The Madness

by Alison Rattle

  Marnie sat with her back pressed against the wall. The cool dampness of the stones spread across her shoulders like a soothing cloak. She pulled her knees to her chest and held them tightly. The wall was solid against her back; it felt like it was the only thing holding her in place. She thought if she moved too much she might float from the ground and not be able to get back. She might float higher and higher into the sky until she reached the place where the gulls glided and screeched and they might peck at her hungrily and tear her into bloody little bits. Just like they’d done to the rat-dog. Marnie had never felt so adrift and fearful. She couldn’t imagine what would happen to her when the workers arrived to fill the beach with ironworks and cranes. ‘What will I do, Pa?’ she whispered. ‘I think I might die without the sea.’

  Marnie stayed out in the backyard till the sky eventually darkened and the closeness of the night fell around her like an unwanted embrace. There was no noise coming from the cottage. Ma and Smoaker must have taken themselves to bed. No one had come to find her; no one had noticed she was missing. Like all the things left behind in the bathing machines, Marnie was lost and no one was looking for her.

  She uncurled her body from against the wall and struggled to stand. Her leg was worse, she was sure of it. Without the sea to nurse her, the old pains were returning. She felt the disease inside her waking up and stirring; like a nightmare returning to haunt her.

  It was dark inside the cottage and Ma wasn’t in their bed. Marnie heard the low murmur of her voice up in Smoaker’s room. Once, when she’d been no more than ten, Marnie had woken in the night to find Ma gone from the bed. Marnie had turned cold with fright at first, convinced that Ma had vanished the way that Pa had done. Then she’d heard voices from upstairs. She’d heard Ma’s laugh and Smoaker make a noise that sounded like he was in pain. Then she’d heard Smoaker laugh and Ma shush him with a smile in her voice. Marnie had pushed herself up the stairs on her backside, anxious to be included in whatever was going on. She’d sat outside Smoaker’s room for a while, listening to the unfamiliar sounds. They were playing a game, Marnie decided, and she wanted to join in too.

  When she’d pushed the bedchamber door open, it had creaked loudly and Marnie had found herself looking straight into Ma’s eyes. Ma had stared at her hard with a look so full of hatred that Marnie had bumped back down the stairs so fast she had bruises on her behind for days. Marnie never forgot the way Ma had looked at her, nor the glimpse she’d had of Smoaker kneeling in front of Ma with his britches round his ankles and Ma sitting on the edge of the bed with her large breasts hanging bare over the top of her bodice.

  Marnie shuddered now, at the memory. She hated Ma for doing things like that with a man who wasn’t Pa.

  Marnie sat in Ma’s chair by the kitchen fire and watched as the glow from the embers grew dimmer and dimmer. The noises from upstairs stilled and Marnie was left alone with the night.

  As she stared into the dying fire, she wondered how things had come to this. Why had it all turned to ashes? Had she been so foolish to believe that everything would always be as she wanted it? That the sea was hers for ever? That Pa would come back? That one day she would be cured and would be like everyone else? She didn’t want to let any of that go. She couldn’t let it go. She clenched her fists tight. It was all their fault, she thought. The de Clevedons. With all their money and grand plans, they didn’t give two hoots about the likes of Marnie. She hated them and what they were doing, and if she ever saw the boy Noah again, she would tell him so.

  She sat in the deepening gloom, not bothering to light a candle. In the distance, Marnie heard the sighs of the sea. It sounded as though it was missing her as much as she was missing it. It was so close, only out the door and a short walk away. It would be so easy … so easy.

  It was then that the idea struck her. Such a simple, gleaming idea that she gasped out loud at the wonder of it. She could go now. Right now. Ma and Smoaker were asleep, they would never know she’d gone. The village was in darkness; no one would see her creep down to the beach.

  Blood rushed through Marnie’s ears in a tide of excitement and she laughed to herself quietly. Not even Nep the cat saw the kitchen door close quietly behind her.

