A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  Josh’s face flamed as the shock of what she’d said sank in. Surely his sister wouldn’t allow the squire to take liberties. Course she wouldn’t. Not Siana. ‘May God strike you dead for your wicked lies. Our Siana’s not like that.’

  The motion of the cart had sent George off to sleep. Hannah settled him down comfortably on the sacks before saying almost charitably, ‘Siana mightn’t have had any choice, since she’s bin lumbered with you and Daisy to look after. She’s gotta find some means of feeding you, ain’t she? The squire don’t give nothing for nothing.’

  ‘I won’t hear a word more of your wickedness.’

  ‘It’s only what everyone else is saying. Besides, I reckon her being the squire’s fancy piece would be better’n marrying a farm labourer and worrying about where the next meal’s coming from all the time, like I have to.’ She shrugged. ‘Though if’n our Tom dies we might get offered the tenancy of the farm.’

  There was the sound of horses coming up behind them and a shout. Josh’s heart began to beat very fast when the squire and his steward pulled up. He’d have to try to brazen it out.

  Hannah’s mouth fell open when Josh doffed his cap and said pleasantly, ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

  ‘Ah Josh, it’s you.’ The squire’s eyes went to the wording on the rig. He seemed amused by it. ‘Cockles and Cartage, is it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. No offence, sir, but I be my own man now.’

  The squire’s smile broadened. ‘So, the Forbes Cartage Company is to have competition.’

  ‘No, sir. I only be local, and small goods at that. I’m not venturing afar, like London. Jasper be too old for heavy loads. Besides, I don’t know how to get to London.’

  The squire chuckled at that. ‘Perhaps I can throw a bit of business your way then. Bainbridge and Son is looking for someone reliable to deliver small parcels to homes hereabouts. I can put in a word for you, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ and Josh prayed the poached trout he was carrying wouldn’t queer his chances.

  The squire’s eyes went to Hannah. ‘It’s Mrs Collins, isn’t it?’

  ‘That be my name, sir – her whose husband be looking after Croxley Farm.’

  The squire’s lips twitched. ‘Quite so. And what do you carry in the basket, Mrs Collins?’

  ‘Flour and sugar, sir.’

  ‘Take a look, would you, Jed,’ the squire said.

  Hannah’s expression was self-righteous when Jed Hawkins dismounted to search through the basket. He glanced at the baby sleeping on its bed of rough sacks. His nose wrinkled as he remounted the horse. ‘It’s as she said, sir.’

  ‘Have you seen anyone on the road for the last mile or so, Josh?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  The squire nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘On your way, then, lad.’

  ‘Bloody cheek. Who do they think they is?’ Hannah muttered indignantly when the pair had cantered off the way they had come and were safely out of earshot.

  The premises were obviously perfect for Elizabeth. Standing in a fine position in the high street, the shop boasted two large windows in which to display goods.

  Elizabeth signed the lease on the spot and dismissed the agent. After he left she turned and said, ‘I thought to use the room at the back for the display and sale of under apparel and night wear. I hear pantelettes are becoming popular and I have it in mind to make ladies look prettier altogether, with silk and lace instead of plain linen and cambric.’

  ‘But why bother when nobody can see them?’

  Elizabeth smiled at Siana. ‘When a woman takes the care to appear feminine, it pleases her . . . husband. Some gentlemen enjoy silk, lace and perfume on a woman. Display is important to them. What a woman keeps hidden both intrigues and attracts them. They might like a woman to be demure in public, but they enjoy it if she’s provocative and responsive in the privacy of the bedroom.’

  Siana blushed as she remembered Elizabeth’s relationship with the squire. Did she wear silk and lace for him? Not that she’d noticed anything untoward going on between the pair. The squire slept in his own room when he stayed overnight, and so did Elizabeth.

  Perhaps there was nothing between them now Elizabeth was a married woman. Then Siana remembered his caressing finger. The end of her breasts hardened and began to tingle. For a moment she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

  There was a sense of guilt when she opened them again, as if she’d done something shameful. ‘Have you heard from Daniel lately?’ she quickly asked her companion.

