‘Ah!’ he said, feeling the blush descend from under his wig, but powerless to defend himself with the servants all about the room and listening.
‘What?’ his father bellowed. ‘What’s that you say?’
‘Pas devant,’ Lady Easter said firmly, leaning towards him and rapping him across the knuckles with her fan. ‘Don’t your sister look fine, eh?’
He agreed that she looked pretty, for she was wearing a splendid gown in the very latest style, but as she was reclining on the chaise-longue in her usual state of languid disability it probably wouldn’t have been politic to describe her as fine.
‘I do as well as I may,’ she said when he enquired after her health. ‘I declare my constitution grows weaker by the day. How I should manage without my dear Mr Callbeck to sustain me, I really do not know. That man is an angel, William, a positive angel.’
The angel was sitting on the other side of the room bouncing the red-headed infant on a far from angelic knee. He looked what he was, the tough, uncompromising captain of one of His Majesty’s men of war, with a rough red face and rough red hands and a voice as loud and incessant as a fog horn. ‘Good journey?’ he said, without looking up from his infant.
‘Well – um – a trifle muddy, I should say.’
‘Spot of mud here an’ there never hurt anybody, did it my brave boys?’
‘No, no, indeed,’ William Henry hastened to agree, because it was just a little too easy for this bluff man to imply that he was a milk-sop. ‘A fine child, sir,’ he said, hopefully changing the subject.
‘Our Simon?’ his father said proudly. ‘He’s a little corker, ain’tcher, my beauty?’ And he tossed the baby into the air.
Brother Joseph was looking out of the window at the frozen downs, with his wife sitting meekly beside him, half hidden by the swathe of the curtains. He had grown even more portly since last year.
‘How’s the tea trade, little brother, what?’ he said, booming in exactly the same way as his father.
William Henry’s head was beginning to pound, but he did his best to discuss the tea trade, and was quick to agree with his brother that the only proper place in which to invest extra capital was land. And one of the little boys leap-frogged into his legs and was applauded by his sea-faring father, and one of the babies was sick on the carpet, missing her uncle William’s clean stockings by the merest splash, and causing her prostrated mother to emit shrieks of anguish. But at last nursemaids were rung for and the children were sorted out and despatched to their various nurseries to be fed, with the exception of Thomasina and Osmond, who being thirteen were allowed to dine in politer company.
By now, what with the children’s noise and his own suffocating anxiety, William Henry was feeling sick.
It was an indigestible meal, five full courses, all well cooked, most lukewarm, and each more decorative than the last. The centrepiece was a lake made of green jelly on which a procession of sugar swans curved their wire-thin necks, and the last course was a dish of pippins with caraway comfits. In any other house he could have enjoyed it quite a lot. Now he was too sick with apprehension to do more than pick at it. For all the time his brother Joseph was discussing tenants with his father and his sister Cecilia was protesting that she was too delicate to eat another mouthful, truly, and her angelic husband was using his divine powers to coax her into consuming another six, he was secretly preparing himself for the awful moment when the meal would finally come to an end and his mother would say …
‘William Henry, you will be so good as to accompany your father and I into the blue drawing-room. Perkins, set the tables for cards. The children may play two hands before they retire. Well, come, come, do. Why do you tarry?’
Oh, he would have tarried a lifetime, if only he’d dared. But by now he was in such a state that only abject obedience was possible.
‘Very well!’ his mother said, when the three of them were settled around the fire and the servants had all gone away. ‘Rumour has it that you’ve gone and married a serving gel. What is the truth of it, pray?’
If only she were not so blunt, William Henry sighed. A more tentative approach might have given him the chance to explain in an acceptable way.
‘I am married, yes, Mother.’
‘A servant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Speak up, boy, do. I cannot hear you. Is she a servant?’
‘Yes, Mother, she is. But an exceptional girl, I do assure you. Uncommon talented …’
‘Lord, boy, have you taken leave of your senses?’ his mother said, glaring at him. ‘You had no call to marry the detestable creature. Girls like that know what’s expected of ’em and it ain’t matrimony. Take my word for it. You could have kept her for a month or two, surely. There was no call to marry. What were you thinkin’ of?’