  It was exactly as she imagined. The night air still held the warmth of the day, the beach was empty and the light of the moon had turned the sea to liquid silver. Marnie stripped naked, so as not to wet her shift. She entered the sea slowly, savouring each delicious sensation. The water gripped her ankles and held tight. Then it crept up her legs and swallowed her hips. Finally, when cold tongues licked at her chest, Marnie sighed and gave herself up to the rocking motion of the waves. She swam and swam, a wild energy filling her limbs. She whooped out loud. ‘I’m back, Pa!’ she shouted into the dark horizon. It felt so good. She knew she would stay there all night if she could. She was where she belonged and would never stay away for so long again.

  13

  The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

  Clevedon. JULY 24th 1868, Friday

  The last few days have been so hot and tedious, I think I am going quite mad. I dreamed of the girl Marnie last night. I dreamed of her tousled hair and sun-kissed skin and the piercing blue of her eyes. When I woke this morning I was tangled and wrapped in my sheets and covered in an unpleasant sweat. Why I dreamed of her I do not know. I can only imagine it is the boredom and heat setting my imagination on fire.

  I felt more settled after I had Hetty draw me a cool bath and I joined Mother in the shade of the orangery for a light luncheon. I told Mother she must at least have a little fruit and cheese if she is to be strong enough to take the sea-cure again. ‘I will eat for you,’ she said. ‘You are such a comfort to me.’

  I am not sure which takes longer to pass here: the interminably hot days or the endless evenings.

  14

  Salt and Fish

  It was the last Saturday of July. Marnie was woken early by the sun pouring bright through the shutters and resting ribbons of warmth across her face. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and rolled on to her back. It was quiet in the cottage. Ma and Smoaker must still be asleep. Ma had slept in Smoaker’s room again last night and it suited Marnie just fine. She had been able to slip away once more, down to the beach, to swim her fill in the night ocean. Marnie lay still now and listened to the soft hush of morning and the distant, muffled breath of the sea. She hugged herself. She could cope with the long, hot days now she knew the sea was waiting for her after dark. She wished she could tell someone her secret. She wished she could share what she was feeling. But there was only Pa, and he wasn’t here.

  ‘You’d be proud of me, Pa,’ she said. ‘I won’t let them take the sea from me, you know. I’ve found a way. Even when the workers come to build the pier, I won’t let it stop me.’

  Marnie brushed a straw-yellow curl from her face. She was glad to feel that her hair had dried in the night. But it was still sticky and stiff with salt. She sat up and dragged her fingers through the mass of tangles. She couldn’t have Ma noticing anything and becoming suspicious.

  ‘You’d understand, wouldn’t you, Pa?’ said Marnie as she climbed from her bed and pulled on her shift and frock. ‘I know you’d understand.’

  ‘Understand what?’ Suddenly Ma was in the room and Marnie flushed.

  ‘Nothing,’ she muttered.

  ‘You keep talking to yourself like that, my girl, and you’ll end up in the madhouse.’ Ma glared at her. Marnie tossed her hair over her shoulders and caught the faint scent of salt and fish. She bent to pick up her boots, hoping that Ma wouldn’t catch the smell too.

  Instead Ma grunted at her. ‘When you’re finished dressing,’ she said,‘you can go down the village and fetch me an ounce of baccy.’ Ma plodded from the room. ‘How I ended up with one like that I’ll never know,’ Marnie heard her say.

  For such an early hour, Clevedon was as busy as Marnie had ever known it, with villagers scurrying about their business before the day got too hot, and visit
ors taking an early stroll along the esplanade before going back to their guest houses for breakfast.

  There was a queue outside Mr Tyke’s the grocer, and Marnie joined the back of it. She liked Mr Tyke’s. It was always very dark and cool inside his shop, and you could buy anything from a pin to a pound of bacon. Mr Tyke wore a long apron over his pot belly and tiny round spectacles on the end of his nose. Marnie didn’t mind Mr Tyke. He treated her like everyone else, rubbing his hands together and asking, ‘And what can I do for you?’

  He was saying this now to the girl in front of Marnie who had reached her turn at the counter. The girl was small and dressed neatly in a dark frock and a clean white apron. Marnie looked at her closely. She didn’t recognise her from the village, but she couldn’t be a visitor either. They never came into Mr Tyke’s.

  ‘A half pound of butter and five ounces of yer best tea, if you please,’ said the girl.

  Mr Tyke nodded at her. ‘Coming right up! And how’s things up at the manor, then?’

