A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  So saying, he buckled at the knees and slid to the ground. His eyes rolled up in his head and he began to jerk and shake. Froth gathered at the sides of his mouth.

  Richard ran quickly from the church and sent the first boy he came across scurrying for the doctor.

  Then he fetched the grave digger. Between them, they loaded the unconscious Welshman onto his cart. At least the man had stopped jerking.

  By the time Francis arrived at the rectory, his patient was resting against the pillows in Richard’s guest bedroom. Conscious now, his eyes were unfocused and staring, his face pale.

  Richard described the circumstances of his collapse.

  ‘It sounds as if he suffers from the falling sickness,’ Francis said. He smiled at the patient. ‘How long have you been having these seizures?’

  ‘Since the blind witch laid her curse on me. “Preacher man, you will travel the land seeking your kin,” she said. “Until you find she whom you wronged and ask forgiveness, the Lord will wither your loins and visit his wrath upon you.”’

  ‘Nonsense, man,’ Francis said briskly. ‘What you suffer from is a common disorder of the brain. Let’s have a look at the rest of you.’

  The sparsely fleshed body didn’t take long to examine. The man was tall and angular. Rib cage gaunt, stomach swollen, eyes protruding from his head, pelvic bones supporting wasted thighs and withered genitals – Francis had seen it all too often.

  ‘He’s suffering from malnutrition,’ he said almost angrily to Richard. ‘He will need food and rest to recover his health properly. I might be able to find room in the workhouse for him in a day or two.’

  ‘No,’ Richard said firmly, for the Lord had seen fit to deliver the sinner to his church and he felt a strange kinship and responsibility towards the Welsh preacher. ‘I will care for him here.’

  ‘He probably has worms as well. I’ll leave you something to purge him with.’

  ‘And the fits?’

  Francis shrugged. ‘Wait for the Lord to cure him, for I can’t. Perhaps you could try prayer. What’s the man’s name?’

  ‘Gruffydd Evans,’ Richard said stiffly.

  Francis thought for a moment. ‘I’ve heard that name before, somewhere.’

  ‘He’s a Methodist preacher.’

  ‘Ah, that must be why it’s familiar. Fire and brimstone, and all that.’

  ‘And Francis,’ Richard said, frowning as the man headed for the door, ‘the power of prayer is never really wasted. You should try it sometime.’

  Francis turned. ‘It didn’t work on my wife.’

  ‘Neither did your doctoring.’

  The pair stared challengingly at each other for a few seconds, then Francis gave an ironic smile and inclined his head slightly. ‘You’re right,’ he said and, turning on his heel, departed.

  Tom Skinner gazed with loathing at the pea soup, but he swallowed every morsel. He had to get his strength back.

  The bandages had been changed today. His stump had healed, but it was still sore and covered in boils which oozed pus. When it had healed properly he could have a wooden peg leg to get around on, the doctor had told him. But the man hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes when he’d said it, so Tom knew he was expected to die.

  He wasn’t going to die yet, though. He’d heard the talk. The squire had taken Elizabeth back. Going into business, was she? And Peggy Hastings, who fetched and carried in the workhouse because she wasn’t much good for nothing else except lying on her back, was all cock-a-hoop because she’d been offered employment by Elizabeth and today was her last day at the infirmary.

  He watched her ladling out the soup, her breasts straining against her bodice with every movement of her arms. Look at her, he thought; a sympathetic word in one man’s ear, a smile for another. Strumpet!

  But she had no smile for him though. Her eyes were filled with loathing and fear. His mouth stretched in a smile. He’d told her long ago he’d get his own back for her kicking him aside, like he was dirt under her feet. He’d chosen his time well, doing for her man when the squire had had a bellyful of the goings-on in the district and was itching to mete out his own brand of justice. Squire had taken the crop to Will’s back before he’d handed him over to the authorities.

  Much good it had done Tom, though. The squire had taken Croxley Farm back from him – and he’d taken his woman back along with it. No matter that she were the squire’s first. Elizabeth was married to him, Tom Skinner, all legal like. Damn it! She belonged to him. He had the right to her until he decided otherwise.

