by Evie Grace
‘I know you will, dear.’ The sound of knocking interrupted her.
‘It’s me.’ Philip put his head around the door. ‘How is he?’
‘About the same, thank you,’ Agnes said. ‘He hasn’t woken at all.’
‘That could be down to the medicine.’
‘I hope so. We’re waiting for the doctor to call to give his opinion.’
‘I will leave you then,’ Philip said. ‘Good day, cousin. I hope to see you again soon in better circumstances. We’re leaving now because my father says he can’t bear to stay any longer – he hasn’t slept a wink. I hope that you will send word to us in Faversham.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Philip.’
He closed the door behind him and another hour passed before there was another knock, and Mama entered the room, followed by Turner and Doctor Shaw.
Agnes stood up to take her mother by the arm and lead her over to the bed.
‘My poor husband.’ Mama reached out and touched his face. ‘Do you think he hears us? Doctor Shaw,’ she demanded, ‘tell me what you think. Does he know I’m here?’
The doctor lifted Papa’s eyelids and peered into his eyes. He took a needle from his bag and touched it to his hands and feet. He pinched his fingers and toes. There was no response. Nothing at all. Agnes’s heart began to beat faster. She wasn’t a medical man, yet she could tell something was badly wrong. It was as if the person who was her father had been extinguished, his character snuffed out like a candle.
Doctor Shaw straightened and took Mama’s hands.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Berry-Clay,’ he said gently. ‘Your husband is in a state of insensibility from which I doubt that he will ever recover. I’m afraid it is only a matter of time. His heart is failing. There is fluid on his lungs.’
Mama uttered a scream.
‘Sit down,’ the doctor said. He looked towards Agnes, not recognising her as the daughter of the house. ‘Fetch your mistress a glass of water.’
She went down to the kitchen where she was confronted by Mrs Catchpole, Cook, one of the footmen and the scullery maid, who were clearing up after the breakfast they had provided for the remaining house guests.
She shook her head at their silent questioning.
‘He is gone,’ Mrs Catchpole gasped. ‘The master is dead.’
She could hardly bring herself to speak.
‘No, no, not yet, but the doctor doesn’t seem to think that there’s any room for hope.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Mama needs a glass of water.’
‘Would she like some brandy with that?’ Mrs Catchpole said. ‘For medicinal purposes, of course.’
‘Just the water.’
Cook filled a glass and called for the scullery maid to fetch a tray and carry it up to the mistress.
‘I’ll take it.’ Agnes took the glass and returned to her father’s room to find the doctor attending to Mama, checking her pulse.
‘The mistress fell into a faint,’ Miriam explained.
‘She is better now,’ the doctor said. ‘Offer her some water, a sip at a time.’
Agnes handed the glass to the maid and returned to her father’s side. Something drew her there, an ice-cold sensation, a draught whisking down the back of her neck. She touched his hand – it was blotchy in appearance and cold to the touch. While the doctor had been with Mama, Papa had stopped breathing.
‘He’s gone,’ she said quickly, falling to her knees at the bedside. How dare he slip away like this, without saying goodbye?
‘He has passed,’ the doctor confirmed, at which Mama uttered a loud wail and fainted again.
‘This cannot be happening,’ Miriam said.
‘Papa,’ Agnes said, her voice breaking with grief. She prayed to God who had taken her dear father up to Heaven. Why, though? What use had He possibly got for him that was more important than him being head of the family, owner of the brewery, and member of the Board of Guardians? What had Papa done wrong? What sin had he ever committed? She recalled the warmth of his smile, his sense of fun, and his kindliness to Mama, in spite of her temperament and her nerves.
She stood alongside the bed later while Miriam and Mrs Catchpole washed and dressed Papa’s body for the funeral. Miriam placed coins on his eyes to keep them closed. Mrs Catchpole opened the windows to allow his soul to fly away.
