The Wheelwright's Daughter

by Eleanor Porter

  Miss Elizabeth turned suddenly. There were voices in the hall below.

  ‘Oh, this will never do. Both of them, in the hall, just when I thought myself alone. Quick, Martha, place the blotting sheet over it. I shall round it off as best I can in a moment. Tidy the desk up and then go your way down the back stairs. I shall recompense you later. Goodbye.’

  Before I could say a word she was on the stairs, hailing the gentlemen. I crept to the door to look down the grand staircase. Sir William had advanced to the fire and was bending and fondling one of the dogs as a servant tried to lift his cloak from his shoulders. A little way off stood Father Paul, as though keeping aloof from the warmth. With one hand he flicked a servant away, with the other he warded off a muzzle. As Miss Elizabeth approached he stepped forward and bowed, keeping his eyes full upon her.

  Sir William watched them for a moment, frowning. ‘Bill Tranter was asking for you, Elizabeth. Some business about the posies. And there are the gypsies come. They’ll need some accommodation sorting if they are to play for our guests tonight. Come, Father, share a cup of wine with me. I believe you bear a message?’

  I ran back to put away the writing things, covering Miss Elizabeth’s letter carefully. I had barely finished when they entered.

  ‘What’s this? Who are you, girl, in the family quarters?’

  ‘It is Martha Dynely, Sir William, a girl from the village, although why she should be loitering among your precious things I can’t explain. It might be wise to ask her to empty her pockets.’ Father Paul smiled coldly. I thought of the tart in my kirtle and blushed.

  ‘Miss Elizabeth, sire, she asked me to write a letter for her. I am just leaving.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Dynely’s girl, are you?’ Sir William looked at me closely. ‘None of your father’s looks, I see, but you’re a strong-looking wench. Now Father Paul wants me to search all your pleats and your pockets. What do you think, eh? Should you like that? Or might it be better if the Father took a look? He’s got good long fingers; he could search out all your hiding places. Look, Father, the girl’s turned redder than a Lancaster rose. Get along now, ask the cook for some pie on your way out.’

  I was halfway down the gallery that led to the servants’ stairs, when he called me back with a change of heart. ‘Wait, girl. I’ve a message for your father. That’s it, stand there a moment. I shan’t take too long.’

  I loitered, and watched them.

  He turned back to the vicar. ‘Mark that sleet. There’ll be snow too, or I’m no judge of the weather in my own land and I have lived here long enough for that. Can’t recall when we’ve had such dreadful weather. Not a day since October without rain. And look, there’s two trees down: good big elms, mark you, brought down by last month’s winds. It’s trees you’ve come about, Father, if I’m not mistaken. Or is this merely a pastoral visit? I know you saw the bishop last week. Come on, man, out with it.’

  Even from the gallery I could see Father Paul shifting awkwardly. ‘My lord, Bishop John sends his blessing and begs to remind you of the matter of Hoar Wood. There has been some felling there of late.’

  ‘I knew it! He sent that keeper to spy. My men saw to him, and no mistake. God’s blood, the wood is mine and I have told his Grace so myself. I tell you, Father, I don’t take kindly to his sending you here to wheedle for him.’

  Father Paul coughed ‘His Grace begs to remind you, my lord, that the late earl conferred the woods on the Church as security for certain debts.’

  ‘And as I explained to his Grace, they were not the earl’s to promise or to confer. He should let the matter drop. There is no doubt at all about the case. It is clear cut, solid, transparent as glass, not an ounce of ambiguity. I’d be obliged if you’d not mention it again. You’ll be joining the company tonight? Of course you will, Father, no excuses. My daughter can only digest food in the presence of holy men. I’ll see you out.’

  ‘There is another – small – matter, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, well, what is it? Anything I can help with, you know, but keep it brief. It’s past two o’clock and I’ve got visitors arriving. And a horse in the yard threatening to go lame on me.’

  ‘It is a little delicate.’ Father Paul’s strong voice had shrunk to a thin treble.

  ‘What is it? Not got a girl in trouble, have you? Don’t look so shocked. You wouldn’t be the first in a frock coat to lose your footing, so to speak,’ and Sir William let out a great laugh.

  ‘Sire, no, never! I am God’s servant here. No, his Grace has been made aware of some, ahem, rumours, about your lordship. He knows better than to credit them, of course. Your loyalty to our noble Queen could never be in doubt. After last year’s terrible events in the North…’

  ‘The rebellion, you mean? The traitors Northumberland and Westmorland? God’s truth, man, what has that to do with me?’

  ‘His Grace wishes you to know that he holds you in great esteem and pays no heed to evil reports.’

  ‘What the devil does that mean, Father? No, don’t hem and haw at me, what reports? Exactly who has said what about me?’

  ‘Please your lordship, I think we both know the kinds of things…’

  ‘No, Father Paul, I don’t know. You tell me. You tell me exactly what kinds of things.’

