In writing this entry my earlier heightened emotion at the evening’s events has been dampened. I do not feel in an appropriate state to undertake any reading on Sappho, especially at this late hour, so shall do so on returning from Lady Harriet’s residence tomorrow evening, or rather this evening, given the clock has just signified the beginning of a new day.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The carriage had left Mary at Lady Harriet’s manor house in Beckington and then continued its journey to Frome with Swann as its sole passenger. He gazed out of the window and tried to put the events of the previous evening from his mind. A long day lay ahead of him and he needed to stay alert and focussed. With the note he had found in his pocket mentioning the ‘Circle of Sappho’, and the fact he was on his way to meet the victim’s sister, he felt confident the case was moving forward and might achieve a breakthrough soon.
Swann was initially to meet Thomas Bunn, a widowed solicitor, who would act as his guide around Frome. He had never practiced law commercially, choosing instead to spend his time and inherited wealth on helping the poor and needy of the town, while at the same time trying to persuade council leaders to implement his building plans for its improvement. Up until this point, he had made more progress with the former than the latter.
The small market town of Frome was located at the eastern end of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, close to its neighbouring county Wiltshire, and had been founded at the end of the seventh century. The town had really come to prominence, however, in the sixteenth century. The large number of sheep grazing in the area, along with an already established market in the town, meant it became a centre of the woollen industry in East Somerset. For a period of time, as Thomas Bunn liked to remind anyone who would listen, it had also been bigger, in terms of population, and wealthier than Bath. At the same time it had attracted much praise from travellers, including the author Daniel Defoe, who, on a visit in 1720, had stated that were its growth to continue in the same manner over the following few years, it would very likely become ‘one of the greatest and wealthiest inland towns in England.’
The carriage descended into North Parade, a long stretch of road that was the main route into Frome, and passed through the tollgate into the marketplace; the heart and centre of the town.
Unfortunately for Frome, Defoe’s prediction was not realised and although at its height the town had been sending the equivalent of a waggon-load of cloth to London each day, the local industry was now in slow decline. This was, in part, due to the reluctance of the town’s clothiers to embrace new technology and also because a great deal of its end product had been exported to France; which the war had immediately curtailed. There had been some who had profiteered from the war, making military uniforms, but for the most part workforces had been reduced, buildings had become disused and a sense of gloom had descended on this once prosperous town.
As soon as the carriage entered the town and Swann began to observe the townsfolk, he could see the same world-weary expressions on many of the men, women and children that he saw regularly in the Avon Street district in Bath (and before that, in many areas of London). There were, of course, those in the town still prospering – several of the clothiers, tradesmen and other local craftsmen – but for the most part, the overall impression of the people of Frome was that they were no strangers to poverty.
The carriage turned right onto Cork Street. It was along this street that Thomas Bunn resided. He lived at Monmouth House, the building he had inherited, along with his financial wealth, from his father following his death. The house had been built by Bunn’s father, a doctor, around thirty years beforehand. It stood adjunct to Monmouth Chambers, a property which, by the time Dr Bunn had purchased it from linen draper Joseph Pritchard, stretched all along Cork Street to the bottom of what was known as Stony Street.
The buildings, Monmouth Chambers and Monmouth House, were said to have been named after the rebellious duke who stayed briefly in the town in 1685. It was not a productive visit though, as during the two days he was in Frome two thousand of his men deserted the cause; that of assuming the monarchy from the recently crowned James II. The population itself was indifferent and the duke received neither support nor encouragement from them (although equally they did not hand him over to the Loyalist forces a mere ten miles away). The Duke of Monmouth left Frome on 30th of June and within a week had been defeated at the Battle of Sedgemoor and, within a month, had been found guilty of treason and beheaded at Tower Hill in London.
The carriage now stopped outside Monmouth House and Swann alighted. The driver waited until he saw his passenger was safely on the pavement and then cracked his whip. The pair of horses trotted off and the carriage went along the street for a few more yards, turned around at a suitable place and then headed back to the end of Cork Street and on into the marketplace once more. The carriage passed Swann as he stood outside the building, waiting for his knock to be answered. Presently the door was opened by a male servant and Swann was admitted inside. He was escorted into the library and the servant then retired from the room, informing Swann he would make his master aware of his guest’s presence there. While he waited, Swann walked over to one of the several bookcases that lined the room and began to peruse the volumes on its shelves.
‘I hope you are finding some books of interest?’ said a voice behind him. ‘I have what I believe might be called an eclectic collection.’
Swann turned around as a man crossed the room to greet him.
‘Mr Swann, it is good to meet you. I am Thomas Bunn.’
The two men shook hands.
‘Please forgive me,’ said Swann, gesturing in the direction of the shelves, ‘but I cannot help but look at any bookshelf I find myself near. I am fascinated as to what volumes other people may have acquired.’
