One genuine worry that her mother had to contend with, as Amy well knew and her mother badly tried to conceal, was the family’s shortage of money. They had drastically cut back on the household help over the years, and could get by without too many problems as long as they were at home. When they traveled it was another matter, but Amy’s mother still felt obliged to visit London some during the year, although it got less and less, with shorter journeys as time went by.
With only one maid, it would have shocked Lady Sibbridge if she ever found out that Amy sometimes helped Effie with some of the dusting and cleaning. And on laundry days, both Amy and Emma would pitch in to help Mrs. Pemberton and Effie with the mountains of laundry, although even laundry days were not as frequent as they should have been.
The most taxing task that Lady Sibbridge faced now that she had to take over the financial disbursements that Amy’s father had once handled was the cost of traveling, although that was not as bad as entertaining guests. It had grown more and more obvious that their close friends, such as the Ramsays, had guessed their predicament, so that nowadays they made overnight visits to the Brewminster’s, and not the Sibbridges despite the fact that her father was Sir Frank’s oldest and dearest friend.
Amy had no doubt whatsoever, that Sir Frank and Lady Ramsay’s invitation to visit their house in Bath was another kindness by the Ramsays.
She did not know how conscious her mother was of this, but she did know her mother was deeply upset that she had to take advantage of hospitality she could not reciprocate. On the way to Bath they would visit Lady Sibbridge’s cousin, Alexandra Meckle, in Salisbury. They could not, however, reach Salisbury in one day. They would have to spend the night in Maidenhead.
Maidenhead was the only convenient bridge over the Thames since London was too far to the east, and the bridge at Chertsey was too far south. The recently constructed bridge over the Thames at Maidenhead was the only convenient crossing.
After Amy’s father was injured and no longer capable of running the affairs at Sibbridge House, they could not afford a coachman. When they had to let old Eben Maitland go, he went to live with his middle daughter who was the baker’s wife in Stockley-on-Arne. She was a shrewd businesswoman but tended to scold her husband and the other members of the family, so Eben was happy to get away from her at times. He was not sufficiently unhappy at his age to seek any sort of continual employment, but a week or two of coaching for the Sibbridges got him back into his best humor.
He had brought with him a youth named Leonard, who seemed to be related in some way that was never clear. Leonard had a permanent lop-sided grin, but whether from a good humor or from a bad injury was also never clear. They had walked out to the Sibbridge’s just after dawn, and had been occupied readying the now seldom-used coach for the journey.
One little problem or minor disaster after another kept delaying their departure as Amy’s mother grew increasingly impatient and upset. Finally, with their baggage loaded and the food hamper tied precariously on the top of everything else, Lady Sibbridge escorted a benign appearing Lord Sibbridge to the coach. Leonard, who was taking the place of a footman but had no clue as to what a footman actually does, helped Lord Sibbridge board the coach. He helped Lady Sibbridge into the coach, and he somewhat solicitously helped Amy and her sisters into the coach. The one other person accompanying them was Mrs. Charlotte Parkhurst. No one had really discussed why she was coming with them. It was presumably as Emma’s tutor.
For reasons unknown, Leonard did not offer to help her into the coach. Maybe she looked too frightening to him. She did not like to be ignored and made her feelings known to everyone, especially the negligent Leonard. It was scorn at first sight.
It was a pleasant journey with the sun playing peekaboo with the travelers all day until they stopped to eat a picnic meal at two o’clock. It then began to rain and sprinkled off-and-on until they had finished eating, and then the rain clouds packed up and left, and the sun came back from lunch, and more-or-less remained with them for the rest of the journey.
Mrs. Charlotte Parkhurst had started the journey complaining about everything and nothing in particular. However, Amy’s mother had proved to be much better at complaining than the grumbly Mrs. Parkhurst, and her complaints were much more entertaining, so the grumbly tutor realized that she had been outclassed and could not hope to outshine, or more accurately, out-complain Lady Sibbridge and grew silent, mute, and morose for the remainder of their journey.