  The manor? Of course, thought Marnie. The girl must be a maid from up there. Marnie remembered the maids she’d seen on the beach the other day, with the Bath chair and the footmen.

  ‘Cook’s ’aving a fit,’ the girl was saying. ‘Master de Clevedon’s asked for pancakes for ’is breakfast and we’ve run out of butter.’

  Mr Tyke chuckled. ‘Well, I’d better wrap this up as quick as I can then. We can’t have the Master impatient for his breakfast, can we?’

  Marnie watched as Mr Tyke weighed a cut of butter and wrapped it quickly and expertly in a sheet of paper. She watched as the maid placed the package in the basket she had hanging over her arm. So the boy Noah was having pancakes for breakfast, was he? Marnie laughed out loud. The maid turned to look at her and Mr Tyke glanced up, puzzled.

  ‘Something tickled you?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Marnie. ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’

  Mr Tyke gave the maid an apologetic look and went back to weighing her tea. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘I’ll add it to the manor bill.’

  The maid turned to leave, making sure she gave Marnie a wide berth. Marnie stared after her. She was itching to follow and trip the maid with her stick. She wanted to see the butter fall from the basket and roll out of its packaging and get ruined in the dust of the lane. See if the boy got his breakfast then. But Mr Tyke was rubbing his hands together.

  ‘And what can I do for you?’ he asked.

  Later in the day, as Marnie half-heartedly swept sand from a bathing machine, she saw the footmen from the manor carrying the Bath chair on to the beach again. A knot of maids were hanging around outside Smoaker’s hut and Marnie recognised the one she’d seen in Mr Tyke’s that morning. It was a pity she hadn’t managed to spoil the butter. She would have liked the thought of Noah de Clevedon having to wait all morning for his pancakes. Without wanting to, Marnie found herself searching the beach for him. He was sure to be here if his mother was. Marnie passed her gaze quickly over the array of bonnets and parasols that seemed to cover the whole beach. She saw his hound first, sniffing its way across the shingle. Then, a few steps behind, there he was. The boy; strutting along like he owned the place.

  Marnie felt a bubble of anger rise in her throat. She swept the last of the sand from the machine up into a furious cloud, then clambered down the steps back on to the beach. Smoaker was by the hut now, fawning over Lady de Clevedon. She knew that Ma would simper over the Lady too, at least while she was dipping her. What was wrong with them? Why did they have to pretend, when Marnie knew that later, back at the cottage, Ma and Smoaker would both be ranting?

  Well, she wasn’t going to pretend, Marnie decided. She wasn’t going to act like everything was fine when it wasn’t. She wasn’t going to bow and scrape to the bleedin’ de Clevedons. Not when they’d come back and turned everyone’s lives upside down and ruined everything. Given the chance, she’d tell the boy exactly what she thought of him and his rotten family.

  He was walking towards her now. A wide smile stretched across his pale face. Marnie glared at him and gripped her broom tightly in her hand. She wished her heart wasn’t knocking so loudly in her chest.

  ‘Marnie!’ he said. ‘I hoped I might see you here.’

  ‘Why?’ said Marnie. She kept her voice hard. ‘I thought you’d have better things to do with your time than waste it on a poor dipper’s daughter.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Noah. He stopped. ‘I beg your pardon. I was only being polite.’

  ‘Well, don’t waste your breath on me,’ Marnie spat back. ‘I shan’t be being polite to you or your family!’

  Noah lowered his eyes. His hound nuzzled into his leg and growled low in its throat. ‘Hush, boy,’ said Noah. ‘She didn’t mean to be so unfriendly, I’m sure.’ He fondled the hound’s ears. ‘Perhaps we shall catch you in a better mood next time.’ He glanced quickly at Marnie before turning on his heel and walking away.

  ‘Don’t bother with a next time!’ Marnie shouted after him. But her heart wasn’t in it and her voice tailed away into the clamour of the beach. Marnie groaned. She didn’t feel like she’d thought she would. She didn’t feel glad to have spoken to him like that. Part of her had wanted to talk to him properly. Part of her had wanted him to smile at her again.

