Today was our final day in Clevedon. The weather was crisp and clear with the last golden leaves of the season still clinging to their branches. Mother fancied taking the air, so we took the carriage down to the village (the footmen following behind with Mother’s Bath chair). Clarissa and I took turns in pushing Mother along the esplanade. It is the first time Mother has seen the pier works, so we stood awhile and watched the swarm of workers go about their business. The harsh ring of iron on iron and the constant hiss of the steam-crane soon gave Mother one of her heads, but not before she had fully admired the magnificent spectacle.
I was glad not to come across Marnie during the outing. It was awkward last night on the beach. When I told her of our impending departure she seemed quite distressed. I do hope she hasn’t developed feelings for me, poor girl. Maybe I have been unkind and foolish in encouraging our friendship to such a degree. But she seemed as willing as I, and surely she knows that a friendship between someone of her class and someone of mine can only ever be fleeting? Still, I feel quite wistful for our time together. I will never know another like her, I am certain.
But what is done is done. I was as gentle as I could be. I can only wish her well and remember her fondly. She will have forgotten all about me by Easter, I am sure.
But to now. My trunk is packed. One more night in this bed, then to London tomorrow. I am giddy with excitement.
43
The Handkerchief
Tuesday morning dawned grey and cold. Marnie lay in bed with Ma snoring noisily beside her. There was only one thought in her head. Noah was leaving today.
Marnie was numb with the shock of it. All day yesterday Ma had kept asking, ‘You ailing, girl?’
‘What do you care?’ Marnie had replied as she folded newly pressed shirts into piles on the kitchen table.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Ma. ‘But don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t been right since Eldon left. You’re pining, if you ask me.’
Marnie ignored her. There was no point in telling her otherwise. Ma could believe what she wanted.
All night Marnie had lain awake. Going over and over in her head the last minutes with Noah. He’d kissed her, at least. She held on to that, closing her eyes and reliving the touch of his lips on hers. She hadn’t slept a wink. But she knew what to do now. She was going to the manor to see him before he left for London. She had to tell him about the baby. And she had to tell him how much she loved him.
Ma barely stirred. But Marnie wouldn’t have cared if she had. Nothing was going to stop her seeing Noah.
Outside, the early-morning sky hung low and damp. The workers on the beach were already up. Smoke and steam mingled with the sea mist and the clanking of tools echoed across the esplanade. Marnie passed by it all, her eyes fixed on the road up to the manor. She felt strong that morning, and she pushed herself along on her stick with ease. All the way up the road she pictured Noah’s face; the shock, the surprise and hopefully the pleasure when she told him she thought she was with child. ‘And don’t you forget, Pa,’ she said. ‘You’ll be a grandpa too!’
Up ahead there was a distant rumble. Then the unmistakeable sound of hooves on stone and the creaking of leather on wood. Marnie heard the horses snorting before they rounded the corner. Then with a rush of dust and air and heat she was thrown into the hedge as four black horses and a carriage thundered past.
By the time she’d pulled herself back to standing, the carriage was a smudge of gold in the distance. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘Noah! Noah!’ She shouted his name over and over. Was it too late? Had she missed him?
It couldn’t be.
Not caring about the mud on her frock and the pieces of twig and dried leaves in her hair, Marnie hurried on up to the manor. By the time she reached the long driveway, her face was sticky with sweat and her lungs ached. She leaned against the iron gates and tried to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and let the hammering of her heart slow to a steady beat.
‘You’re the girl from the village, aren’t you?’ The voice came from behind. Marnie opened her eyes and turned her head to see the maid, Hetty, walking towards her with her basket over her arm. ‘You’ve been begging here before. I remember you from the kitchen. With Master Noah.’ She looked Marnie up and down, challenging her with her eyes.
‘I wasn’t begging,’ said Marnie. ‘Me and Noah … we’re … me and Noah are friends.’
Hetty snorted. ‘I’ve heard about you,’ she said. ‘They say down in the village you’re a bit queer in the head. Always talking to yourself. You let a boy drown too, didn’t you?’
‘That’s what they think,’ said Marnie. ‘But I don’t care what anyone thinks.’