  ‘Some say the papist traitor Nicholas Craddock has returned, and that he has been spotted hereabouts. Nonsense, I am sure. No one would think of harbouring such a renegade.’

  A long silence followed. They had wandered to the other side of the great chamber, where I could no longer see them. I wondered if they had gone down. Then Sir William spoke again, in a more subdued voice, which carried, nonetheless.

  ‘I will not honour that last remark with a reply. I’ll wish you good day, Father Paul. The afternoon draws on. I’ll see you out.’

  I listened to their footsteps on the stairs. Should I leave too? But Sir William had told me to stay. I stared out at the sleet on the gardens and broke off bits of the tart. It was sweet and rich in my mouth. I closed my eyes, the better to savour it. When I opened them I saw the sleet had changed to snow. Flakes were whipping at the glass, beginning to settle on the ground below. Even in this light the gallery felt bright. I had never seen any building with as much glass as they had at the Hall, not even a church. Each diamond pane framed a view of the garden. I leaned back and looked. Father Paul thought I must be a thief. Perhaps I was, and of more than the tart in my belly. I stole the feel of the fine things: beeswax and varnish, silk and brocade and china. I stole the light and the colour and the stories on the walls. Who’s to say, if a box of gold had been open before me I should not have crammed some of that, too, into my pockets? Could it be wrong to want to possess all this beauty, to step into the beautiful world?

  When I had come the first time there had been a stack of paper on a low table, sheets and sheets of it, smooth and white, with a unicorn imprinted into it in one corner. I had quickly rolled up some sheets and stuffed them in my skirts. That night I’d lain awake thinking of the words I could write on them. Beautiful words, lines that would feel like sunlight when I read them back. But I couldn’t bear to mark the page. Months went by. In the end I’d torn a scrap off for a curse. All that was fine turned to dirt in my hands.

  Now I kissed the glass where a snowflake rested. I could see all its detail, finer than lace. The bishop thought Sir William himself a thief. He would not notice a snowflake – why should the lace belong to him and not to me?

  If I were a witch, like the boys said, maybe I could make myself disappear, become one of those little birds depicted in the hangings and stay for the feast. I would sing on a branch, watching the gentry come and go before me. And they’d talk and chatter and maybe sometimes one of them would look right at me, but all they would see was a painted bird.

  Sir William had told me to wait, but he had not come back. I began to be afraid of the message he had for my father. Perhaps we were to be thrown out. The Widow would be sweeping our step and smiling before a cock
crowed twice. Where would we go…?

  At last I heard Sir William stamping up the stairs again. I started forward, even began to bob, although his face looked murderous. He did not see me. Instead he ducked into a chamber that led off the gallery. I sunk back into the wall, unsure whether to wait or go. I had waited this long and, after all, he had told me to wait. I edged closer to the chamber door, so that I could catch his eye just as soon as he emerged.

  Loud grunts came from the room. He was evidently trying to lift something. I leaned into the chamber. Oh, it was such a pretty room, with flowers painted on the walls and a bed with bright blue curtains threaded with gold. It must be like waking up in summer every day. Sir William was in the corner shoving at a high chest. Something told me he did not wish to be observed. I drew back and listened.

  Once the chest was pushed aside he knocked on the wall, one, two, three, four times. Then he waited and knocked again, using the same rhythm: quick, quick, slow, slow.

  ‘Nicholas, it’s safe. The fellow’s gone, but you must be, too. He’s back soon and he sent a warning from the bishop.’

  A door swung open and another, quieter voice spoke, with the accent of the North.

  ‘I can leave now?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m afraid you’d better. There’s snow falling and your tracks will be covered if you go soon. But you must eat first. I feel hungry myself. It’s watching that pinch-faced vicar. You have everything you need? I tell you, Nicholas, I haven’t the stomach for this work.’

  ‘It is the Lord’s work, sire.’

  ‘Yes, yes, quite right, but I want to die fat and rich in my own bed and leave my lands to my grandchildren. Come, come, the house is empty. You must be off very soon, before the company arrives, before the snow lets up. There’s food made up for you. We can go down the main stairs; there’s no one to see you.’

  As they came out of the blue chamber I retreated, praying none of the boards would betray me, but the two men turned towards the great chamber and did not look round.

  5

  Concealment: Snow

  Sir William had clearly forgotten me completely. He would not want a witness to what I had seen. I knew little enough of such things, less than anyone, but it was clear enough even to me. My foot was on the back stairs when, to my horror, I heard the voices of women coming up. What to do? I had no choice. I turned back and ducked into the blue chamber. Under the bed, perhaps? The women were in the corridor already.

  ‘Oh, it is good of you, Judith,’ one was saying, ‘to help me with the beds. There’s two gentlemen here already and both needing chambers, and nothing drying in this weather. We left his lordship’s till last in case any of them came early.’