‘Then we share a fascination, Mr Swann. Now, Lady Harriet has told me of the purpose of your trip to our wonderful town today, and we shall indeed endeavour to go and see Mrs Grant in due course. Before I do so, however, can I offer you a drink?’
‘I will decline, Mr Bunn, as I am eager to speak to Mrs Grant as soon as possible.’
‘I completely understand. We shall leave without delay, Mr Swann, although I would like it very much if we walked up to the house; it is not too far, so I can show you something of our town.’
‘That sounds most agreeable,’ replied Swann, having already sensed the pride this gentleman held for the place in which he resided.
As the two men made their way to the main door, Swann spoke again.
‘Mr Bunn, I feel I must warn you that when I arrived I noticed a group of rough-looking men loitering on the street a little way along from your house. They may cause us trouble, so we had best be on our guard. Do not worry though, as I am armed.’
Bunn opened his front door and smiled. ‘Those men mean us no harm,’ he said, gathering a handful of coins from a large box in the hallway and putting them in his pockets. He then gestured for Swann to go through the front door.
No sooner had they left the house, as Swann had expected, the men saw them and started to follow. Instinctively, and despite what his companion had said, Swann reached inside his jacket.
‘You really do not need to worry, Mr Swann. Please believe me.’
Thomas Bunn retrieved the coins from his pockets and put his hands behind his back. As they made their way along Cork Street, Swann heard the money falling onto the pavement behind them. He briefly glanced around and saw the trail of coins rapidly being picked up by the men.
‘I prefer to do it this way, Mr Swann,’ said Bunn, as they turned left at the end of Cork Street, ‘so I do not see their faces and they retain at least some modicum of dignity.’
The squabbling over the remaining few coins now taking place behind them did not seem dignified to Swann, though he said nothing.
‘I understand from Lady Harriet you reside in Bath, Mr Swann?’ said Bunn.
‘Yes. I have a property in London but have been in Bath fo
r about six months.’
They walked across the marketplace and into a narrow thoroughfare called Cheap Street, which had a watercourse running down its middle.
‘This is charming,’ said Swann as they walked up alongside it.
‘Yes, its source is high up the hill and at one time descended under King Street. It is believed the water was diverted a century or two ago to make this wonderful attraction.’
‘We have a Cheap Street in Bath as well,’ said Swann. ‘Although I can imagine what the reaction might be if the Corporation decided to divert a watercourse along its length!’
‘Ah, I know it,’ said Bunn. ‘Did you know the name comes from the old English meaning “market”? Until the end of the fourteenth century, if I remember correctly, your street was actually called Souter Street, meaning Shoemakers Street.’
‘You know Bath well, Mr Bunn?’
‘Quite well, I went to school in the city for a short while. My father died when I was eight years old and afterwards guardians were appointed to oversee my education. I first went to Kilmersdon and then Wells, but at the age of twelve I was sent to the Broad Street School in Bath. Do you know it Mr Swann?’
‘I have passed the building a few times; it looks a reputable school.’
‘It was a respectable enough Classical school, let us say, run by Reverend Morgan.’ Bunn smiled fondly as he remembered the man. ‘As well as Greek and Latin, I took French and Geography. I even learnt to dance, ride and draw. Not that I do much of those last three subjects these days. He was a wise man though, Reverend Morgan. He only punished when absolutely necessary to uphold the direction and efficiency of the school. It was a most enlightening time in my life, Mr Swann, especially being surrounded by such magnificence in the architecture of the city. I also subscribed to a reading library, where I read works by only the most distinguished of writers. I had, of course, read Homer as part of my studies, but I find Greek and Latin to be nothing more than dead languages. The Iliad and The Odyssey are the most wonderful of books, but I do find they are in the language of scholars and do not represent the everyday people I find myself surrounded by in Frome, or for that matter, when I was in Bath. I remember going once to a different part of the city, near the river, it is many years ago now, and the poverty and degradation I encountered there changed my view of the world for good. I think it was at that moment I decided I would do all I could to help the poor and needy.’
‘I believe you refer to the Avon Street district in Bath. I know it only too well.’
‘Ah, is that what it is called? I was in Bath for two years before it was decided I should train as a legal professional and was dispensed to Chard. I have retained a fondness for Bath ever since, Mr Swann, and would like to see Frome emulate its magnificent architecture and thus enjoy a similar reputation. With the money I inherited from my father I do all I can to bring this about. If there is time later, I would be grateful if you may indulge me in showing you locations for my plans.’
‘Of course,’ replied Swann. ‘I am sorry to hear that you lost your father so young. I was twelve years old when my own died.’
‘Oh?’ said Bunn, looking across at Swann. ‘Without wishing to appear rude, Mr Swann, I was under the impression from Lady Harriet that her brother-in-law, your father, had died within only the last few years.’
‘You are correct in thinking that Mr Gardiner died within the last few years, but he was not my real father. I was adopted by the Gardiners after my real father was killed. And like you, I was then sent to boarding school not long thereafter.’
