The Madness

by Alison Rattle

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ A flush of pink is creeping up Noah’s neck from under his starched white collar.

  ‘Noah! Have you got lost?’ a voice shouts in the distance. Prince barks excitedly and bounds off back to the gardens.

  Noah stuffs his handkerchief back in his vest pocket and bends to pick up the ball. ‘I want you to go now, Marnie,’ he says stiffly. ‘You have no business being here. Go now. Before you get thrown out for trespassing.’

  ‘But Noah!’ I reach me hand out to him again, but he’s turned and is heading away from me. ‘Noah!’ I urge. I manage to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs me off and as he walks away his handkerchief falls at me feet.

  ‘Just go!’ he pleads.

  And then he’s gone. I hear a babble of voices and Prince barking and I’m ready to go after him, to show me face in front of all the others. But instead I bend down and pick up Noah’s handkerchief. Did he mean to drop it there for me? To give me something else of his while we can’t be together? This handkerchief is made of the finest silk. I smooth it in me hands, then I lift it to me nose and breathe in Noah’s scent. I’ve never smelled anything like it before. It’s sweeter than Miss Cranston’s on baking day or wet grass on a spring morning. It smells fresher than a stack of clean linen or a spray of sea foam. It’s better than all the good things I’ve ever smelled in me whole life, all mixed up together. I fold it carefully and tuck it in me apron pocket. ‘Thank you, Noah,’ I whisper.

  I make me way back down the road to the village. I feel lighter now and contented. It’ll take some time, but at least I know what’s wrong now. We’ll make it right with Sir John somehow. He wouldn’t see his son unhappy, I’m certain of it. But for now, I’ve another piece of Noah safe in me pocket and the sun is shining brighter than a new penny.

  61

  The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

  Clevedon. APRIL 5th 1869, Monday

  What is that girl thinking? Coming here and telling me she is with child? Lord above, is she completely insane? She had no belly that I could see, and if she is with child I am certain it can’t be mine. Heaven knows how many other men she has lain with, she is such a wild one. Why oh why did I ever befriend her?

  I must shake her off. I cannot have our association brought to Father’s attention or indeed to Cissie’s. The nerve of her! To come to the manor like that, and to sneak around spying! I’ve a mind to confide in Arnold. He will know what to do. It is an annoyance I could do without, as I am quite intent on asking Lord Baird for his daughter’s hand in marriage before the week is out!

  62

  Red-Hot Angry Words

  It’s been busy this last week. Everyone in the world wants to be in Clevedon, promenading on the pier or bathing in the sea. From early morning to late in the afternoon the bathing machines are trundled to the water’s edge. I’ve dipped so many fragile and paper-light ladies that their faces and bodies look and feel all the same to me now. They scrunch up their features and mewl like babies; until I plunge them under, that is. That’s the best part of all. When I see their eyes grow big as saucers and their chicken-bone fingers grasp at the air, I want to laugh out loud. I don’t of course. I just murmur niceties to them, like, ‘There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’ or, ‘My, my, madam, your complexion looks much improved already.’

  They come to the sea for strength, but not one of them knows the true might of the ocean. They would all drown in an instant if I was to let go of their bony waists. It’s a strange thing to hold their lives in me hand, to have them cling to me and trust me, when out of their bathing gowns they wouldn’t give me the time of day.

  Noah’s on me mind the whole time. Every time I close me eyes I see his face; his perfect face: his pale smooth skin, the turn of his mouth and the despair in his eyes that I want to kiss away. I’ve put his handkerchief with the other one under the firebrick in the backyard. I try not to smell it too often as I don’t want to sniff the scent of him away.

  I’m thinking of him now, as me last customer of the day climbs up the steps back into the bathing machine. She’s panting like a dog, but just like all the rest of the bathers, she’s trying to keep hold of her dignity despite being as wet and bedraggled as an old dishcloth. I wade out of the sea and round the machine to lead the horse back up the beach. This is the worst bit. Me costume is so heavy with water it feels the weight of a suit of armour and me stockings fall down me legs like wrinkles of leathery skin. It’s a struggle without me stick and I’m glad I’ve got the horse’s harness to hold on to. Me leg’s feeling stronger these days though, I’m sure of it. I’m scared to think it in case it’s not true, but what if working in the sea all day is curing me at last? I wish I could tell this to Noah, and not just in a letter.