‘So did you?’ asked Hetty, her eyes growing wide. ‘Did you drown him?’
‘No,’ said Marnie. ‘But you can think what you like too.’
Hetty stiffened and set her shoulders. ‘Well, you’d best get away from here anyhow. You’re trespassing, you know.’
‘I’m not trespassing. I’m visiting,’ said Marnie. ‘I’ve come to see Noah.’
‘Thought you said you were friends with him?’ Hetty cocked her head, a glint in her eye.
‘We are,’ said Marnie.
‘Not very good friends, if you ask me. If he didn’t tell you he was going to London.’
‘He did tell me. I know he’s going to London with Lady de Clevedon. And I know they’re coming back at Easter. I just hoped … I just hoped to catch him before he left.’
Hetty raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Well, everyone knows that,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t mean you’re friends. And in any case, you’re too late.’
Marnie groaned and closed her eyes again. A crushing disappointment made her sink to the ground. What was she going to do now?
‘You can’t stay there,’ said Hetty. ‘What’s the matter with you? Get up! Mr Todd’ll have your guts for garters.’
It was so unfair. Marnie thumped her fists on the ground. If only she’d come a bit earlier. Just five more minutes and she would have been in time. Now Noah would be in London for all those months without knowing how much she loved him and without knowing about the baby inside her.
‘Get up!’ Hetty was saying. ‘I’m going to fetch Mr Todd if you don’t get up now!’
Marnie looked up at her. ‘Mr Todd? The butler? He’s an old man, isn’t he? Noah told me all about him. Calls him the Toad, doesn’t he? Fetch him if you like.’
Shock flickered across Hetty’s face. ‘How … how do you know all that?’
‘I told you,’ Marnie said, pushing herself to standing. ‘Me and Noah are friends. More than friends.’
Hetty’s mouth gaped, like a fish on a slab.
Marnie looked at her hard. ‘I’m telling the truth, you know. But you can believe what you like.’ She turned and limped slowly out of the gateway.
‘Don’t come back,’ Hetty shouted after her. There’s a few of us staying on here till Easter, to keep the place going. So don’t think you can sneak back!’
Marnie didn’t answer. She was picturing Noah on the road, swaying from side to side in the carriage. Being pulled through the day and night by flagging horses. She had no idea how long it took to get to London. When he got there would he sit down to dinner with Sir John de Clevedon and his fancy friends? Would he go to the theatre, perhaps?
Would he be thinking of her? Would he be missing her? Would his heart be hurting as much as hers was now?
Later that evening, with the day’s work done, Marnie lay on her bed and let the stillness of the hour settle around her. She listened out for the rhythmic whisper of the sea. The sound that had kept her safe her whole life, the sound she had always drifted to sleep to. But tonight sleep wouldn’t come.
A murmur of voices drifted down from the upstairs bedchamber. Marnie listened half-heartedly, not caring what was being said. The voices rumbled on and Marnie let the sound lull her to another place; to a summer day when the waves were rolling gently on to the beach and she and Noah were sitti
ng on the shingle watching a green fishing boat catch the breeze in its white sails. ‘There’s me pa,’ said Marnie excitedly, pointing at the yellow-bearded fisherman who was waving at them from the boat. Noah took her hand and squeezed it tight. Seagulls were wheeling overhead, shouting and screeching in delight.
Then the shouts from upstairs grew louder and Smoaker’s voice came strong and clear and pushed the images from Marnie’s head.
‘I’ve been shamed!’ he shouted. ‘I’m a laughing stock on that pier. Word is we’re running a whorehouse here!’
‘Well, I hope you put them straight!’ Ma’s shrill voice pierced through the thin ceiling. ‘She wouldn’t know what to do with a man if a knife was put to her throat!’
‘That man has set tongues wagging,’ bawled Smoaker. ‘I’m telling you. And the girl is naught but trouble! I’ve had enough of it. I’m warning you, you’d best see to it that you keep a close eye on her from now on!’
