My Dear Charlotte

by Hazel Holt

  But Mrs Woodstock appeared not to hear and turned towards Miss Craven to give her the benefit of her thoughts on the excellence of Cheltenham. Mr Woodstock seemed mortified at this evidence of his wife’s rudeness and gave me his usual nervous smile. Poor man, one cannot but be sorry for him.

  You will be interested to learn that the evening was notable for the first appearance of the new owner of Marshwood Abbey, Sir Edward Hampton. He too has lost his wife (though not recently) but looks very much more like one’s idea of a widower, being tall and dark and melancholy looking, whereas Mr Rivers is fair-haired, of a slight build and of a cheerful countenance. Mrs Woodstock will have approved of Sir Edward for he did not dance, neither was he to be found in the card room. He stood at one end of the ballroom and spoke only to the more elderly gentlemen present – one wonders why he attended at all since I gather that his conversation was all of local business (our father tells us that he has been sworn Justice of the Peace in the room of old Mr Dewar) which could surely be better conducted in some other less frivolous place! Maria Brompton was moved to remark that he put her in mind of some Byronic hero, but, search as I might, I could see no sign of any such thing, which is just as well, since those are not the characteristics one would look for in someone engaged in the administration of the law. So you see what a lively time we had of it – I doubt of your having such a one in Bath!

  Lucy is much concerned that her sister Sarah is so friendly with the Wests’ maid Deborah, whom she categorises as a sly one – though upon what grounds I cannot say. It seems that Mistress Deb is forever in the kitchens at Holcombe Park and has thoroughly put poor Lucy’s nose out of joint. I take it to be the novelty of a new face and someone who will listen to Sarah’s woes about poor John coachman, for you will recollect that Lucy never thought him good enough for her sister in spite of his being a respectable young man and doting upon her.

  I hope that your cough is gone and that you are otherwise well – and remain with love,

  Yours affectionately,

  E.C.

  7th June

  My Dear Charlotte,

  I am very much obliged to you for writing to me again so soon; your letter yesterday was an unexpected pleasure. I am pleased that the fine weather has made such an improvement to your health that you were able to walk towards Twerton with Miss Irving and her brother, they are agreeable companions and he, especially, speaks a good deal of sense. I am sorry to hear that their father is no better, though, if, as you say, his habit has always been bilious, it may be too late for the waters to do him any good. Still, if the care of Mr Bowen has improved his spirits and appetite then that is some reason at least for coming to Bath.

  If the cloak you speak of is still to be had I would be grateful if you will make the purchase for me, if, that is, the cost does not go beyond two guineas.

  Everything is very flat here after the Ball and I shall be hard put to it to find anything to fill this paper. I greatly miss having you here at hand to talk over the events of the evening as we are wont to do. Indeed I would value your opinion of the new people who are come among us, since your judgement is more sound and sober than mine, which, as you have often had cause to remind me, is too satirical and partial!

  Yet even you, I am persuaded, would approve of Mr Rivers. To have borne such sorrow and still remain rational and cheerful – and I do not think he is appreciated as he should be at Holcombe. Our mother said that she heard Mrs Woodstock addressing him in the most peremptory tones, commanding him to attend her the next day with a statement of the Barbados estate accounts (which one would, in any case, have thought should be left to Mr Woodstock) as she wished to examine them in detail, something it cannot have been easy for him to bear to hear shouted the length of the Assembly card-room! Mr Woodstock, you may be sure, was nowhere to be seen during this exchange, having learnt by long experience the embarrassment his wife is capable of causing in public places. Mr James Russell, however, was apparently present and, so our mother says, seemed much mortified by his aunt’s behaviour. Mrs Woodstock was also heard (by me) to speak in very strong terms against poor Mr Wilmot and his Evangelicanism.