  But I will write him another one tonight, like I’ve done every day this week. I don’t care if Smoaker notices his paper missing; I have to let Noah know how much I love him.

  There’s still customers waiting at the hut when I get there. But none of them are mine. I finish earlier than the other dippers, so I can go back to Ratcatcher’s Row and mind Ma. Smoaker doesn’t know it, but once I’ve changed back into me frock, I don’t go straight to Ma. I walk up to the manor first and take the letter I wrote the night before. It’s always the same maid who answers the door, and now she just snatches the letters from me hand without hardly looking at me. The letter I wrote last night is in the pocket of me frock. As I walk the road to the manor, I think about the words I wrote and hope they’ll bring some comfort to Noah.

  My love Noah,

  I’m still here waiting for you. Our child is growing bigger by the day. Have you spoken to your father yet? Be brave and do it soon. We are meant to be together. We both know it to be true. Send word to me soon.

  Remember how much I love you.

  Marnie

  As I near the Grand door of the manor, I take the letter from me pocket and as always I look around me and up at Noah’s chamber window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I’m sure Sir John must be keeping him prisoner in there. But I’m puzzled as to why Noah is never at his window looking out for me, when he must know by now I always deliver his letter at this time of day.

  I pull the old rope of the doorbell and it clangs loudly in the still air of early evening. A moment passes and I hear footsteps echoing from inside. There’s the clank of metal latches and the door swings open. I hold the letter out in front of me and set a smile on me lips. Then the best thing in the world happens. It’s not the hard-faced maid peering out me from the shadows of the manor, but Noah himself. Me hand drops to me side.

  ‘Noah!’ I gasp.

  Noah stands for a moment, like he’s so glad to see me he doesn’t know what to say.

  ‘I knew if I kept coming I’d soon see you,’ I say. I start to climb the few steps towards him. ‘Oh, Noah! What are we going to do? I can’t bear it much longer.’

  Noah takes me arm and leads me back down the steps. His grip is tight. He turns me to face him and looks straight in me eyes. When he begins to talk, his voice is low and slow and deliberate. ‘I have no idea what is going on in your head, Marnie. But you have to stop this now. If you ever thought there was anything between us, you were wrong. Stop sending me letters. Stop coming to the manor. There can never be anything between us. Do you understand?’

  I watch his mouth move and I hear the sounds he’s making. His face is so earnest and I want to hold it in me hands. I remember the touch of his hands on me twisted foot: the shock of it, the warmth of it and the rightness of it. And I remember how our bodies were together on the beach and how he made me his. I want to keep the memory of it all for ever. I hear his words all right. But I don’t want to. He put these feelings in me and it’s too much for me to bear on me own. It’s not fair if he won’t share. I stick me chin out at him. ‘You don’t mean what you’re saying. I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Marnie, I cannot say it any clearer.’ He lowers his voice and clenches his teeth. ‘Yo
u are just a village girl and I am the son of Sir John de Clevedon. What happened between us should never have been. You must leave me alone now or I shall be forced to call upon the law. I shall deny ever knowing you and no one will believe anything you say. Leave now. Please.’ He walks up the steps to the Grand door and as he steps into the manor he turns his head. ‘Go now, Marnie, and don’t ever bother me again.’

  As he starts to close the door, red-hot angry words bubble up me throat and fly from me mouth. ‘I don’t care for your fancy words, Noah de Clevedon!’ I shout. ‘But I know you love me!’ The door closes with a bang and a rattle. ‘I know you love me! I know you love me!’ I scream at the blank wood. I can’t believe he’s done that. I can’t believe he’s shut the door in me face. I stand where I am for an age, thinking all sorts and nothing at the same time. Eventually all the anger runs out of me and I sag in the middle like an old straw mattress.