Ma mumbled something back that Marnie couldn’t quite catch. A door slammed and Marnie heard the unmistakeable thudding of Ma coming down the stairs. ‘Shift over,’ she ordered as she strode into the bedchamber. Marnie slid over to the other side of the bed, leaving behind the warm spot she had made. Ma climbed in, grumbling and fidgeting until she’d got herself comfy.
‘What’s going on?’ Marnie whispered.
‘You might well ask,’ said Ma. ‘We’ve lost Eldon and his money and now he’s spreading gossip. Smoaker’s off his head with fury and you … ? Well, you’ve gone and got yourself a whole new livelihood as a whore. So it seems!’ Ma huffed and turned on her side with her back to Marnie.
‘You know it’s not true, don’t you, Ma?’ protested Marnie.
Ma had taken most of the blanket with her and when she shrugged her reply, the last corner slipped off Marnie’s legs. ‘Don’t stop Smoaker from having to deal with all the talk though, does it?’ she said.
‘But I’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘Maybe so,’ said Ma. ‘But it don’t make life any easier for us. You do nothing but bring trouble to our door, Marnie Gunn.’
‘But Ma … !’
‘But nothing!’ snapped Ma. ‘Go to sleep.’
Marnie opened her mouth to speak. Then shut it again. What was the point? She didn’t care what they all thought. She was glad Eldon had gone. He could get washed off the pier and drowned out to sea for all she cared. She only wanted to get through the next months as swiftly as possible. She would keep busy: washing soiled linen till her hands were raw, she would press it smooth till the muscles in her arms ached and she would keep quiet. She would go about her work without a fuss and the rest of the world could do as it liked. She pulled at the blanket and secured the edge of it from Ma’s fast-fading grip. Ma’s breathing rattled its way into sleep and Marnie lay still, waiting for the heat of Ma’s bulk to creep its way over to her side of the bed.
The following morning, on her way to the water pump, Marnie stopped in the backyard and moved the old firebrick that hid her lost treasures. She picked them up, one by one, and turned them over in her hand: a scrap of scarlet ribbon, a broken comb, a mother-of-pearl button and a torn lace handkerchief. They were useless things really. Lost things and no good to anyone any more. Marnie gathered them all in her hands and in one swift movement she flung them over the back wall into the scrub and tangle of grass and weeds. She didn’t need them now. She had something to replace them with. Something much better. From the pocket of her frock she took out the handkerchief that Noah had tied around her knee. She’d washed the blood off, after dabbing at it first with milk, then she’d pressed it carefully, folded it and hidden it in her pocket. She looked at it now, and spread it out across her hand. It was made of the finest cotton and Noah’s initials were embroidered in one corner. She brought it to her mouth and kissed the letters gently before hiding it away under the brick.
She could wait for him. She knew that now. She had no choice. But at least she had a piece of him. With the handkerchief and the baby in her belly, she had real treasures to look after now.
44
A Bone Hairbrush
Marnie was used to her monthly courses. They had been coming since she was thirteen. So she wasn’t surprised at first when, a week after Noah’s departure, she started to bleed. She tore up some rags as usual, to pad herself with, and began to sort through the pile of dirty linen Ma had dumped on the kitchen table.
Marnie was thinking of Noah, as she did every minute of every day. She was thinking of the odd colours of his eyes, the pale mole under his eyebrow, the set of his shoulders, the white of his skin, the birthmark on his hip and the clean, soft brown of his hair. But try as she might she couldn’t picture the whole of him at once. She envied those lovers, the gentry mostly, who kept miniature portraits of their loved ones in silver lockets around their necks.
Her lower belly ached, as it always did on the first day of her courses. She rubbed at it with her hand. Then a terrible thought struck her and she let the shirt she was holding drop on to the kitchen floor. What if her bleeding meant there wasn’t a baby? What if this was the baby’s blood now, creeping out of her so slowly? She wasn’t sure how it all worked and there was no one she could ask.
‘Marnie!’ Ma yelled at her. ‘Stop daydreaming, girl, and get on with sorting that washing.’
Marnie looked across at Ma, huffing and puffing over the dolly-tub. She couldn’t ask her, that was for sure. Ma would think she was imagining being with child and would have her in the madhouse for certain.