  Our father tells me that he has invited Sir Edward Hampton to dine with us this week, together with the Chamberlynes, the Lythams (who it is hoped may have further news of William) and Mr Rivers. Our mother, from some misguided motive of kindness, has also invited Mrs West and her daughter, so I will have much to tell you in my next letter! Meanwhile, because of this, our mother desires that I break off now and consult with Cook to see if any fresh soles may be procured to go with the saddle of mutton, and what side dishes must be prepared – you can imagine with what fervour I wish you were here to attend to such tasks.

  Your affectionate sister,

  E.C.

  10th June

  My Dear Charlotte,

  I have amazing news to relate. Mrs Woodstock is no more. She breathed her last yesterday and the whole of Lyme and the whole country from Taunton in the north to Seaton in the west echoes with the news and even the account I was to have given you of our dinner party yesterday is quite superseded.

  You will say that you always believed Mrs Woodstock to be sickly and that now you are proved right, but, indeed, she died so suddenly and for no cause which is immediately discernible, that it cannot have been any of the complaints we have been so familiar with over the years that actually carried her off. For it seems she died quite peacefully in her sleep. I am obliged to Lucy for my immediate information – she tells me that Mrs Woodstock’s maid Chapman, going in this morning to rouse her mistress, was unable to wake her and called Mr Russell, who at once summoned Dr King who pronounced life to be extinct. He declared that his patient’s heart had failed, which I believe to be true, since most of us die when our hearts cease to beat! More than that I cannot tell you at present.

  Certainly in Lyme opinion of Mrs Woodstock has already undergone a remarkable change – from being a monster of disagreeableness she is immediately transformed by death into a martyr to ill health whose unpleasantness and ill temper, everyone now agrees, was quite understandable given the pain she no doubt had to bear, poor soul, over the years. How Mr Woodstock will miss her, how her grieving nephew will mourn!

  It will make a vast change to life at Holcombe, that is certain, and I sincerely pity Miss Craven, for I do not think that Mr Russell will offer for her now. That young man is free at last to follow his own inclinations, since, with a wife no longer there to tell him what he should do, Mr Woodstock will be a man easily guided. There – do not say that I have no news of any moment to fill my page!

  To less remarkable matters. Our dinner party which, it now seems, was taking place while Mrs Woodstock was breathing her last, was most agreeable (Cook has mastered your recipe for scalloped oysters very well) and, in spite of an unpromising mixture of guests, might be deemed a success.

  Knowing full well the impossibility of competing with Miss West’s beauty, I decided only the smartest of gowns would do, so I took the liberty of borrowing your ivory lace overdress to make elegant my rose satin petticoat (the one with the seed pearl decoration). I do hope you agree that the occasion demanded this ruthless treatment of your property! I was glad that I had done so since Miss West was indeed a picture of loveliness in the most delicate of sprigged muslins with blue ribbon decoration. Her youth and bloom (illness notwithstanding) made the simplicity of her gown all the more appealing and most of the gentlemen (young and old) found themselves, at some moment, drawn towards her, and after dinner several of them did not linger long over the table but came in with the tea tray.

  I spoke a little with Sir Edward Hampton but he is a severe-sounding man, very reserved and stiff, with an abrupt manner, so I found him difficult to converse with.

  “Have you now settled into Marshwood Abbey, Sir Edward?” I enquired.

  “My housekeeper complains that the kitchens are inconvenient, my groom is discontented with the stables, and, since my brother had no childr
en the nurseries are less than adequate. Otherwise I have no problems.”

  “Did you bring your bailiff from Hatch Beauchamp to manage the estate?” enquired our father, who came up at that moment. “Will it answer do you think, or will local prejudice be too strong?”

  Sir Edward, obviously grateful to have rational male conversation, thankfully turned in his direction and they were shortly engaged in the planning of a drain and the disposition of a field of barley.

  You will recall that Sir Edward inherited the Abbey quite unexpectedly from his older brother who was unmarried and died earlier this year in a carriage accident, so I suppose it will take him some time to accustom himself to a larger estate than the one he had in Somersetshire. There are two little boys, and I do hope their father is more unbending with them or, lacking as they do a loving mama, their lives will be sadly oppressed.