  I limp back down the driveway and out on to the road. Me leg is shaking so much it can’t hold me up any more. I sit on the side of the road propped up against the flaking bark of a beech tree. I stare down at the ground and before long I’m watching a line of black ants scurry through the dust from one small rock to another. They don’t seem to know where they’re going. I poke me stick into the midst of them and they scatter in panic, in every direction. But a moment later they’ve found each other again and they carry on as before, as though nothing has happened.

  I stay sitting until me muscles ache and the sky turns dirty orange. Then, slowly and stiffly, I stand and walk back down the road, leaning heavily on me stick. When I get back to the cottage, Smoaker is boiling mad at me. ‘Where’ve you been, girl?’ he shouts. ‘Your ma’s been laid out on the floor all afternoon thanks to you!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  ‘You never came back, did you?’ Smoaker yells. ‘And your ma got so parched she got out of bed to fetch some water and fell flat on her back.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Well, she’s back in bed. As for the rest of it, you’d better go and see for yourself.’

  I start walking towards the bedchamber. ‘Oi!’ shouts Smoaker. ‘Where have you been? Answer me that.’

  ‘I haven’t been nowhere, Smoaker,’ I answer dully. ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘Hey! Come back here!’ Smoaker’s voice lands hard on me back, but I take no notice of it as I open the door to Ma’s room and then close it behind me.

  ‘You all right, Ma?’ I say as I sit on the edge of the bed. There’s a candle flickering on the bed stand next to her. The flame lights up the new white streaks in her hair and throws shadows in the hollows of her shrunken cheeks. Her arms lie outside the blanket, like raw beef sausages.

  ‘Marnie?’ she says. Her voice is sleep-thick and blurred around the edges.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say. There’s a brown bottle and a spoon lying next to the candle. Smoaker must have given her a dose of her laudanum.

  ‘How was the sea today, Marnie?’ she murmurs.

  ‘It was warm, Ma,’ I tell her. ‘Plenty of bathers.’

  ‘That’s good.’ She sighs deeply and I think she’s dropped back to sleep. I listen to her breathing and the rattle in her chest. I wonder for a moment what Noah’s doing right now. But it hurts so much to think it that I stop and I shake Ma’s shoulder instead. ‘Ma? Ma? You’re not sleeping, are you?’ She stirs and groans. ‘I’m still here, Ma,’ I say. ‘And I want to know something. I want to know about me pa.’

  ‘You don’t have a pa,’ Ma slurs. ‘Told you, Marnie. Found you in a seashell.’

  ‘You told me that when I was little, Ma. I’m fifteen now and I need to know. I need to know the truth. Who was he? Who was me pa?’ Ma mumbles something I can’t hear. ‘What did you say, Ma? What did you say?’ I ask her.

  Her eyes flick open and she looks at me. I keep quiet and wait for her answer.

  ‘He gave you your name, you know.’

  ‘Who did? Me pa?’

  ‘It was him that wanted to call you Marnie.’

  ‘Me pa wanted to call me Marnie? But who was he, Ma? Where is he now?’

  ‘Means from the sea, it does. That’s why he wanted to name you Marnie … Marnie from the sea … ’ Ma’s voice trails off. She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes.

  ‘Ma?’ I shake her shoulder again. ‘Ma! Tell me!’ She’s breathing heavily now. A snore rumbles from her throat. I shake her again, but I know it’s useless. The laudanum’s got her now. She’s fast asleep and I’ve got no more chance than a cat in hell without claws of waking her.

  Back in the kitchen, Smoaker glowers at me over the bowl of his pipe. ‘She’s asleep now,’ I offer. Smoaker doesn’t reply. I think his anger at me has taken away what few words he has. He knocks the ashes from his pipe into the red embers of the fire and places his pipe on the mantelpiece. He leaves the kitchen and I hear his footsteps tread wearily up the stairs.

  I drag me mattress in front of what remains of the fire. I lay down on me side and curl up as small as I can. I press me hands on me belly to where the pain is worse. It’s like there’s a rat inside me gnawing at me guts. There is no baby, I know that, but I won’t let Noah do this to me. He can’t make me love him like this and then toss me aside like a rotten fish. I’ll make him see that he loves me. He doesn’t need anyone else. He only needs me. It’s as simple as that.