They headed in a southerly direction as the coach jostled past fields of sheep and meadows strewn with wildflowers and lowing cattle. Even Amy’s mother grew quiet as Emma read one of her books, Mattie busied herself with her needlework, and Amy, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, began to meditate on all that had occurred to her in the last few weeks.
It was the drowsiest part of the afternoon, and even the rumbling and rocking of the coach could not compete with the buzzing of the insects, and Amy had sunk slowly into that condition of sleepiness that a warm early summer afternoon can induce, when a sudden bang caused her to snap awake when she didn’t even realize she was asleep.
The coach was alongside another conveyance which appeared to be a cart, and Eben was exchanging words with what sounded like a country wight.
“What’s happening?” Amy’s mother asked sounding distressed.
Eben appeared at the window of the coach. “A merchant’s wagon lurched into the side of the coach. Everything appears undamaged though,” he added as he dusted the side of the coach with his coachman’s scarf. “We been lucky. I don’t see a scratch.”
“Good,” said Lady Sibbridge. And then yanking Lord Sibbridge’s watch from his waistcoat pocket, she snapped it open. The old man awoke and looked confused wondering what had just happened.
“Ohhh, ohhh,” moaned Lady Sibbridge, “it’s past six o’clock. We’ll never get to Maidenhead before dark. We’ll be at the mercy of these brigands that are plaguing our highways in these fearsome times. How far is it to Maidenhead?”
She leaned out the window of the coach. The merchant’s wagoner was inspecting his load making sure it hadn’t been damaged. Without looking up from what he was doing he grunted: “We’re somewhat better’n sixteen miles north’n the river.”
As Amy and Emma climbed out of the coach, the wagon jostled and started moving slowly northward, its two horses struggling to pull their heavy load.
“Everythin’ seems to be in good shape milady.”
Old Eben and Leonard were at Amy’s elbow.
“Good,” said Amy as she heard her mother’s panicked voice imploring them to get back into the coach so they could continue on their way.
She was about to comply when Emma, who had been examining the coach, came up to them where they were standing just behind it.
“The left lamp appears to be loose,” said Emma.
“Don’t tell mother,” Amy pleaded with her sister in a snarly whisper.
“Don’t tell mother what?” came a concerned voice from the coach.
Amy went up to her mother who was leaning out of the window of the coach.
“Emma thinks the lamp appears to be loose.”
Eben was examining it and shaking it a little.
“Indeed it be a little loose,” he said solemnly.
“Which lamp?” Amy’s mother asked, her panic seemed to be ratcheting up even more.
“Don’t worry, mother,” said Amy attempting to calm her. “It’s the right lamp.”
“That’s the one facing the middle of the road,” said Amy’s mother her panic increasing. “It’s going to be dark soon and we’ll have a collision with one of these big merchant wagons or worse, with the Royal Mail Coach. I’ve heard these overnight mail coaches sometimes go as fast as ten miles an hour. They won’t be able to see us if our lamp isn’t lit. They’ll crash into us and kill us all.”
Amy feared her mother was working herself up into hysterics.
“Mother! Mother, calm down.”
She grabbed her mother’s forearms and shook her gently.
“Mother! Stop it! You’re working yourself up. There is nothing to worry about. We have more than three hours. We have time to get to Maidenhead before dark. We can get the lamp fixed in the town before we go on to Salisbury.”
Her mother had a frozen, distressed appearance. It was then, at that moment, that Amy realized what her mother was going through. Her mother put on that fussy persona, but underneath she was suffering from worry about Amy’s father, the household debts, her inner need to keep up a front, and all the other worries that were swirling around her. Her mother was not an emotionally strong woman, and it was all too much for her.
Suddenly, Amy felt a change in their relationship. Amy was no longer the trouble-free girl. She was a young woman now, and she realized for the first time that she was stronger than her mother.