  ‘My son is not much of a correspondent.’ Elizabeth turned away, obviously reluctant to talk of anything other than her plans for the shop. ‘For the sake of privacy I thought to curtain off the entrance to the other room. Red velvet perhaps, with a gold tassel so it could be tied back on occasion. What do you think of red? Would blue or green be a better choice, perhaps?’

  ‘Pale pink and grey would be discreet as well as feminine,’ Siana murmured.

  ‘I hadn’t considered pink and grey, but I do believe you’re right. I saw some pretty pink-flowered wallpaper amongst the decorator’s samples the other day.’

  Siana looked around her, trying to imagine it all as Elizabeth described it in detail. Embossed wallpaper, plush covered chairs, mirrors on every wall. There would be lace screens behind the window displays to keep out prying eyes yet still allowing the light in. Linen screens would create an illusion of privacy, cocooning the clients whilst they were seated at a small table. An assistant would bring the goods for inspection.

  ‘My assistants will not wear superior airs like those of Bainbridge and Son. They will be familiar with every piece of merchandise and treat the clients with respect, even if they only buy a piece of ribbon or lace.’

  Elizabeth continued excitedly, ‘There are some living quarters upstairs. As I’ll be away much of the time selecting the latest merchandise from the London wholesalers, I thought to advertise for a young woman of honesty and good sense to manage the shop in my absence.’

  Siana tried not to feel hurt. ‘Then you were not thinking of asking me?’

  ‘My dearest Siana, you would not be able to work here and look after Daisy and Josh adequately, as you promised your mother on her deathbed. Your job is managing the house we live in, and you must continue to educate and refine yourself in all ways. See how well you’re dancing now? In two short weeks we’ll celebrate your birthday.’

  For what reason though? Dancing well would not supply her with employment in the future and she’d never be able to support herself if she didn’t work. Being dependent on Elizabeth and the squire’s kindness was beginning to rankle, but Siana didn’t know what else to do. Even so, she’d been silly in thinking Elizabeth would deliberately set out to hurt her.

  She smiled to show that no offence had been taken. ‘There is someone I’d like to suggest for the position, and I’m sure Francis Matheson would give her a reference. Her name is Peggy Hastings.’

  ‘Will Hastings’s widow?’ Elizabeth looked slightly shocked. ‘I thought she was with child.’

  ‘Josh told me the infant was stillborn.’

  ‘Ah . . . such a pity.’

  ‘Is it? When you don’t know where the next meal is coming from, the loss of a child at birth might be a blessing – especially when there’s a strong likelihood it might suffer and die from the effects of poverty, anyway.’

  Elizabeth gave her a hug. ‘Let’s not quarrel over something we cannot change. Save your passion for a time when you’re in the position to do something about it.’

  ‘That will be never.’

  ‘Sometimes fate leads us along a different path to what we’d expect.’

  Siana smiled. ‘You’re right, Elizabeth. I never imagined I’d live in a fine house and eat every day. I never thought I’d learn to dance and play the piano, however badly. And I imagine Peggy Hastings expects to pick oakum and dish out pea soup in the workhouse for the rest of her life.’

  Elizabeth grimaced. ‘
I’ll give some thought to the matter of Peggy Hastings whilst we order your wardrobe. God knows, she’s suffered enough from the sounds of it.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘Better if Edward is kept in ignorance though.’

  ‘But why?’ Suddenly remembering why, Siana exchanged a glance of understanding with Elizabeth. Her mouth took on a wry twist. As she herself had received only kindness from the squire, it was hard to imagine him as a man whose cruel action had sent Will Hastings to his death.

  Josh had arrived at the bank too late the night before. Now he stood and looked around him, a small, scruffy figure, his cap in his hand. His other hand he kept in his pocket, jiggling his coins to reassure himself he hadn’t lost them.

  He didn’t know what to do or who to approach in this matter of business. From the richness of the polished wood, the ornate ceiling and shining brass rails, everything about the place seemed bent on intimidating him. Around him, tall figures moved confidently to the counter or stopped to chat to each other.

