Tuppenny Times

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘Now for the masque,’ Billy said. ‘Come on Annie, race you to the tent.’

  In Europe, the brand-new nineteenth century began with fireworks of another kind, which were a considerable shock to the inhabitants of London. Napoleon Bonaparte, having contrived to be elected one of three consuls back in November had now, somehow or other, inched his two fellow consuls out of office, and been declared the one and only, undisputed leader of the French. It was very bad news indeed and very good for trade, but it cast a gloom over Mr Walter’s customary New Year party.

  ‘’Tis a portent,’ that gentleman said. ‘He will do as he pleases now, Heaven help us all!’

  ‘He has always done that, Father,’ his son John said calmly, helping himself to the port.

  ‘Howsomever that may be, now there is no power to prevent him,’ Mr Thrale worried. He had been a brewer for so many years now that he could hardly remember the days when he had simply been a newsman, but he still came to Mr Walter’s annual supper party, for old time’s sake.

  They were a very select company indeed these days, their numbers diminished to a paltry six, the two Walters, Nan, Mr Jasperson, the publisher, Mr Thrale and old Mr Vernon, whose tenacious hold on the Bedford Estate walk was all that stood between Nan and total control of all the newspaper sales in London.

  ‘Ah,’ Mr Vernon mourned, ‘I had hoped that this new century would bring some changes for us. But no. Mr Bonaparte pursues his ambition without surcease. ’Tis a wicked world. You may take my word for it, mankind has more to fear from an ambitious man – or an ambitious woman – yes, indeed, or a woman – than it has from many an acknowledged sinner.’

  ‘As to that, Mr Vernon,’ Nan said, stung by his sly reference to ambitious women, ‘’tis folly to imagine that the calendar will change matters. If you want things to change, sir, you must change ’em yourself.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ John Walter said.

  And as he spoke, Nan knew that she had solved her own problem. If she wanted to see the handsome lieutenant again she would have to do something about it herself. ‘I intend to make changes,’ she told the company. ‘’Tis high time I extended my trade to the provinces. There en’t a deal more for me to do in London, you’ll allow.’

  ‘What shall you do?’ Mr Walter asked, pleased that she was lifting them from their gloom.

  ‘I shall open more reading-rooms.’

  ‘Where do you have in mind?’ John Walter said.

  ‘Weymouth,’ she said casually. ‘With the King and his family in residence there all through the summer, there should be plenty of trade.’

  ‘’Twould be uncommon costly,’ Mr Vernon said sourly. ‘A risky undertaking, I should say.’

  ‘Save your warning, Mr Vernon,’ John Walter said. ‘Mrs Easter thrives on risky undertakings.’

  ‘I shall go there in May,’ she said, ‘and see what may be done.’

  The week before her journey, she went to see Mr Tewson in Lothbury. ‘I intend to travel to Weymouth,’ she told him, ‘to open a reading-room. There should be plenty of trade with the King and his family in residence.’

  Mr Tewson thought it a capital idea and gave her the address of the nearest Tewson’s banking-house, in Dorchester. ‘You will pass through the town of your journey,’ he said. ‘’Tis but a short ride from Weymouth and a busy town, I’m told. You might well find trade there too.’

  ‘I might at that,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Oh there is no knowing what I might accomplish now I’ve started.’

  She was glowing with excitement, as the banker observed. What an extraordinary woman, he thought, to be so carried away by the thought of extending her trade. The feminine temperament, indubitably. A man would take matters more calmly.

  It was a very long journey and a very dirty one, for the roads were thick with dust so that they trundled along inside their own choking cloud, and neither of the inns at which they stayed overnight were more than indifferently cleaned. At Basingstoke the supper was cold and at Salisbury it was unappetizing, but, luckily for the cooks, Nan was too excited by now to do more than pick at her food.

  On the afternoon of the third day, she arrived in Dorchester, where it was market day and the streets had been so well watered and so well trodden by bewildered sheep and cattle that they were squelchy with mud. But Weymouth was a mere seven miles away and the sun was shining. She hired a horse and cart, agreed a price after some determined haggling, and set off to find her love.