‘Half-witted,’ his father opined. ‘Ain’t I always said so?’
‘Frequently,’ his wife said tartly, ‘but to little purpose it would appear. Ah well, boy, we must give consideration as to the best method of removal. That is all that need be said about the matter. She ain’t a Papist by any chance? ’Twould be uncommon good fortune if she were.’
‘I have married her, Mother,’ William Henry said stiffly. ‘I wish to remain married to her.’
‘Out of the question,’ his father said, growing red in the face. ‘’S’blood, Cessie, what’s the matter with the boy? Where’s your sense of family, boy?’
‘Can’t imagine how I ever came to breed such a nincompoop,’ Lady Cecilia said. ‘Must have been that wet-nurse. Never did like the look of her. Cross-eyed, ye see. Said so at the time, you remember. Knew she weren’t to be trusted, dammit. Something in the milk, I daresay, addled his brain.’
‘Joseph’s a good lad,’ his father said, staring at the fire. ‘Hunts well, ye know. Good seat.’
‘We will get that lawyer fellow to see what may be done,’ his mother said. ‘A divorce or a separation of some kind. But I warn you, William, this is the very last time we shall redeem you from your ridiculous folly. We do not intend to make a habit of it.’
It was monstrously unfair. She was talking as though he were an utter fool, as though this marriage were prohibited. He gathered his courage as though it were a great shield he was pulling towards him for protection, for he knew that the moment had come when he would have to use it.
‘Cecilia’s a good gel, too,’ his father went on. ‘Married well. Obedient sort of gel, I always think. Pretty. No, no, Cessie, this one’s the wrongun. You always get one wrongun in the pack. Law of nature, dammit. Most of ’em die young, of course.’
‘Luckily, my love,’ his mother said, ‘he has a family to ensure that this folly will go no further. We will set the lawyers onto it in the morning. And in the meantime, William Henry, you will stay here out of harm’s way and try to disport yourself in a proper manner.’
She speaks as though I were still a child, William thought. She doesn’t care what I think or feel about it. The injustice of it was making his stomach churn, his sense of inferiority was making him sweat, and fear of the wrath he was about to provoke was inhibiting his very breath. But he spoke up, nevertheless.
‘You do not understand me, Mother,’ he said, deliberately calm. ‘I do not have the slightest intention of divorcing my wife. We were married before the priest and according to law, and that is how I wish the matter to stand. You may see as many lawyers as you please, that is your affair, but I warn you, none of them may meddle in my marriage.’
There was a long, terrifying pause.
‘Enlighten me, my dear,’ his mother said eventually, in tones so acid it was a wonder they didn’t burn holes in her tongue. ‘Am I to understand that you refuse my offer of help?’
‘I do.’
‘That you intend to remain married to this – um – creature?’
‘She is my own dear wife.’
His mother considered this in ominous silence. Then she gave judgement. ‘If that is truly the case, and truly what y
ou wish, you must understand that it would be impossible for you to remain a member of this family.’
‘That is understood.’ He had feared it, had known he might provoke it, but it was still terrible to hear it said.
‘Your allowance would cease, as from this moment. You appreciate that? You would have no property rights, no rents, and no income, as far as I can see. The herring business would revert to your father. You would move from your present residence in South Quay. You would not be welcome here, ever again. Now, think carefully before you make reply. Is that what you wish?’
It was the moment of renunciation and they both knew it. ‘Yes,’ he said, and the word dropped like a stone into the elegant silence in the room.
‘Very well, then,’ his mother said, but she showed no emotion apart from a tightening of the lips. ‘If that is your choice, so be it.’ And she pulled the bell.
They waited in total silence until the butler came to answer her. Then her instructions were delivered with perfect sangfroid.
‘Mr William has to return to London,’ she said. ‘Kindly inform Dibkins that the gig is to be ready by the east door in twenty minutes.’
‘Goin’ back, is he?’ his father said. ‘Ah well! Can’t say I’m surprised. Joseph’s a good chap, you know.’
