelry. Everywhere was sinister and silent, everything cloaked in darkness, and she could feel the hairs on her neck prickle. She couldn’t help wishing Tom was with her. Suddenly, a piercing screech stopped her in her tracks. Then moments later an answering one sent her scuttling. Owlers? She wasn’t hanging around to find out. Heedless of the potholes and detritus, she lifted her long skirts and ran as fast as she could towards the stables.
Finally, she gained the safety of the tumbledown building. Quickly closing the door behind her, she scrambled into the donkey-cart and pulled her shawl over her head. Her heart was beating faster than the clappers on the church bell while her stomach churned like butter. As she lay shivering in the darkness, she could hear the sound of activity outside: the sound of muffled hooves crossing the yard and the murmur of lowered voices. She jumped as something heavy hit the ground, setting the cart rocking. Then she heard the sound of casks being rolled over the cobbles. Disturbed by the noise, Doris gave a loud bray and Lily stuffed her hand in her mouth to stop herself from crying out in fright as she crouched in the darkness, waiting for the door to creak open. She was certain someone would come and investigate. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the noise ceased. Still she didn’t dare move. Instead she lay there listening to the sound of her heart thumping and Doris munching her hay.
Next morning, bleary-eyed, she entered the cottage to be greeted by Tilda informing her Mrs Bodney was waiting to see her. Her stomach lurched and, worried her late night’s work had been discovered, she hurried through to the parlour. Her employer was sitting in her comfy chair, staring at the tall glass vase of lilies and the familiar fragrance tugged at Lily’s throat. Mrs Bodney looked up and smiled, gesturing for her to be seated.
‘Good morning, Lily. I trust everything went well in my absence?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mrs Bodney.’
The other woman gave her a searching look. ‘Then why, my dear, do you look deadly pale and have bags like pillows under your eyes?’
‘I had to work late, Mrs Bodney,’ Lily muttered, looking down at the floor.
‘Yes, I understand even the moon had retired by the time you finally left here last night. Surely, the schedule I’ve set does not require you to work to such a late hour?’ Lily shook her head. ‘You were working, I take it, and not here for any other reason?’
Her head jerked up and she stared at the older woman perplexed. ‘Any other reason? Sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘You were entertaining Mr Mountsford, perhaps?’
Lily swallowed, staring at Mrs Bodney as if she’d grown another head. ‘Entertaining Mr Mountsford?’
‘Lily, will you stop parroting me? I’m not accusing you of anything. Quite the reverse, actually. It is I who owe you an apology.’
‘You owe me an apology?’
‘Indeed I do. When I returned and saw those beautiful flowers, I had reason to think they were for me. I’ve been … that is to say, I too have an admirer.’
Lily watched in amazement as a flush swept across the older woman’s cheeks. It made her look softer somehow, and with a shock she realized her employer wasn’t nearly as old as she’d supposed. Then something else struck her.
‘But, Mrs Bodney, you’re married,’ she spluttered.
‘Of course I’m not, Lily. The “Mrs” is a courtesy title. It commands respect from the people I trade with.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, although she didn’t really. In her book you were either ma
rried or you weren’t.
‘Anyway, as I was saying, I thought the flowers were for me so when I saw the card propped up against them, naturally I read it. Only then did I realize they’d been sent to you. Silly of me really as cleverly they comprise lilies and a rose. And as for that beautiful poem; who’d have thought our merchant so eloquent?’
Eloquent? What did that mean? Lily’s head was spinning.
‘Well, Lily, you’re a lucky young lady, though I’m not sure your young man would think so. Tom, isn’t it? Still, some things are best kept secret,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose with her finger. ‘I’m not sure why Tilda set the flowers in here, but it’s probably best you put this somewhere safe,’ Mrs Bodney added, handing her the card.
So the flowers were from Rupert Mountsford, she thought, placing the card in her apron pocket and cursing herself for not having listened to Mary the other morning. She started to say that she’d asked Tilda to put them in here, but Mrs Bodney was speaking again.
‘Right, now back to business. Perhaps you’d care to tell me why you were working so far into the night?’
Didn’t the woman ever forget anything? Lily explained how she’d seen one of her ladies blinking repetitively and looking upset; how she’d meant to check her work upon her return but after calling in to see the other ladies when she was passing High House, she’d forgotten.
‘Lily, High House is right on the outskirts of Bransbeer on the way to Seaton. How could you be passing?’
‘Somebody told me of a room to let in a lodging house by High Field and I went to visit during the nuncheon break yesterday. Then on my way back I heard, um, noticed … I was outside High House and called in to see how things were going there. I was later getting back than anticipated and needed to catch up on my own work.’ She could feel Mrs Bodney’s eyes boring into her as she related the events of the previous day.
‘And?’
‘I forgot to check An— erm, this lady’s work until she’d gone home and when I did it was, erm, slightly wrong.’