‘I wish you would leave us to it, miss,’ the maid said gently, but Agnes couldn’t bring herself to abandon him when neither Mama nor Henry could be present. It was a mark of her respect for the man who had saved her from a life in the workhouse.
The household went into mourning. The thought of wearing the scarlet dress didn’t cross her mind. Instead, Agnes wore an old black dress of her mother’s. The servants wore black as well, and Mama had her husband’s portrait in the hall turned to face the wall because it made her cry to look at it.
Mr James Berry-Clay’s funeral was packed with people paying their respects: family, friends, those with whom he’d worked in business, including landowners, farmers and maltsters, the architect who was designing new buildings for the brewery, and others whom he’d helped with donations for housing and hospital bills.
Agnes hadn’t realised how much he had been loved.
Mama didn’t attend the church. Nanny stayed at home with the grieving widow and Henry.
‘I hope your mother will treat you kindly now that your father is gone,’ Nanny said when Agnes arrived home from the church. ‘You are the cuckoo in the nest. She will want you to fledge and fly away.’
1858
Chapter Nine
Desperate Times
Time passed slowly as winter turned to spring. Four months after Papa’s demise when the trees in the orchards were laden with blossom, Mama called for her. Agnes went to the drawing room where her mother was sitting in her usual place, dressed in black with the curtains pulled across the windows. A candle flickered on the table beside her.
‘You asked for me,’ Agnes said.
‘Come and sit down.’
She moved towards the big leather wingback chair opposite the chaise.
‘Not that one,’ Mama cut in. ‘It is Papa’s.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Agnes remained on her feet, feeling uncomfortable in the shrine her mother had created. Everything had been laid out as if she was merely waiting for her husband to come home from the brewery. A newspaper lay folded on the arm of the chair. His day slippers were in front of the fireplace with a brandy bottle and glass on a silver tray.
‘What is it? What do you want?’ she asked, aware that her mother could barely bring herself to look at her.
‘I wish to inform you of my recent conversation with your uncle. Oh, he is a most unpleasant man, but one whose presence has to be endured since he is family. If he were not, I should banish him from the house for his role in recent events.’ Mama bit her lip before continuing, ‘Anyway, he has come up with a proposition, an idea to assuage his guilt.’
‘Mama, you can’t still believe that Uncle Rufus had a hand in Papa’s passing? You heard what Doctor Shaw said. That it could have happened at any time. He died from angina pectoris caused by changes in his heart, anxiety and mental strain. The events of that day may have hastened his collapse, but they didn’t trigger them.’
‘Rufus says that if he had kept his own counsel, then my husband – his dear brother – would still be with us.’ Mama choked back a sob. The doctor’s opinion didn’t matter to her – she needed someone to blame.
‘I beg you not to distress yourself again.’ Agnes moved across and rested her hand on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Didn’t the vicar say when he called on you that he is always with us in spirit?’
‘It is no comfort. I want him here in body and soul. I would give anything to see him, hear him laugh, feel his touch … I loved him.’
‘Oh, Mama,’ Agnes sighed. She remembered how Nanny had once said that she thought Mama incapable of deep and lasting affection. It seemed that she had been proved wrong, because her
mother had sunk to the depths of grief over Papa. It was hard to watch.
‘Anyway, nothing can be done about it,’ Mama said. ‘I’ve decided that it is time you were married.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ She hadn’t met anyone whom she wished to marry so far, and, due to recent events, she hadn’t given the future more than a passing thought.
‘Your uncle thinks that it would be a great help to me if you were off my hands – he has someone suitable in mind.’
‘Who?’
‘Your cousin Philip.’
‘That isn’t possible,’ Agnes exclaimed. ‘He isn’t at all handsome.’
‘Don’t be too hasty. He is of the right age and disposition, and your uncle believes that he wouldn’t be averse to taking you as his wife. Philip is fond of you – we saw you talking to each other. You are both bookish.’
‘He hasn’t yet made his way in life,’ Agnes countered. ‘He’s going to study to become a doctor. He will be ill-equipped to take a wife until he’s qualified.’