  On the opposite side of the bank Francis Matheson watched the boy. The gaunt malnourished appearance had gone. He was pleased to see that Josh had gained some flesh, and colour had crept into his cheeks. What on earth was he doing inside a bank though?

  He was about to go across to him when one of the clerks moved self-importantly to loom over the boy. ‘You’ve got no business in here, lad. Off you go.’

  ‘That’s where you be wrong, mister. I’ve got seven shillings, and I wants to open a bank account.’

  ‘Oh yes, and how did you come by that? Not honestly, I’ll be bound. Be off with you, you young varmint, else I’ll send for the constable.’

  ‘Don’t you be calling me no thief unless you can prove it. I worked for this money, mister,’ Josh said flatly. ‘One day I’m going to be rich, then the likes of you can kiss my arse.’

  Somebody chuckled.

  Finding it hard not to laugh himself, Francis strolled forward as the clerk took a grip of Josh’s collar. ‘Josh, how nice to see you again. You’ve come in to open your account, have you? I’ll be quite happy to stand as your referee.’

  Josh shrugged out of the suddenly loosened hand. He shot a triumphant glare at the clerk, who bowed and melted back behind his desk. Josh grinned broadly at Francis. ‘Thanks, Doc, but I reckon they don’t want me as a customer.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Francis lifted his hand and beckoned to an older man. ‘Mr Denning is the head clerk, Josh. Perhaps you would see to this young friend of mine personally, Mr Denning.’

  ‘Certainly, Doctor. Please take a seat, sir, whilst I take your details.’

  Alarm filled Josh’s eyes. ‘What be them? I don’t think I’ve got any details.’

  Francis chuckled when Denning leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. ‘Your details are your name and address, young man. Also the name and nature of your business and the name and address of your referee. Can you sign your name?’

  ‘Yes, sir. My sister showed me how. And I can read a bit, as long as they be simple words, like. Reading comes in right handy at times, it do.’

  ‘I’m sure it does,’ Denning said gravely. ‘How much did you want to deposit?’

  Deposit? Well, Josh knew what that was. Posh talk for what cows left behind in the fields. Least, that’s what Elizabeth had called them once. But he didn’t think the bank wanted a cow pat.

  ‘Your money,’ Francis whispered in his ear.

  Josh withdrew his shillings from his pocket and lined them up on the desk. ‘That be the deposit. Seven of them, see. I got half of them for selling cockles, the other half for carting goods. And I’ve got a couple of regular runs now,’ he bragged. ‘One for Bainbridge and Sons on Fridays. I make more in two days doing that than my dad made in a week working for the squire.’

  Mr Denning looked suitably impressed. ‘And the other run?’

  But Josh couldn’t tell him he was going to cart the squire’s trout for the fishmonger up the road to sell from under the counter. He turned bright red and mumbled, ‘I haven’t decided on that un yet.’

  The form was filled in and duly signed and witnessed. They stood up to leave.

  Mr Denning smiled and shook his hand. ‘Thank you for your custom, Mr Skinner.’

  Josh felt about ten feet tall when they left the bank. ‘Mr Skinner? Mark me for a posh toff!’ he said, and jerked a head at the mule and cart. ‘Can I give you a ride anywhere, Doc?’

  ‘No, thank you, Josh. I have my horse, and I’m off to take a look at your sister’s arm. How have you been? Are you eating well?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me none. Cook up at the house thinks I’m a goose that needs fattening for Christmas.’ He patted his stomach and grinned hugely. ‘Shouldn’t be surprised if I split open one of these fine days.’

  Francis smiled at the lad and shook his head. He had no need to examine Josh. The Skinners were a tough lot.

  He was thoughtful as he mounted his horse. Tom Skinner was dying the hard way. Francis could do nothing for him but to make sure he was comfortable. Eventually, Tom would succumb to the poisons circulating in his body. If he hadn’t despised Tom for the damage he’d inflicted on the two women and the child, he could almost have admired his endurance.

  He kicked his horse into a canter, suddenly looking forward to seeing Siana. The bone in her arm should be set by now. He just hoped she and Elizabeth were at home.

  Siana ran to the window when she heard the horse coming up the short carriageway. She smiled and waved. ‘It’s Dr Matheson.’