  Marnie kicked angrily at the shingle. She wished the boy wasn’t a de Clevedon. She wished she didn’t have to hate him. She wished she could just have a friend.

  15

  The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

  Clevedon. JULY 25th 1868, Saturday

  What a dreadful day. It did not begin well. I passed a restless night, plagued by dreams of the girl Marnie again. They were pleasant enough dreams. But that is the problem. Should my thoughts be taken up by this girl? Should my thoughts not be of dear Cissie back in London? As a consequence, I woke tired and confused and more world-weary than ever.

  Then I had a fancy for pancakes at breakfast, which did not arrive until almost mid-morning, by which time my fancy had evaporated and it was time to go with Mother to the beach for her to take the sea-cure.

  As I suspected, and secretly hoped, I saw Marnie working by the bathing machines. She looked as beautiful as in my dreams and I went over to greet her. It seems she has taken against me, though, and was exceedingly rude. I was, I admit, shocked that she would speak to someone of my station in such a way, but to my shame it has only made me more determined to speak to her again.

  As a final insult to this doomed day, Mother did not take well to her dipping. It did not revive her senses. Indeed, it seems she has taken leave of her senses and had to be taken back to the manor and put to bed at once. I would seek out a local doctor, but Mother will not entertain the idea. So I have had to send word to Doctor Russell instead.

  And so this day cannot end quickly enough for me. The sun has eventually crept to bed and it is a relief to feel a small breeze come through my chamber window. I will stop my ramblings now and hope for a peaceful night.

  16

  Like an Empty Pocket

  Things were not good between Ma and Smoaker. Marnie could tell by the way Ma thumped Smoaker’s bowl down in front of him at supper time. She could tell from the thin silence that quivered in the air, just waiting to be broken. She could tell from the bitter whispers that passed between Smoaker and Ma, after Marnie had taken herself to bed and blown out her candle. Most of all, Marnie knew things were not good when Ma stopped going to Smoaker’s bed. Ma’s hot, heavy form lying next to her at night disturbed Marnie’s sleep and tainted her night excursions to the sea with a maddening danger.

  Marnie knew it was all to do with the pier, of course. She knew Ma was scared and didn’t know what to do. She’d only ever known being a dipper. While the pier was being built there would be no bathing and no money to be earned. Ma seemed to blame everyone for the pier; she blamed Smoaker, she blamed the de Clevedons and she blamed Marnie.

  Marnie hated it in the cottage. Nothing was certain any more and nothi
ng was fixed. Only the sea was always there. When she was floating on its surface she could forget Ma’s moods and the dark worry that creased Smoaker’s brow. She could forget the black shadow of the coming pier that filled her dreams. She could forget how her life had been turned inside out like an empty pocket. When it was just her and the sea, she could let her thoughts wander where they liked. She could talk to Pa with no one to hear and she could let her hopes for his return rise up high on the crest of every wave.

  But it wasn’t so easy to get away at night now. Only when Ma had supped heavily on beer and was a dead weight beside her could Marnie chance leaving the cottage.

  It was worth every flip of her heart though, and every creak of the floorboards and doors for Marnie to feel the wet shingle on her bare toes and the first lap of the sea on her ankles.

  She’d tied her hair high on her head tonight. It was easy to dry bare skin but she couldn’t risk Ma questioning her over sea-soaked hair.

  It was a good, calm night. A cloudless sky patterned with stars stretched like a silk cloak overhead as Marnie paddled lazily on her back. ‘It’ll be all right, won’t it, Pa?’ she said. ‘As long as I have you and the sea, nothing can be too bad, can it?’ She imagined that no matter how far away Pa was, her voice had travelled in the breeze and reached Pa’s ears, so that at this very moment he had turned his sails towards her.

  Marnie thought of the boy again and how she’d spoken to him the day before. She had wanted him to feel bad. She had wanted him to know that just because he was the son of Sir John de Clevedon, she wasn’t going to bow and scrape to him like everyone else. She should have felt smug that she’d been so rude. But she didn’t. Instead she felt a strange regret gnawing at her insides. ‘I did right, Pa, didn’t I?’ she said, as she tried not to think of the hurt look in Noah de Clevedon’s eyes. ‘He got what he deserved, didn’t he, Pa?’