  Because he was her love. She had to admit it. She dreamed of him every night, of lying in his arms, of being kissed, held, caressed – ah, such dreams! And she was jealous of Sophie, who had been her kindest friend for so many years. If I see him again, she thought, and ’tis plain he has no interest in me, then I must needs forget him. But if I see him again and he is glad of it, why then, who knows how things may fadge?

  It was pleasant sitting out in the open air in the little, creaking cart as the dappled mare went ambling through the hilly countryside towards the sea. The afternoon sun was quite warm on her cheek and the air was wondrously fresh. She’d been working in the smoke of London for such a long time she’d forgotten how sweet-tasting fresh air could be. Oh, there was no doubt now that her life was changing, and changing for the better.

  And how elegant and delightful Weymouth was. Her first view of it as they reached the top of the last hill was a charming revelation. There it lay below her, a small fishing town huddled about a low harbour wall in a muddle of tiled roofs, and crowded waterways, masts, spars and rigging, and a little to the left, a fine curved bay, an ancient crescent of blue sea and light brown sand, faced by a modern crescent of fine houses, and all contained by the green and lilac folds of the low hills, which curved round the bay like a protective arm and ended in a dramatic white headland well out to sea. The sight of it lifted her spirits even further. It was such a splendidly compact place. Oh, she would find him here, there was no doubt of it.

  The carter set her down beside the harbour wall with the huddle of the old town behind her and the fine prospect of that crescent-shaped bay before her.

  It was the most enticing prospect she’d ever seen and the mildest sea, blue as the sky above it, shimmering in the sunlight and so calm that its waves were no more than ruffles of foam dissolving at the water’s edge. There were several elegant people taking a promenade on the pale sands, or strolling along the pebbled path beside the new houses, and quite a few horsemen, quietly ambling, although they were too far away for her to see their faces. Yet. But there was an ease and gentleness about the place. It was a marked contrast to the rush she was used to in London. A compact place, she thought, a calm place, an orderly place, a place where she could find whatever she wanted.

  ‘Tha’s the ol’ king’s house yonder,’ the carter volunteered, pointing to a very ordinary red-brick villa which stood a little apart from the others in its own green gardens. ‘A comes tonight, so they do say.’

  ‘I could find lodgings in those terraces?’ she asked.

  ‘Bound to, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Bein’ they’m all bran’ new.’

  It was a little more difficult than she’d imagined, for the terraces were already full of visitors, but eventually she found two rooms in a new lodging-house on the northern end of the promenade, not far away from a huge, rather forbidding building that her landlady said was the Burdon barracks. Then she set off to find the offices of the local paper, which the landlady also knew about. ‘’Tis called the Sherbourne and Dorchester Gazette. Printed in Dorchester, I do believe, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Mr Elsworthy is the agent hereabouts.’

  Mr Elsworthy was very surprised by her visit, but he agreed that opening a reading-room would be a very good idea. ‘I wonder they en’t done such a thing before,’ he said.

  ‘Possibly because they didn’t think of it,’ she told him happily. ‘And I did. Now, Mr Elsworthy, I shall need to advertise for an assistant to run this room.’

  ‘My cousin …’ he offered, tentatively.r />
  The cousin, who was sent for immediately, turned out to be another rather younger Elsworthy with a weather-beaten face and hair exactly the same colour as the sand. She explained his duties to him, pointing out that all monies would be paid into Tewson’s bank in Dorchester, and that his wage, which the bank would be empowered to pay him weekly, would rise and fall according to the number of subscribers he could obtain.

  He considered this stolidly before agreeing to her terms, with an open smile that she found very encouraging. And then it was merely a matter of finding the right room for her trade.

  ‘Well now, Mrs Easter, ma’am,’ the younger Mr Elsworthy said, ‘as to that, there’s a fine chamber vacant this very minute in Charlotte Row just above Thomas’s lending library.’

  It was the easiest business she’d ever transacted. Within an hour, she was strolling back along the promenade towards her rooms and the only thing left for her to do was to inform the bank and write to Thiss to order the papers.