‘Then we were in the same position. We are both self-made men, Mr Swann, and we should therefore be proud of ourselves.’
‘I had not looked at it that way before,’ replied Swann.
The two men now reached the top of Gentle Street, named after the person that once owned the land and not due to the incline, which was anything but. Behind them was the Waggon and Horses Inn. It was from here the cloth-laden waggons had left for London.
Thomas Bunn stopped by a piece of ground.
‘If you would be so kind as to indulge me, Mr Swann, I will briefly tell you about one of the plans I have designed for this town. I have a vision of a great thoroughfare running all the way to marketplace. As you yourself experienced, the outward route heading south leaves a lot to be desired. I have proposed to the local authority that it begins over there,’ Bunn pointed to the left of where they now stood, ‘and will sweep majestically down the valley to the centre. Once finished, it would completely revitalise the town. With all the coming and going of waggons from the woollen industry it is completely unsuitable for traffic as it is. And I do not want to stop there, Mr Swann. I also have planned a crescent, to match those you have in Bath, or even, dare I say it, to surpass them. Forgive me if I have gone on too much, but I am passionate about this town of mine.’
‘Do not concern yourself, Mr Bunn. You are certainly a man of grand designs and your enthusiasm for Frome is visible for all to see.’
They continued upwards and on into an area known as Keyford. It had been founded as a separate settlement, but now the boundaries of its larger neighbour were encroaching to the point that it might soon form part of that community.
Partway along the main road, which ran all the way through the parish and on towards the grand estate of nearby Longleat, they turned off into a narrow passageway. They continued along it for a little while until they reached a small rundown cottage at the end of a terraced row. Thomas Bunn stopped and knocked on the door. They had arrived.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘The Life of Elizabeth Singer’, by Mary Gardiner
It has been written by an eminently more competent writer than this particular tyro that if a woman does not want her life to be judged too harshly after death, then she must conduct her affairs, private and public, in a manner which will assure her reputation remains intact; not for her own satisfaction, however, but rather for the future generations of women for whom her life may be held up as an example to which to aspire and emulate.
A problem arises when only certain aspects are selected after death and instead of a well-rounded life being presented, and whose purpose is to uplift, educate and inspire our sex, those aspects are used instead to subjugate, repress and stifle. A prime example of this malpractice has been with the poet and author Elizabeth Singer Rowe whose life, if one is to believe the host of male writers, critics and commentators that have celebrated her since her death in 1737, was one of virtue, piety and reverence. In 1783, for instance, it was written that ‘the conduct and behaviour of Mrs Rowe might put some of the present race of females to the blush, who rake the town for infamous adventures to amuse the public,’ while only within these past twelve months has an anonymous writer alluded to ‘virtue and her genuine beauty [that should] recommend her to the choice and admiration of a rising generation.’ As accurate a portrait as this might be for describing several female poets and authors over the centuries, and this writer would certainly not deny this as being so, in the case of Elizabeth Singer Rowe, however, this is simply not true. Yes, she no doubt embodied all these qualities throughout her lifetime, but to concentrate solely on these attributes is to give her character a limited rendering, because hand-in-hand with her virtuousness and reverence there was also vitality and rebellion, and where her nature exhibited piety it simultaneously exuded predilection.
This biographical sketch, therefore, intends to expand on the circumscribed depiction we have been given of this remarkable woman and to redress the circumvention bestowed upon her, so as to present a more complete and balanced representation which will seek not to decrease or diminish her appeal but rather to enhance it, so that we finally have a true likeness of a woman we can all aspire to within our daily lives.
Elizabeth Singer was born into an environment of nonconformity, with the religious beliefs of her parents and those of their friends and associates in direct opposition to that of the reigning King. In 1674, the ye
ar of her birth, Charles II had been on the throne of England for fourteen years, following the restoration of the monarchy, and during this period a concerted effort had been made to secure the return of Anglican dominance in the Church of England and to eradicate any religious deviation. To achieve this, several laws had been passed, including the Corporation Act of 1661, the Act of Uniformity the following year, the Conventicle Act two years later and the Five Mile Act, which became enshrined in 1665; collectively, these pieces of legislation becoming known as the Clarendon Code.
These authoritarian attempts, supported by Royal approval, were merely the latest in a series of changes, clashes and conflicts within the English religious landscape that had begun 150 years earlier, with the Act of Supremacy and the breaking away of the Church of England – at Henry VIII’s insistence – from Papal authority in Rome. In doing so, this split ushered in a century and a half of discrimination, persecution and intolerance of religious groups in direct opposition to that which was followed by the sovereignty, although through successive monarchs and their shifting theological allegiances, those undertaking the persecuting often found themselves suddenly becoming the persecuted. In the wake of this spiritual turmoil, however, various religious movements that were deemed as not ‘conforming’ came into existence or merged, which included the Baptists, Quakers, Wesleyan, Congregationalists and Presbyterians.
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