  You may imagine with what relief I turned to Mr Rivers, who was at his most conversable, not only full of pleasing anecdotes of his life in Barbados, but asking with real interest about the countryside hereabouts and the lives of the families who live here. You were wrong, in your last letter, to accuse me of having a partiality for him. Indeed I scarcely know him, but you must admit that it is a wonderful novelty to find a gentleman who at least gives the appearance of being interested in one’s own affairs, however trivial, and is perfectly able to join in those flights of fancy that you know I like to indulge in. Were I indeed to have set my cap at him I should have a formidable rival in Miss West. Mr Rivers is too much a gentleman to allow his eyes to wander while he was speaking with one; still, I could not but notice that his gaze rested frequently upon her and he engaged her in conversation at the earliest moment he could politely leave me. But, alas, Mrs West remained at her daughter’s side and conducted most of her conversation for her.

  “And have you been able to explore the countryside, Miss West?” he asked. “It is very fine, is it not?”

  “We have scarcely ventured far from Lyme as yet, sir,” Mrs West replied, “though Miss Cowper and Miss Brompton have had the kindness to walk with Caroline in the immediate neighbourhood.”

  Miss West gave a small murmur of acquiescence and apparently encouraged by this, Mr Rivers continued, “Will your visit to Lyme be for some months?”

  Miss West turned to her mama as if she too would like an answer to this question.

  “It is not yet decided how long we will remain” Mrs West replied. “My daughter’s health, as you must know, has not been good and we will remain here until she has quite recovered.”

  “I believe that you, too, have suffered ill health recently?” Miss West ventured.

  Mr Rivers coloured with pleasure at this interest in his welfare. “I had the misfortune to take a fever in Barbados, but the kind air of Dorset has speeded my recovery,” he said with a smile. Had he been Mr Russell he would no doubt have added a remark about the healing properties of pleasant company, but Mr Rivers (as I think I have mentioned already) does not flirt.

  The Chamberlynes asked after you most kindly and she was loud in her lamentations that you are to go to Robert and Mary without returning home in July, sentiments with which I find myself in perfect accord! Mrs Chamberlyne also asked me to tell you that Mrs Harriot has had one fainting fit recently; it came on as usual after eating a hearty dinner but she says Dr King does not think there is any danger.

  Perhaps Mrs Woodstock overate last night. I have no doubt I will be able to provide you with all the details you will certainly desire, since Lucy is to visit her sister tomorrow and will certainly bring back a budget of news.

  I can recollect nothing more to say; when my letter is gone, I suppose I shall.

  Yours affectionately,

  E.C.

  16th June

  My Dear Charlotte,

  I was very sorry to learn that my news of Mrs Woodstock’s demise brought about a return of your palpitations, but relieved to hear that your taking hartshorn had a beneficial effect.

  The neighbourhood has recovered from the novelty of her death and the talk is of how Mr Woodstock will attend to his affairs now that his wife is no longer here to manage them for him. The money, of course, is all Mrs Woodstock’s, Mr Woodstock bringing only sadly neglected estates himself to the match. Time and Mrs Woodstock’s fortune have greatly improved the former but the latter (a poor thing, I imagine, even five and twenty years ago) has sadly declined, as we all must, with age.

  Our father was at the funeral yesterday and said that poor Dr Matlock made a sad muddle of the service. Perhaps now that his wife is no longer able to overrule him, Mr Woodstock may be able to offer the living to Mr Wilmot when Dr Matlock resigns it, which event cannot be far off now.