  Down on the sands a string of amiable-looking horses was taking exercise. Or was it exercise? She stopped to watch as the first three plodded to a halt and their riders dismounted. Then as two young ladies came hesitantly forward to replace them, purse in hand, she realized that this was a seaside riding school, and the realization gave her an idea. For the first time in years she had time and money to spend entirely on herself. I shall learn to ride, she thought, why not? ’Tis just the time for it. And she went striding off across the shingle, straight-backed and determined.

  The riding instructor chose a gentle gelding for her and helped her to mount and told her how to arrange her long legs within a side saddle that he swore was ‘uncommon comfortable once you’re accustomed’ but which she found uncommon awkward. And then the string set off again, with a little breeze blowing off the sea to flick the ribbons of her bonnet into a tangle.

  She was surprised by how far away the ground seemed, but the rocking rhythm of the gelding’s steady amble was pleasant enough in all conscience and although her spine was rather stressed and her legs felt useless swung to one side like that, she was pleased to be keeping her balance. And then the gelding suddenly pricked up his ears and began to trot, which she wasn’t expecting at all. The change of rhythm was so unexpected she couldn’t adapt to it, but she was too proud to call for help. She clung to the reins, trying to pull the poor beast back, but he snorted disdainfully and seemed to be picking up more speed.

  Then everything happened at once. She could hear the instructor thundering along the sand behind her, calling ‘Hold on, ma’am!’, and the gelding made an abrupt turn, took two steps backwards and broke into a gallop, and Nan lost her balance, clawed at the tumbling mane, struggled to disentangle her legs and finally slid from the saddle to land ignominiously on her back on the damp sand. The gelding jumped neatly across her body and headed for the sea.

  She was very annoyed.

  ‘Are you hurt, ma’am?’ the instructor said anxiously, as she sat up and dusted the sand from her skirts with quick, cross hands.

  ‘I tell you what,’ she said scowling at him, ‘that’s an uncommon foolish way for anyone to ride, man or woman, with your legs a-going one way and your spine another. You fetch me a horse with a proper saddle and I warrant I shan’t fall.’

  ‘A gentleman’s saddle do ye mean, ma’am?’ he said, plainly shocked at the suggestion.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said briskly. ‘Hasten you up, do. A proper saddle if you please.’

  She was so firm about it, he did as he was told, although he grumbled about it all the time, saying it wasn’t at all the style, especially with the King coming an’ all, and he didn’t know what the world was coming to, that he didn’t.

  But she took no notice of him. When she couldn’t sit astride her new mount because her skirt impeded her, she simply lifted it up until it was above her knees. When her bonnet blocked her vision, she simply took it off and threw it on the sand. Then with her new horse held firmly between her thighs, she kicked him into motion with her heels the way Thiss always did, and off she went.

  It was a marvellous improvement. This time she really felt she could control the animal, using her knees and her heels as well as her hands. This time she could share the rhythm of the ride. She was so happily engrossed, she didn’t notice the other horseman until he was trotting beside her, and the movement of his body bowing towards her caught her attention. And she looked across, straight into the smile of the handsome lieutenant. Even though it was the very thing she’d come to Weymouth for, it was so sudden and unexpected it made her heart leap as though it was trying to jump into her throat.

  ‘Why, Mistress Easter,’ he said, ‘what brings you to Weymouth?’

  Surprise and excitement and gratification, all at once, shaking her, but she kept her balance and managed to answer him calmly enough. ‘I have business here,’ she said, rescued by pride and the need to concentrate. ‘In three days there will be a reading-room in this place, and ’twill be all my doing.’

  ‘Ah!’ he said, smiling at her, ‘I see how it is. London is grown too small to contain your energy.’ He could have said ambition, but he thought better of it. ‘I wish you well in your endeavours. And in the meantime, you ride I see.’

  ‘I learn, sir.’

  ‘And deuced well.’

  Has he been watching me? she wondered. Did he see me fall? And she felt herself blushing at the thought and rushed to change the subject. ‘You have a fine horse, sir.’