‘I know he has a bee in his bonnet about it, but his father will not let him. He is part of the Berry-Clay dynasty – even when Henry takes over, there will be room for Philip at the brewery. I have your uncle’s assurance on that.’
He was kind – she knew that from the way he had looked after her father when he’d collapsed on that fateful evening, and how he had sent her a letter afterwards to offer his condolences, but friendship wasn’t enough. She craved love and romance, and a title.
‘I should die rather than marry my cousin. Papa wouldn’t have approved.’
‘He isn’t here,’ Mama said acidly, ‘and your background, now well known, will hold you back. There will always be someone willing to dredge it up in an attempt to ruin your reputation. I’d always hoped you might make a match with one of the Throwleys or the Seddons, but your options for marriage are limited now that everyone knows who you are and where you came from.’
Agnes couldn’t help wondering if that had been part of her uncle’s plan – to bring up her history so she would have to marry Philip, there being no other eligible and willing suitors.
‘It is a sensible match that will benefit everyone,’ Mama went on. ‘It will be many years before Henry is old enough to run the brewery. In the meantime, Philip will continue to run it with his father, and you will have a household of your own in Faversham. Your uncle has his eye on a small establishment, a townhouse. With a careful juggling of the books, the brewery will buy it as an investment. It is better than you could have expected, considering your circumstances. You will be able to afford a cook and a maid, at least. All this about Philip wishing to become a physician is a young man’s whim.’
Agnes’s heart sank. Nanny had encouraged her to think for herself, but now it seemed there had been no point. She felt sick at the thought that she had no say in whom she would marry.
‘I would rather be an old maid.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mama said. ‘You would be bored witless.’
‘Why can’t I stay at Windmarsh to look after you when you are old?’
‘Why should I need you to do that? I have servants and my dear Henry who looks more and more like his papa every day.’
‘What will you do when he goes to school?’
‘He will be home for the holidays, and you may call upon us now and again when you are settled with Philip. I married your father for his establishment in the first place because I knew I would have a comfortable life with a role to play, but I did grow fond of him. Very fond.’
‘I don’t like Philip in that way.’
‘Of course you don’t. No girl likes her intended at first. It’s perfectly normal.’
‘You don’t understand how wrong this would feel for me.’
‘It doesn’t matter how you feel about him.’
‘Papa would never have made me marry a man who is repellent to me.’ She felt lost without her protector.
‘He is not here and I have had to take advice from your uncle.’
‘Why would you take advice from a man whom you blame for your husband’s death?’ Agnes exclaimed.
‘Because this is the only way to get you off my hands,’ Mama said, her eyes flashing with angry tears. ‘I can hardly bear the sight of you after what’s happened. Yes, I blame Rufus, but I can’t forget your part in this.’
‘Mama! I loved Papa. He was my father.’ This wasn’t fair. She had been an innocent child when she’d been brought to Windmarsh Court. She hadn’t been mistress of her destiny then and she certainly wasn’t now.
Agnes trembled as Mama took a deep breath and began to speak in a calm and controlled manner.
‘Your uncle has made this offer as he sets out to redeem himself in the eyes of this family and God. He is arriving from Faversham at midday so that we can confirm the engagement. I thought it correct that Philip should ask for your hand, but we decided he shouldn’t come with his father. God forbid you should turn him down.’
Agnes was devastated, but she still had hope. For a start, she doubted that her cousin would willingly offer a proposal, considering the circumstances.
‘Why have you sprung this upon me? It’s all so sudden.’ She had dreamed of someone strong and forceful, sharp of wit and bathed in wisdom. She wanted more than poor Philip could provide.
‘I will turn him down,’ she said adamantly. ‘I will brook no further discussion.’