  Since you require me to do so, I offer you the account of Mrs Woodstock’s passing that Lucy brought back from Holcombe Park – though I would beg you to keep the hartshorn within reach in case my narrative prove too much for you. It would seem that Mrs Woodstock was in perfect health all that day and in the morning went out in her carriage to visit Mrs Craven, taking Mr Russell with her, and was consequently in spirits, since she doubtless felt she had advanced that affair considerably. She was also greatly refreshed by an encounter with Mr Wilmot, who called to beg Mr Woodstock’s help for one of his parishioners, Will Buller, who works in the gardens at Holcombe, and whose wife has recently died leaving him with five children all under eight years of age. The poor wretch was asking for some days’ absence from his work so that he might look after the children until his sister could come down from Derbyshire to help him. It was a pathetic story which would have moved the stoniest heart and Mr Wilmot, I believe, pleaded his case with some eloquence. Alas, that was poor Will’s undoing for Mrs Woodstock was present during the interview and, such is her aversion to Mr Wilmot, that she would by no means allow her husband to grant the poor man’s request, saying that the children must go to the parish if their father could not care for them.

  Invigorated by this skirmish, she dined with her husband and Mr Russell (Mr Rivers, as you will recall, dined with us) and her appetite was good – indeed she graciously praised the fricassee of chicken and asparagus (Sarah has given Lucy the receipt for this), something which, as you may imagine, is rare with her!

  After dinner she required Mr Russell to play bezique with her for a while, but quite early on she complained of being tired and retired before her usual hour. Her maid Chapman took up her posset of wine and the laudanum she always takes each evening, and that was the last time that anyone saw her alive. The next morning, Sarah says, when Chapman went to wake her mistress, she could not rouse her and, as I have already told you, Dr King was sent for and life was pronounced extinct. We have not seen any of the Holcombe household, though, of course, our father did see them at the funeral. What a change there will be in all their lives. Mr Woodstock, for one will hardly know what to do with his freedom. Perhaps he may marry again (if his first experience of the state has not given him a dislike of it) or make the tour through Europe, or even return with his cousin to the West Indies – indeed, the world is open to him should he choose to explore it. Mr Russell must expect to have at least a half share of his aunt’s fortune, which will give him his independence at last and freedom to pursue his own path in life and, indeed, in matrimony.

  Our father, who had some conversation with Mr Rivers when he dined here, tells us that the poor man was much constrained in running the Barbados estate by constant commands from Mrs Woodstock, for although the property belonged to her husband, it was her money (as well as Mr Rivers’ good management) that enabled it to flourish. Now it will be possible for him to order affairs there in his own way and the dignity of his position will at last be confirmed.

  Perhaps even John coachman may hope to be reinstated and he and Sarah married at last. I cannot but think what a degree of felicity may arise from the death of one disagreeable old woman, though you may scold me for such an uncharitable thought!

  Our mother prays that you will say ev
erything kind for us to our aunt and uncle. She has taken to glove-knitting and every evening is filled with this activity. She requires me to ask what colour you desire so that she may make a pair for you.

  Your visiting poor Lady Gordon was highly approved by everyone and applauded as an act of virtue on your part. I fear that what friends she may not have driven away by her ill humour will be even less inclined to visit her now that her health and her circumstances are both in such a bad way.

  I shall take my olive drab cloak for the lining to be renewed and shall send yours that you left here on the chance of doing the same for you, though I believe your pelisse is in better repair than mine. Do not forget to write to Mary, she complains to me that she is neglected!

  Yours affectionately,

  E. C.

  21st June

  My Dear Charlotte,

  Do not be angry with me for beginning another letter to you so soon, before I have one of yours to reply to, but I have mended my petticoat and read “The Corsair” and have nothing else to do. Getting out is impossible since there was a positive cloudburst this morning and the roads are too dirty for even such a desperate walker as I am.

  Yesterday, though, I did go forth to make various purchases for our mother at Layton’s where I spent all my money, and what is worse for you I have been spending yours as well. I went in for some checked muslin, for which I was obliged to give seven shillings a yard, but I was also tempted by a pretty coloured muslin and bought 10 yards of it, on the chance of your liking it – but, should it not suit you, you must not think yourself obliged to take it. It is only 3s6d per yard and I should not in the least mind keeping the whole. The pattern is a small green spot and the texture is just what we prefer. I got some bugle trimming for our mother at 2s4d a yard and three pairs of silk stockings at a little less than 12s the pair!