The light of day was fading fast as they rolled across the bridge into Maidenhead.
Just beyond the bridge, Amy heard Emma yelling. When she leaned out of the window to hear what Emma was saying she immediately saw the sign: David Daniels, Coachbuilder.
“Shouldn’t we get the lamp fixed?” asked Emma.
They stopped and pulled as tightly as possible to the side of Bridge Road in front of Mr. Daniel’s coachworks.
“Leonard,” she heard old Eben the coachman say to the youth, “go thee in and see if they can fix a lamp this evening.”
“I’ll go too,” said Amy climbing out of the coach.
Inside the courtyard a man of about forty was struggling unassisted with a stagecoach wheel trying to attach the slim metal tire to the wooden rim. As they approached he stopped and looked up obviously glad for an excuse to rest.
“Afternoon, milady, I’m David Daniels, what might I do for you,” he asked Amy, casting a questioning glance at Leonard.
“My family’s coach has a damaged lamp and we need it repaired before we go on. Can you fix it this evening?”
“I don’t rightly know, milady. Let me take a look at it.”
They watched as he checked the lamp as well as he could with the increasingly heavy traffic of wagons and coaches rumbling past only inches away from him on the busy road.
Finally he looked up. “It’s not that bad, milady. Why don’t you go to your lodging and then send your man back with the coach.”
“We don’t have any lodging yet,” said Amy.
“Then, milady, I recommend you get lodging fast, hoping that there is some remaining. We have some ninety or so coaches pass through here daily and this late they all want to lodge in Maidenhead for the night, because those heading north are afraid to go on until morning because of the threat of highwaymen around Hounslow Heath.”
“We just passed safely through there,” said Emma with restrained excitement.
David Daniels looked at her solemnly and gave a slight shake of his head.
“The southbound road is much worse. Just outside of Maidenhead is an extensive area known locally as Maidenhead Thicket, which I regret to say is filled with highwaymen and scoundrels of all sorts. I recommend that you speedily find lodging. It would be far better to sleep on the streets of Maidenhead, rather than gentlefolk like you going further after the sun goes down. Take my word, milady, make haste to find a place for the night or they will all be filled.”
“Would you recommend any place in particular?”
“We have several fine inns, but you might wish to go to the new Greyhound Inn.”
“The Greyhound Inn?” asked Amy.
“Yes, milady, just continue down Bridge Road about, oh, three hundred yards, and then you will come to Moorbridge Road which veers off to the left. Almost immediately you will cross over the Strand Water. Moorbridge Road soon becomes Bridge Street and then High Street. High Street curves into Queen Street and right there on the northwest corner is the Greyhound Inn. Now hurry milady, please.”
When they reached the Greyhound Inn they were able to secure the only upstairs room that was left. The entire family would have to occupy the same room, which was, Amy mused, better than sleeping in the streets which would mean all sleeping in the coach, a most discomfiting arrangement. They found accommodations for Eben Maitland and Leonard in an area in the back set aside for servants, and most fortunately a very small room for Mrs. Charlotte Parkhurst. It was under the stairs and had a small cramped bed which was normally occupied by a scullery maid who had to hurry off that morning to attend a gravely ill family member. In truth it was more the size of a storage cupboard but it did allow Emma’s tutor to retain her dignity since she would not deign to spend the night in the servant’s area.
As Eben instructed Leonard to take the coach to the coachbuilder, Emma earnestly asked her mother if she could go with him and watch the repair of the lamp. Actually, as was her usual custom when making a request her mother would be shocked at, as was common with a great many of Emma’s requests, she addressed it to her father. He looked at Emma with a smile, and Amy got the feeling that he understood. She quickly dismissed the feeling which she felt was just wishful thinking. It had been several months since their father had shown any clear cognition when spoken to by a member of the family.
Before their mother could object, Amy broke in.