‘You have no choice. Marry Philip, or I will turn you out of the house. Go upstairs and put on your dress, the scarlet one, and join me and your uncle for luncheon at one o’clock.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t.’ She couldn’t bear to see the dress again – it was a painful reminder of her birthday – and she wasn’t hungry. The idea of marrying Philip had quite put her off her food.
‘That is an order, not a request. It won’t take long. I have no intention of spending more time with Rufus than I have to.’
‘I will not join you.’
‘Remember, duty comes before personal happiness. We are trapped by our sex, birth and position in society. You will be married. You will not have to work, or worry about money. You will be very comfortable as Philip’s wife.’
‘I will go upstairs and not come down.’
‘Then I will invite your betrothed to Windmarsh in the near future, and send him to your room so you can become better acquainted. The threat of ruination is a straightforward way of progressing an unwanted union.’
‘How could you? That’s blackmail.’
‘Is that so?’ Mama ran one fingernail across the arm of the chaise, making a deep gouge in the wood. ‘I prefer to consider it as being cruel to be kind.’
‘You would really set out to ruin my reputation?’
‘I will if you don’t consent to this marriage. Philip will be most disappointed if you are not willing.’
‘You’re lying. He doesn’t want to marry me any more than I wish to marry him. That’s why my uncle isn’t bringing him with him today. Oh, Mama, I’m not stupid.’ She turned and fled out of the room and up the stairs. She closed her bedroom door behind her and slid the bolt across before pulling the metal trunk away from the end of the bed, and the bags from her wardrobe. She began to pack her belongings.
How was she going to get away from Windmarsh? She could hardly borrow the carriage without anyone’s knowledge. She soon realised too that she couldn’t possibly remove all her possessions even if she had twenty carriages. She would have to make some painful decisions about which of her precious things to leave behind.
She sat down at her dressing table and opened her rosewood jewellery box, and cried as she picked out the half a sixpence. How could it be a good luck charm when it had done her so much harm?
She threw it across the room, and it bounced and rolled under the bed.
Good riddance, she thought.
She glanced through the rest of her jewellery, the necklace of garnet flowers and the gold rope bracelet, pretty trinkets that Papa had bo
ught for her and memories of happier times that made her feel sadder than ever. Riches didn’t necessarily bring happiness. It was the little things that counted: a pink dawn on a frosty morning; the call of the curlew; a charm of golden linnets.
A knock at the door distracted her.
‘Please, I beg you to let me in,’ she heard Nanny whisper. ‘I do not deceive you. There is no one else here.’
‘Mama hasn’t sent you to winkle me out?’
‘Trust me.’
Agnes relented and unlocked the door.
‘You are running away?’ Nanny said as she walked in.
‘I have no choice. I cannot marry Philip. Papa would never have made me.’ She didn’t know what happened in the marital bed, but she didn’t want to lie in it with him. He was a kind man, but she couldn’t get past his bow legs and the way he was losing his teeth.
‘I’m willing to help you if I can.’
‘How? I’m powerless now that Papa has gone.’
‘One question: are you absolutely sure you cannot tolerate him? I only say this because—’
‘It would have its advantages in that I’d have a wealthy husband, Mama would be taken care of, and I’d still have the approval of my adoptive family, the Berry-Clays?’ Agnes finished for her. ‘I’m very much aware of what I would be giving up.’
‘And you have no idea of what fate will befall you as an alternative.’
‘That is true, but I am willing to take the risk. You have your independence. You’ve done well for yourself by your own merits.’
‘When you say I have done well, what exactly do you think I’ve achieved?’
‘The satisfaction of earning your own income. Of teaching me to think for myself. Those lessons you’ve taught me are invaluable.’
‘Maybe they have spoiled you, though. If you had been led like a sheep, you might have been perfectly content to marry your cousin. Agnes, don’t be too hasty – delay your journey, put your belongings away so as not to arouse suspicion, and take time to reconsider your decision.’
‘I have very little time. My uncle is arriving shortly for luncheon with Mama – they want to confirm my engagement to cousin Philip. They are determined to marry me off as soon as possible.’