  He noticed the blush as he’d noticed the fall, and her quick recovery and the spirited ride that followed. ‘The best,’ he said. ‘Ain’t you, Jericho?’ And he leaned forward to address the words straight at the animal’s head.

  She was touched by the pride and affection in his voice. If this was the attention he gave his horse, how well he would treat a woman!

  ‘Stay there!’ he ordered abruptly. ‘I will put him through his paces and you shall see how fine he is.’ And he turned the horse’s head and cantered off along the beach, scattering strollers to right and left.

  She reined in her own horse and watched as Jericho turned and wheeled, side-stepping as deftly as any dancer, dropped to his knees without any warning, and finally galloped at full tilt towards her, coming to such an abrupt halt that he reared up on his hind legs pawing the air. It was a breath-taking display and she admired the horse almost as much as she admired the rider.

  ‘Well, what think ’ee?’ the lieutenant said. ‘Ain’t he the best?’ His skin was glowing with exertion and he looked more handsome than ever.

  ‘Magnificent,’ Nan said, and found she had another question she could ask. ‘Are you stationed nearby?’

  ‘At the Burdon.’

  Oh, what good fortune! Hadn’t she hoped he would be there? Quick, quick, think of something witty to say that will keep him talking. But her mind was still spinning with the sheer joy of seeing him again, of being so close she could have put out her hand and touched him, just as she was touching the warm flesh of her horse’s neck. The thought made her shiver and she gazed at Jericho’s nose to calm herself again.

  He was watching her, thoughtfully, and her instincts knew it and the knowledge encouraged her. She sat quite still, caressing that velvety neck, listening to the suction of hooves on sand and a seagull mewing above their heads, and for the first time in her life, she was waiting for somebody else to make the first move.

  And he watched her. A mettlesome woman, he was thinking, and pretty enough. A good bosom and clean breath. She might be worth the conquest. That fire of hers could presage passion even if she wasn’t an heiress. And who else was there in this benighted town? A few days dalliance with a new love was just what he needed, in all conscience. ‘Do you have good lodgings?’ he asked.

  ‘I am assured so,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘I have taken rooms in the new Royal Terrace. I cannot answer for the food, but the place is clean and the landlady seems obliging.’

  ‘Which is more than may be sa
id for most hereabouts,’ he told her. ‘An uncommon tricky breed, landladies, and prone to add extras if you so much as blink.’ And he gave a mocking imitation. ‘But my dear Lieutenant, you had a plate on which to eat your breakfast. Plates is extra, my dear Lieutenant.’

  ‘I should break it over her head if she tried such tricks with me,’ Nan said.

  ‘Aye,’ he laughed, ‘I believe you would.’ That fierce face was really quite attractive. Dammit, he thought, making up his mind. ’Twould be a game worth the candle. ‘I have a pair of tickets for tonight’s ball at the Assembly Rooms,’ he offered. He hadn’t, but he felt pretty sure he could get them. ‘I should be honoured were you to agree to be my guest.’

  ‘I call that uncommon civil,’ she said, as the blood rushed into her throat, ‘but if I accept your invitation, sir, you must agree to dine with me tomorrow.’

  ‘An admirable arrangement, thank ’ee kindly,’ he said, this time approving the blush. ‘I will call for ’ee tonight at eight of the clock.’

  ‘At eight ’tshall be.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ he said as he rode away.

  But not half as eagerly as she did. There were so many preparations to make, to say nothing of a supper to eat, as well as she could. What a blessing she’d brought that low-necked gown. ’Twas just the thing for a ball and it showed her bosom to advantage. But what should she wear with it, and how should she dress her hair? Oh, if only I were a beauty, she thought, studying her dark face in the honest glass of the dressing-table mirror.

  But it was no use, she was dark of eye and heavy of feature, no matter how she arranged her curls. He will not love me, she thought. Not after Sophie Fuseli. I do not compare. And she was cast down by the sight of her inadequacies, and wished she’d had the sense to buy rouge and orris powder to enhance her colouring.

  But it was too late, he was knocking at the door.