She would just wait, Marnie decided. She was getting good at that. Soon her belly would start growing and the truth of it would be there for all the world to see.
When Ma had finished with her for the day, Marnie wandered up the road to the manor and stood outside the iron gates. It made her feel closer to Noah somehow and made her feel special to know she’d been inside, that she’d been invited inside the grandest house for miles around. If truth be told, she was also checking that Noah hadn’t unexpectedly returned. But the upstairs windows were shuttered, the driveway was thick with unswept leaves and, though the maid Hetty had said a few servants would be staying on at the manor, the whole place had a look of sleep about it. Marnie wanted to knock at the door and ask for Hetty. What if she had news of Noah? Even if not, she was someone Marnie could talk to about him. She knew Noah’s habits; she cleaned his bedchamber, served his meals, even washed his soiled linen. Being close to Hetty would be a way of keeping close to Noah.
Marnie walked up the driveway, expecting any minute for someone to appear and warn her off. But except for the crunch of leaves under her feet and the dull tap of her stick, there was silence. She walked by the Grand door and a shiver ran through her. Once Noah was back and she told him about the baby, he’d be sure to marry her as soon as possible. Then she’d belong here. She’d use the Grand door like a proper lady and everyone down in the village would treat her like she deserved to be treated. There’s be no more taunts, no more whispers, no more running away from her. She’d be proud then to walk through the village any time she liked. And Pa would be sure to come back too. He would never want to miss her wedding.
There was still not a soul to be seen as Marnie walked around the side of the manor to the servants’ door. If she didn’t know better she would swear the whole place was empty. But as she reached the door, she saw it was half open. She stopped. Should she knock? Would Hetty be kind to her? Or would she throw her off the grounds like she’d threatened to do the last time?
The open door was tempting. Marnie pushed at it gently and it swung full open without a squeak. She recognised the passageway inside. The screens passage, Noah had called it. It was as dark inside as it had been the first night Noah had brought her here. Only the light from the open door crept across the threshold. Marnie stepped inside. She listened carefully. There were voices, she was sure of it. But they sounded a long way off. She inched forwards.
She walked past doors on both sides of the
passage. There was the one to the Great Hall, she was sure of it. And there was the door to the kitchen. The voices sounded louder now. If it was Hetty and some of the other servants, they were there in the kitchen. No doubt enjoying the freedom while their masters were away. Marnie walked quickly by. Hetty could wait. She had something else in mind now.
When she reached the end of the passage, there was another door. She carefully opened it and peeped inside. It was the hallway, with the great sweeping staircase that she and Noah had slid down. Marnie smiled at the memory. It was quiet and hushed with only the sound of her shallow breaths moving the air around her. Marnie began to climb the stairs, remembering the softness of the carpet as her stick sank into each step. Up she went, marvelling again at the richness of the paper on the walls and the faces of Noah’s relatives peering out at her from their heavy frames. It was hard to believe they would soon be her people too. Maybe one day a painting of her would be on these walls. Smiling down for all the world to see.
Marnie reached the landing and stood awhile to ease the ache in her leg and to listen for any sign of movement. There was nothing. Her body relaxed. She felt safe up here, with the servants away far below. She just had to find Noah’s bedchamber now.
There were doors stretching away down the corridor on either side of the staircase. Marnie wasn’t sure which way to try first. Left or right? Left or right? After a moment’s hesitation, she let her good leg lead the way and turned to her left. The first door whined as she opened it, the sound loud in the still of the corridor. Marnie held her breath. She let it out again. No one had heard. She stepped inside the room and narrowed her eyes to see through the gloom. Large shapes were covered by sheets and there was the heavy scent of roses in the air. Marnie knew at once it couldn’t be Noah’s room. It didn’t smell like him. But just to be sure, she moved across the room to where a heavy pair of curtains were drawn tight over the windows. She stepped behind them and saw at once that this room looked out over the back of the manor. Over a sweeping lawn and flower beds and a wooded copse at the top. With a sigh she realised she’d chosen the wrong direction down the corridor.
The Madness Page 14