  The night passes slowly. I watch the thick black of it change to a milky grey and then to a dull yellow before I leave me mattress to build the fire and set the kettle to boil.

  63

  The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

  Clevedon. APRIL 10th 1869, Saturday

  I hope I have put the matter of Marnie to rest now. I showed Arnold her letters declaring her passion for me. He found the whole situation highly amusing of course, until I pressed upon him the potential for disaster should Father, Cissie or indeed Lord Baird hear word of it. He was uncharacteristically serious for a moment, for which I am grateful. ‘It is simple, my dear fellow,’ he said. ‘You must station yourself within earshot of the Grand door. When the bell rings you must answer the door while I distract whichever maid is hurrying there herself. You tell this wench, in no uncertain terms, to put a stop to her nonsense or you will have no choice but to set the authorities upon her.’

  I have to say his plan worked beautifully and the girl eventually left. As luck would have it, everyone was in the garden when she screamed at the door. Thank God! I don’t know how I would have explained that away. They say we are all entitled to a few mistakes in life. I hope I make no more like that. I will wait with apprehension to see if another letter arrives before I can fully congratulate Arnold and myself.

  We organised a sketching party this afternoon. A picnic was laid out for us in the meadow by the top woods. Paper, paints, pencils and easels were set out for our convenience and a more pleasant few hours you could not have wished for. Cissie insisted on using me as her subject. I did not complain of course, for it was the perfect excuse for me to stare at her beautiful face and milky shoulders without interruption.

  I am to speak to Lord Baird tomorrow. The time has come, and although I am sure the outcome will be successful, I cannot help the nerves that are churning in my stomach. A glass of wine before bed to settle my thoughts, I think!

  64

  Broken Shells

  It’s quiet this Sunday morning. There are few people about. The air seems hushed, the sea is calm. Maybe it’s because it’s early or maybe it’s because I’m calm meself. I know now that I haven’t tried hard enough to reach into Noah’s heart. I have to do better. I can’t let anything get between us, not even Noah’s own words. I’ve got to be the strong one now.

  The sea has tossed its memories up on the tide line; broken shells, twisted salt-bleached wood, brittle fish bones, a dead gull and tangles of black seaweed. Me heart tugs as I look at the mess of it. Me own memories are down there on the beach too: me screams when Ma dipped me under
the waves for the first time, the mark of me stick deep in the shingle, me sandy footprints on the stone steps, the salt of me sweat melted into the ocean, strands of me hair floating on the surface, mine and Noah’s laughter blowing in the wind and the sweet, sweet taste of him on me lips.

  I feel like I’m saying me goodbyes to the best friend I’ve ever had. But me heart lies another way now. It doesn’t belong under the glossy surface of the sea any more or in the spit of foam in the curl of a wave. It belongs in another place, away from the sea, past the esplanade, beyond the village and as far away from the sea as you can be in Clevedon. It belongs up at the manor with Noah. So I turn me back on the ocean and I walk away.

  I let meself quietly into the church. The congregation are seated and I check for the gleam of Noah’s hair amongst the Sunday bonnets and oiled heads. He is seated at the end of the third pew from the front. I step back out of the church and close the door behind me. I am content he is there.

  I stand in the churchyard listening to the din of voices from inside singing hymns. I wait quietly and patiently and soon the wooden doors swing open and the God-fearing of Clevedon waft out into the spring sunshine. I stand with me hands clasped in front of me and I lean gently on the cracked stone of a moss-covered grave. I see the girl with the dark hair first, then Sir John and Lady de Clevedon and Noah’s friend – the one with the fair hair and wicked glint in his eye. Then I see Noah. But I don’t move. I stand still as the gravestone with me gaze fixed upon him. I know he sees me when his face flushes red and he presses himself to his fair-haired friend and whispers something in his ear. The friend darts a look at me and hurries Noah away down the pathway towards the waiting carriages. Poor Noah. He thinks he doesn’t want me, but I know he does.