  As soon as he got some strength back he would deal with his strumpet of a wife and her lover. The Welsh by-blow would get it next. The squire still owed him for her. From all accounts, the man had had his money’s worth from her. She was like her mother. Whores, the pair of them!

  Then there was Peggy Hastings. His eyes narrowed in on her. She’d refused him what she’d given willingly to another man. He would have her yet, when she least expected it. And he’d make her beg for mercy.

  Her laughter died as she turned and saw him watching her. When he smiled at her, she shuddered and turned her head away.

  Oh yes. If he was going to die, last thing he’d do was make those responsible pay for his misery.

  Elizabeth was delighted with Peggy Hastings. The woman was polite, eager to learn and proved to have a flair for arranging the merchandise to display it advantageously.

  She moved into the rooms above the shop without delay, and Elizabeth had decided to leave the supervision of the interior decorations in her hands whilst she took the coach up to London the following week.

  Siana was troubling Elizabeth a little. The girl seemed preoccupied with something, but wouldn’t be brought to confide in her.

  She asked Josh, ‘Have you any idea what’s troubling your sister?’

  Josh smiled. He was pleased with his present lot in life, his plans and his growing bank account. These days he thought of hardly anything but his future. By heck he was going to be someone. ‘Nothin’ as far as I knows. I reckon she be reading too many of them books. Gives her ideas, they do. She’s allus been inclined to being dreamy-headed.’

  ‘Keep an eye on her when I go to London next week, would you?’ Elizabeth said. ‘If she’s got a problem I’d like to know about it in case I can help.’

  ‘I don’t know why you be going up to London. There’s nothing there that I can’t get cheaper.’ He looked around him and whispered, ‘I know lots of seamen who goes to France and other places. Silks, satins, lace and ribbons. Music boxes, fancy furbelows and buttons, jewels, pots of scent and what-nots. You just let Josh know what you want and Josh’ll get it for you.’

  ‘That’s smuggling, Josh.’

  He grinned. ‘It cuts out the middle-man, don’t it? Gives you a bit more profit. Tell you what, Miss Lizzie. You go up to London to stock the shop. Then, when you opens, you give me a list and I’ll see what can be done. Special things for special customers, see. Do it gradual, like. Slide a bit of this in here and a bit of that in there and nobody’ll know any different. A small percentage for Josh for his trouble is all it’ll cost you.’

  ‘If the squire found out—’

  ‘If he does, just ask him where his special tipple of brandy comes from.’

  ‘Not Edward, surely!’ Elizabeth exclaimed.

  ‘Never is as never does,’ Josh scoffed. ‘I hear tell he’s cast that Isabelle Prosser aside. And I hears she’s taken up with our Hannah’s man. By crikey, I’d like to be there when our Hannah finds out. A right vicious wench she be, when she’s riled up. Them two is well matched if you asks me. If it came to fisticuffs I could sell tickets on them.’

  ‘Isabelle and Ben Collins?’ It was such a preposterous notion Elizabeth began to laugh. ‘Siana isn’t the only one who’s dreamy-headed lately. Get off with you, Josh Skinner.’

  After he’d gone, Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. Had Edward really abandoned his plan of making Isabelle his wife?

  Her
heart began to thump as she wondered whether he’d had a change of heart about her.

  But no. It was no good getting her hopes up. Just as she thought she’d been about to resume her relationship with Edward, he’d told her he’d decided it would be wiser not to mix business with pleasure.

  ‘I feel I’ve more than discharged my obligations towards you by providing the capital for your business,’ he had said. ‘You indicated that this was what you desired most. I’m sure you’ll make a great success of it.’

  She’d given a heartfelt cry, of rage, of anguish, or relief. She knew not which. Mixed with the sadness of being cast aside a second time was the thought she would no longer be beholden to him.

  He’d placed a hand over her mouth, cutting the cry short. ‘Be quiet, you will raise the household.’

  ‘What about Daniel?’ she had said, in control of herself once again when he released her.