Chapter Five
Back in Yarmouth it was trying to snow. Half-formed fragile flakes meandered vaguely past the drawing-room windows and a dusting of white powder was drifting along the quay. Mrs Mather declared it was no weather to be walking in, and certainly most people were keeping well indoors.
Nan was surprised to discover that even though she had plenty to occupy her, with meals to order and coals to buy and clothes to sew and a trip to the market every day no matter what the weather, she still found time to miss William Henry. She’d grown so used to his presence, to his dry, wry humour and his amazing patience and his quiet conversation of an evening, that now the house seemed dull and empty without him. She wondered how long he would be away. It must have been very important business, she thought, to have made him leave home so quickly, and just before Christmas too. She’d half a mind to go and read his letter and see what is was. She knew exactly where he kept them now, for she’d seen several stored neatly away after he’d answered them, and it would be pleasant to be in his study, where she’d seen him so often writing up his accounts. It was idle curiosity, no more, and it didn’t occur to her that unexpected knowledge could be hurtful. Not that she’d have acted any differently if it had.
The key was where he always left it, suspended under the first shelf of the bureau, and the letters she unlocked were where she expected them to be too, in a neat pile, one on top of the next, with a paperweight to hold them in position. She picked up the top one and began to read, still idle and still merely curious.
‘My dear son …’ Why, ’twas from his family. How could that be business? ‘Your ever loving mother.’ Fancy! Was his mother a merchant too? She supposed it possible and read on, her curiosity stronger than ever, although she was well aware that she really shouldn’t have been looking at his private correspondence. Now perhaps she would know what his family thought of their marriage. But the words she read made her heart contract with unhappiness. ‘Rumours have reached us … so far descended into folly as to marry beneath you … you will oblige us with a visit … earliest possible convenience … bring one servant … no one else.’
She was terribly upset. She’d known all along that Mr Easter’s family wouldn’t approve of her, but she hadn’t expected their rejection to be so very hurtful. It en’t my fault I was a servant, she thought, folding the letter carefully and putting it back under the paperweight. And if he loves me they ought at least to see me afore they speak so spiteful.
Feeling miserable and young and inadequate, she wandered back into the hall. And just at that moment, by a piece of peculiar ill fortune, Mrs Clackett, the cook, began to outline her shopping plans for the day. Her voice echoed out of the kitchen, clear and bold and unavoidable, ‘We will have two shoulders of lamb, I think. I know she said rabbit, hoity-toity crittur, but there en’t no need to pay her no mind, I can tell ’ee that. She’s only a jumped-up bit of a servant when all’s said and done.’
The jumped-up bit of a servant recognized a challenge that would have to be answered no matter how down she might be feeling at the moment. If she was to be accepted as Mr Easter’s lawful wife either in this house or in that place called Ippark, then sooner or later she would have to make a stand. Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the kitchen and stood before her adversary. ‘I ordered rabbit pie, I do believe, Mrs Clackett,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘I’m sure that is what you will buy, is it not? There is no call for lamb when the master is away.’
The cook was bending over the stove stirring the stock. She gave the ladle two sharp raps against the side of the pot and turned to face her unwanted mistress, gripping the great spoon before her like a bludgeon. ‘An’ if I don’t agree,’ she said insolently, ‘what then?’
‘Why, Mr Easter would have something to say,’ Nan told her, standing her ground and horribly aware that the cook was a full head and shoulders taller than she was and twice as heavy.
‘Mr Easter is away,’ the cook said looking her mistress boldly in the eye, ‘which I daresay you’ve a-noticed, bein’ you sleeps with the man.’
The scullery maids were sniggering behind their hands. And Nan was so stung by the insult she couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘So it’s lamb is it?’ Mrs Clackett said, sensing victory.
It was an effort to fight on, but it had to be done. ‘No, Mrs Clackett, it is rabbit pie.’
‘Then you may cook it yourself,’ Mrs Clackett said throwing the ladle down on the kitchen table so violently that all the moulds lined up in the middle of it leaped into the air, ‘for I don’t intend to take orders from a chit of a girl. That I don’t.’