“You can come with me, Emma, since I will have to pay for the repair of the lamp. Emma can keep me company while I wait for the repair to be completed, that would be a good idea, Mother, would it not? I don’t want to be alone in a coachbuilder’s yard at dusk in a strange town.”
She grabbed Emma’s arm and swept her out of the front door of the inn before their mother could really work it all out in her mind. If she had, she might have instructed them to give Leonard or Eben the money for the repair, but by the time their mother thought of this, Amy, Emma, and young Leonard were gone.
They wheeled the coach into the coachbuilder’s courtyard where he was waiting for them and commenced work on the lamp right away.
While Leonard looked on with a vacant grin, Emma immediately began to pepper the poor man with questions. Amy looked on for a short time and then wandered over to the gate of the yard. The summer day was drawing to a close as twilight descended on Maidenhead. Bridge Road was now filled with a crush of vehicles of all kinds in fear of being abroad on the Bath Road after dark.
Amy shrugged, relieved that they had found lodging for the night, especially for the sake of her mother who feared the violence on the highways that once had been improving until the horrific violence in France seemed to spill over the English Channel at times. Her thoughts drifted again to the strange nighttime occurrences at home of late, until she was interrupted by Emma calling her over to pay for the repair of the lamp. A lamp that might not be needed since there was no way they would travel at night on this trip.
Chapter 15
It was almost dark when they returned to the Greyhound Inn. After a tasty dinner of roast beef before a roaring fire, they repaired to their room. June was now approaching the heart of summer but tonight it was quite cool. Amy had to practically drag Emma to the room so intrigued was she with the inn and its patrons who now crowded every table including the one the Sibbridges had just taken leave of. The fire cast mysterious shadows on the beamed ceiling which was so unlike their ceilings at home.
When they entered their room, the landlord, who had been engrossed in conversation with Lord and Lady Sibbridge was just taking his leave.
He nodded at Amy. Emma was looking so intently at him it evidently caused him to feel a need to speak to her.
“And how are you, milady?”
“Our tutor taught us that King Charles was in Maidenhead just before he was beheaded and Sir Walter Raleigh was tried here.”
Her comment was not what he expected for someone of her age, and at first he seemed unsure of what to say, but then the host in him took over.
“About Sir Walter Raleigh, I know not. That was earlier, but I can tell you that King Charles before he died stayed the nig
ht with his children at the Greyhound Inn.”
He looked over at Amy’s mother and father. Did Amy note a look of discomfort in her mother’s face?
“It is a true fact,” continued the landlord addressing Amy’s parents, “that King Charles spent the night with his children at this very inn.”
Amy was not sure what an untrue fact might be, but she saw that this was not the first time the landlord had told this tale as he was clearly warming up to his story.
“It was a warm summer’s day in July of 1649 when King Charles, a prisoner of the parliamentary forces, was brought to this inn. His three small children had been brought here earlier in the day by the Earl of Northumberland.
“The King rode in his coach through the streets of Maidenhead to the cheers of the crowds who strew his way with flowers. One would have thought they beheld a conquering monarch, not the poor prisoner of his enemies which he truly was.”
Amy was both impressed and amused by his dramatic flair, which she told herself is useful in a landlord especially if you’re promoting something in the past of your own establishment.
Their landlord looked almost tearful and was like someone remembering a long ago scene they had once witnessed.
“When the King reached the inn, the Earl could not restrain the royal children as they rushed outside and flung themselves at their father clinging to his knees. The King led them inside and sat them by the fire as he asked after their welfare and how they were being treated, just as any loving father would do.
“There was one present whose identity was unknown to the King or to the others that stood by. It was brave Oliver Cromwell himself who had come in disguise to look on as King Charles met his children. No one knew him, but all saw the tears that ran down the stranger’s cheeks. The Lord Protector himself later told Sir John Berkeley as to how it had been the most moving meeting he had ever seen.”
“And then he, Cromwell, cut the King’s head off,” chirped Emma.
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