  ‘Daniel’s a man now, and must stand on his own two feet. It would be better if you untied him from your apron strings, Elizabeth.’

  Slowly, she had said, ‘You know I was willing to be more to you, Edward. I was only trying to punish you by withdrawing my favours for a while.’

  ‘I know, Elizabeth, just as I know we would have resumed the relationship if fate hadn’t intervened. You must not think less of yourself, or of me, because of this. Something I cannot control has occurred.’ He had taken her by the shoulders and gazed intently into her eyes. ‘We have loved each other in our own way for many years, but now it’s over. We will always be friends, I hope.’

  Something he could not control? Had he become less than a man, perhaps, and was too ashamed to admit it to her? She couldn’t imagine it. The last time they’d been together in that way he’d been almost insatiable.

  Yet, if rumour was to be believed, he’d discarded Isabelle. Her heart now gave a jolt. Was Edward contemplating naming Daniel as his heir, after all?

  In his latest letter Daniel had said he had come to an understanding with a girl he’d met in Italy. He’d asked her to break the news to Siana. So far she hadn’t found the courage.

  Francis Matheson couldn’t think of an excuse to go out of his way to visit Siana Lewis – until, by chance, he found a perfect one.

  He found her in the garden, chasing a giggling Daisy around the lawn. The infant was steady on her legs now, and her face gleamed pinkly. When the child saw him, she moved to Siana’s side and hid behind her skirts, emerging with a shy smile when she recognized the doctor, to wave a podgy fist.

  ‘I was visiting my brother and my two daughters and found it in the stables,’ he said bringing the kitten from inside his coat and placing it in her arms. ‘I thought Daisy might like to look after it.’

  Siana gave a cry of delight and cuddled the kitten against her neck, caressing the tabby fur with her face. The expression in her eyes was soft as she slanted a glance up at him. ‘He’s so sweet. Thank you.’

  Picking up Daisy he spun her around, gave her a kiss and set her back on her feet. Siana handed the child the kitten, admonishing, ‘Be careful with him. He’ll scratch if you hurt him.’

  The child made soft cooing noises as she stroked its fur. The kitten mewed and purred contentedly. Seaweed perfumed the air and the gulls screamed in the distance as Francis and Siana gazed at each other, smiling. They were so comfortable with each other that for a moment the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

  Then Siana said, ‘I didn’t know you had two daughters. What are their names?’

  ‘Pansy and Maryse. They are twelve and thirteen years.’

  She looked surprised. ‘You must have been very young when they were born, then.’

  ‘I have never regretted fathering them.’

  ‘They’re fortunate. I’ve never known my father.’

  The wind tugged at her skirt. It was tinted pale green, like spring, with little sprigs of flowers printed all over it. Her bodice was dark green, like her eyes. Resting in the hollow of her throat was the little silver cross on a chain. He remembered it from the infirmary, lying on Daisy’s pillow. She wore no bonnet. Her hair was braided, coiling about her crown like a coronet of darkness. Wisps had come loose to blow about her face.

  ‘Your wife . . . did you love her?’ she asked.

  It took a moment for Francis to look inward and remember the softness of her – the frailty. He shrugged, saying gruffly, ‘Not at first, it was a marriage arranged for convenience. Catherine was older than me and brought a small dowry to the union. She was a gentle soul with many good qualities, and I came to love her.’

  She smiled at him. ‘A man like you would have done.’

  His wife had depended on him and he’d failed her when she’d needed him most. Francis experienced a moment of anguish. ‘I couldn’t prevent Catherine from dying.’

  ‘She died feeling loved. That must count for something.’

  ‘It’s no consolation to me.’

  ‘It would have been for her. She left you a precious gift in her children.’ She tucked her arm into his and drew him across to a seat of wrought iron, urging, ‘Tell me about your girls.’

  ‘Maryse is the elder, and the most like her mother in looks and ways, though both have brown curls and eyes. She is a gentle-natured child who is artistic in her ways.’ He grinned slightly. ‘Pansy is more confident. She is quite the peasant, at times. She climbs trees and thinks nothing of cuffing her male cousins around the ear, on occasion. In fact, her aunt despairs of ever turning her into a lady.’