‘You forget who I am,’ Nan said. It was hard to keep control of herself because her heart was beating so painfully.
‘Ho no I don’t missie! I know who you are right enough. You’re ol’ Ma Howkins’ lady’s maid. Tha’s who you are. Fine clothes don’t make fine lady.’
‘I might ha’ been a lady’s maid, one time, Mrs Clackett,’ Nan said with dignity. ‘That I’ll allow. Howsomever, now I am Mrs Easter, and mistress of this house.’
The cook snorted and looked scornful.
‘And if you means to stay on in this household, Mrs Clackett, in Mr Easter’s employ,’ Nan pressed on, ‘you’d do best to remember it. I give ’ee my word when I gives an order ’tis to be obeyed, so ’tis. We need not run to the extravagance of lamb when the master is away. Rabbit, if you please.’
‘Tha’s the finish!’ Mrs Clackett said. ‘I en’t stayin’ in this house to be insulted by a lady’s maid. Tha’s that, Mrs Easter. I’m off. You may feed this precious household yourself, an’ see if you can do it any more economical, which I very much doubt.’
Nan felt the colour draining from her face. This wasn’t what she’d expected to happen at all. For a few seconds she was stilled by surprise and an uncomfortable emotion that felt far too much like fear. My heart alive, what’ve I done, she thought. I’ve lost the cook. And a good cook too, what’s more. For whatever else might be said about Mrs Clackett, she was certainly a very good cook, and good cooks were hard to come by. What’ll Mr Easter say? He’ll be so cross. How was she going to explain it to him? And she was horribly aware of how young and powerless she really was.
The scullery maids watched as Mrs Clackett stomped across to the cloakroom cupboard and snatched her coat and bonnet from the peg. The kitchen was very quiet. Everything in it seemed to be waiting for what would happen next. Nan could hear the coals shifting in the stove and the faint ‘plop plop’ of the boiling stock. Then her determination returned and she began to fight back.
‘You can’t just walk out,’ she said, chin up and face hard. ‘You got to give in notice.’
‘Watch me!’ the cook instructed, jamming on her bonnet with both hands and some fury. ‘Mr Easter’ll understand. He’ll see us right, bein’ he’s a man of honour and a gentleman. Which is a deal more than may be said for some others I could name.’
She means it, Nan thought, she’s certainly going. But she had recovered her balance and now she spoke coolly. ‘Very well. If that is what you wish, you may leave us now. We will hire another cook.’
Mrs Clackett was pulling on her mittens. She looked at the scullery maids, huddled together beside the sink. ‘Well, hasten you up,’ she said to them. ‘You’re a-comin’ too.’
‘You don’t have to do what she say,’ Nan told them. ‘You got minds of your own, en’t you?’
But they were already ducking past her towards the cupboard, snatching their cloaks, scuttling through the back door, escaping. It had taken her a mere ten minutes to lose every servant in the kitchen. Everything had got out of hand so quickly, like a floodgate breaking.
The slam of the back door was still reverberating in the empty room when Mrs Mather walked down the step from the hall, with two laundry maids struggling behind her with a heavy laundry basket. ‘Tha’s a deal of noise for a Monday mornin’,’ she said, sharp eyes rapidly understanding the state of the room.
‘Cook’s left,’ Nan told her, speaking as calmly as she could. There was no point trying to hide it. ‘You will have to hire another one.’
‘Well now, Mrs Easter,’ the housekeeper said, ‘it’s like this here. We got the copper a-boilin’, and the laundry maids hired for the day, an’ everythin’ on the go, so to speak. Do you want for me to postpone the wash? I’m sure you understand that’s what it’ll mean if I’m to go traipsing off on the hunt for servants. Takes a deal of time to hire the right kind, I can tell you.’ She spoke with perfect politeness, but her eyes were signalling a challenge that was quite as marked as Cook’s had been. The two laundry maids, sensing a pause in their endeavours, put down their heavy basket and sat on it.
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