  ‘Were you expecting someone else, then?’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘I thought it might have been Edward.’

  ‘If it had been, he would have been cross with you. A lady doesn’t rush to the window every time she hears a horse. She waits until the caller is announced, then decides whether she can receive him or not. If she cannot, he will leave his card.’

  ‘But of course we will receive Dr Matheson. He’s our friend.’

  ‘But what if we were entertaining another friend at the time? It might be inconvenient to see him.’

  ‘How could it be when he’s come such a long way to visit us?’ Siana seated herself when the maid entered, arranging the skirt of her new gown. It was a pretty gown of ruby silk that they’d purchased that very morning. The cape collar was edged with lace, her feet encased in flat pumps decorated with silk roses to match the one she wore in her hair. She tapped her feet selfconsciously on the floor before slipping her splinted arm into a silk scarf fashioned into a sling and saying to the maid, ‘Show Dr Matheson in and bring him some refreshment.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Elizabeth said sharply to the maid, ‘Ask Dr Matheson to kindly wait for a few minutes, then show him in.’

  Siana blushed when the maid had gone and Elizabeth gave her a stern look. ‘Do not be so eager. It gives men the wrong idea.’

  ‘He’s a doctor. He’s here to examine my arm.’

  ‘He’s also a widower, which makes him susceptible to encouragement.’

  ‘He’s from an aristocratic family,’ Siana argued, exasperated by Elizabeth’s attitude. ‘He’s hardly likely to be interested in a peasant girl.’

  ‘You will remain a peasant girl only as long as you continue to act like one. And there are different degrees of interest, depending on the impression a woman gives out. Francis Matheson is, first and foremost, a man. You must conduct yourself with more decorum, lest he form the impression that you’re interested in him.’

  ‘How can I be when I’m promised to Daniel?’ Siana gazed soberly at the amber ring, which appeared to have lost some of its glow. It seemed a long time ago that he’d slipped it on her finger. Had they been fair to each other by binding themselves to a promise on such short acquaintance? She twisted it around her finger. Why hadn’t Daniel written to her about Italy and the art treasures he’d seen?

  The door opened and the maid announced the doctor.

  Francis inclined his head to Elizabeth. ‘Mrs Skinner,’ he said, ‘yo
u look well.’

  ‘Thank you, I am.’

  Siana wriggled impatiently on her chair whilst Francis and Elizabeth engaged themselves in a brief conversation about the weather. She held her breath when he at last turned her way, and was gratified when his eyes widened. ‘Can this vision be Miss Siana Lewis?’

  ‘It certainly can,’ she said, her mouth stretching into a wide smile. She found it almost impossible to behave like a lady with Francis, when his smile was so friendly and his eyes so filled with mischief. ‘I hope you’ve come to tell me my arm is mended. It certainly feels better. And I have been using it without too much bother.’

  ‘I will go and order refreshment,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You will stay for a while, won’t you, Dr Matheson?’

  ‘Only if the pair of you will call me Francis.’

  ‘I’ll certainly call you Francis,’ Siana said, after Elizabeth graciously inclined her head and left the room. ‘It’s a saint’s name, so you must be a faith healer.’

  He glanced up at her, subjecting her to a dark scowl. His frown didn’t quite reach his eyes though, as he pulled up a chair and proceeded to unwrap her bandaging. As he bent down to his task, she gazed at his dark head of hair. It was threaded with fine strands of grey.

  ‘You’re too young to have grey hair,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’m thirty-five. Almost halfway through my life. The grey hair is caused by patients who believe I perform miracles instead of using practical doctoring skills.’

  She giggled at his fierce voice and wriggled her fingers under his nose. ‘But see, you have repaired my arm quite beautifully. However, I shall withdraw your saintly halo and replace it with horns if that will please you.’

  He chuckled as he probed the length of her forearm with his fingers. Finally he professed himself satisfied with his handiwork. ‘The arm is healed. I will not need to visit you again.’

  Disappointment filled her. ‘But you will visit as a friend, yes? Otherwise I will have to break the other arm to entice you back. I will ask the squire to invite you to my birthday celebration.’