  She grinned wryly at him. ‘It’s not quite so hard as you imagine for a peasant to be transformed into a lady. Peasant or peer, we are all the same under the skin. You should know that.’

  It took a moment for him to realize his blunder and he stammered; ‘I most humbly beg your pardon, Siana. No offence was intended.’

  ‘I’m not offended. I know you didn’t mean it in a personal way.’

  ‘The fact that your background didn’t occur to me must bear testament to your success.’

  Her laugh had a slightly bitter ring to it. ‘My rise in social status was not by choice. I’m the recipient of condescension due to the need of someone’s conscience to be appeased. If I was ugly, the plight of Siana Lewis and her siblings would not have been given a second thought.’

  Her comment proved to be wounding. ‘Am I to be included in this harsh assessment of character?’

  She touched the back of his hand gently with her finger. ‘Be certain you are not, Francis. You give without demanding reward, and are the most truly unselfish man I’ve ever met.’

  ‘You need not accept such condescension.’

  ‘Need I not? I have Daisy to care for and have no choice. You have seen her near death from starvation. Now she is healthy. I cannot see her starve again. I had not thought to live on someone else’s charity and give nothing in return, yet I cannot refuse it. Edward has been good to us and I like him.’

  She knows only the side of him he chooses to show her, Francis thought. Edward would throw her out on the street without a second thought if she ceased to amuse him.

  ‘Come and work for me,’ he offered. ‘There is room for Daisy and Josh.’

  ‘Do you think I’m unaware of the talk that will create? Already my reputation is unjustifiably besmirched.’

  ‘Then does it matter if the gossips talk some more?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  Despite her terse answer, he experienced a moment of relief. So, Siana was not involved with Edward Forbes to any serious extent. He had wondered. ‘You’ve heard the talk, then?’

  Her smile was sad. ‘Scum always floats to the top.’

  Rising in one graceful movement, she picked up the kitten and took the child by the hand. ‘It’s time for Daisy’s rest. Come and take tea with me. I’m a bit melancholy today and will be glad of your company.’

  ‘You’re too young to be sad,’ he said, taking Daisy’s other hand.

  Her smile was just a shade too brilliant. ‘It w
ill pass. I’m an ungrateful wretch who is bored with books, dancing and piano lessons. It all seems so aimless, when a few short weeks ago I was wondering where the next meal was coming from.’

  ‘I thought you were researching your Welsh ancestry,’ he said as they strolled towards the house with Daisy giggling and swinging between their hands every few steps.

  ‘I have given it up. Besides, what would my Welsh ancestors care about me? My mother’s family deserted her in her time of need and my father doesn’t even know I exist. The women of her village hacked off her hair and drove her out while she was carrying me. I cannot understand how people are able to turn their backs on their own blood.’

  ‘Let those without sin cast the first stone?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  When they entered the house Siana gave Daisy a kiss and handed her and the kitten over to the maid. She turned back to him with a slightly chastened expression.

  He smiled at her, saying gently, ‘There have always been degrees of hypocrisy and it’s human nature to recognize it only in others. However much we strive to live by the rules set for us by others, most of us find it impossible to be perfect. We have learned to lie to ourselves in the most convincing way.’

  Her expression was as uncertain as her sigh. ‘You’re right, Francis. You are always right.’

  He chuckled and took her hands in his. ‘Haven’t I just told you that can’t be the case? What has happened to unsettle you so?’

  She opened her mouth as if to say something, then bit down on her bottom lip. ‘Nothing has happened.’

  She led him into the drawing room, which was furnished in soft creams and several shades of rose pink. Sun streamed through the windows. A vase filled with daffodils stood on the table, a piano in a corner.

  ‘Can you play?’

  ‘Elizabeth is teaching me in the evenings. She says I have an aptitude for music, but I keep hitting the wrong notes. I should practise more.’

  ‘Play me something so I can judge for myself.’

  For the first time she gave a spontaneous laugh. ‘You will regret asking me, I think.’