  ‘I don’t mind, Mary, not at all,’ Widow Spicer’s voice rang out. ‘It’s good to have a bit of a chat with you all at the Hall and I know you’ll remember me if there’s an extra bit of mending or such like needing doing.’

  Not the bed then. I glanced around in a panic and saw the strange door in the wall. It was a little ajar. I did not like to go in after the priest – it did not feel right to me – but there was no choice. I crept in and pulled the door shut, just as they bundled into the room.

  It was pitch-black. I felt around me. There was a seat built into the wall and beside it a deep shelf. A slight wind brushed my cheek. I could hear the women in the room as they bustled about making up the bed and setting things to rights. As soon as they left I would make a run for it, come what may.

  ‘Met Walter Dynely’s girl on the way here.’ It was the Widow. ‘She’s still learning lads their letters. Been nigh on two years now.’

  My ears burned. I pressed my head to the door.

  ‘Miss Elizabeth’s idea. She wants everyone a-reading of the Bible.’

  ‘What does his lordship say to a girl learning boys like that? Does he think it’s proper?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t say as to that, though the parents don’t like it, nor the stable men. I think Father Paul calls it pious of her, and he’s not about to give up his time to ploughboys. There’s no gainsaying Miss Elizabeth, not about scripture.’

  ‘It’s not good to raise her up like that. Martha, I mean. No good will come of that poor girl,’ the Widow said. ‘The way she looks at you. Like she’s gentry. I wonder if she’s safe around young souls, that I do, with her charms and potions. Her father is doing his best to go to the devil.’

  ‘And to think you thought of him once, Judith,’ Mary giggled.

  ‘Well, that’s as may be,’ the Widow replied. ‘You can’t deny, Mary, that he is still a fine-looking man, and him widowed so young. Best wheelwright in the country when he’s sober.’

  ‘When he’s sober.’

  ‘You can’t blame him for the girl. Not entirely. Not natural for a man to bring up a girl by himself, drunk or sober. But she’s turned out wild.’

  ‘The spit of her mother, your sister calls her. Says she was brown as a nut, too.’

  ‘Yes, well, I don’t like to talk about that, seeing as most folks don’t know, even now. And to think I could have married him, and had to be a mother to such a thing. And my Jacob would have had her for his sister!’

  They both had a good laugh at that. I sat in the dark and listened, imagining her waving her great red meddling launderer’s hands. My heart knocked at my ribs so hard it was a wonder they did not hear it. What did Goody Reynolds know of my mother; what business had she to talk of her?

  ‘Makes you think,’ Mary went on after a while. ‘You never know the truth of strangers. You show a little kindness and you’re taken advantage of. That’s the truth of it.’

  ‘Very true, Mary. He turned up vouched for by Sir William himself.’

  ‘Praise Lord Jesus that bad secrets are bubbles that burst in the good fresh air. They are lucky his lordship took pity on them. Right, that’s done. Don’t forget the pot, Judith.’

  ‘I don’t think I could forget it. It’s ripe enough.’

  I thought they would leave then, and I started to nudge at the door, but I heard a large sigh and pulled back in time. The Widow started up again, close by this time. I heard a great creaking.

  ‘This, whatever it is of his lordship’s, is askew, Mary. I’ll help you put it back.’

  Mary must have been leaving, for I heard her rush back. Her voice was high and flurried.

  ‘Oh, leave that to me, Judith. He can’t abide outside people touching his things. It must have been one of the men, after rats. We’d better rush. Yes, well, it is a little heavy. If you take the other end of it we can put it back against the wall.’

  And with pants and sighs the chest was scraped back against my door. I held my breath; what should I do? Reveal myself - and have the Widow march me to Sir William as a thief – worse, a betrayer of his secrets? But to be walled in and left? I heard Mary hurrying the Widow out and raised my fist to bang at the wood – but I could not bring myself to do it. A terrible silence fell; I stared into the dark. Surely the chest was not so big. I could just heave it forward a little and work the door open. I started with little shoves. Nothing. I put my shoulder to it, careful at first, then stronger, then with all my force. Not so much as a creak. I leaned back and put my legs to the door. My back, my fists. My belly snaked up in panic.

  It could have been worse. There was a cushion on the seat and fresh air whistled down the shelf. I put my arm out to feel the extent of the space and lighted on a box. In it was good fresh bread and ham, a book and a candle. I felt further. A full pitcher of water and an empty pot. I held the bread in my fingers and breathed in the smell. I chewed each mouthful till the sourness turned sweet. For a long time I ate and thought about nothing but the bread. A kind of dizziness took me as I finished it and I put my head back. I must have gone to sleep for I fell into a strange kind of dreaming…

  Dogs bayed all around me and the men flung banter over the heads of the horses. Somewhere someone was playing a lute, and sometimes there was singing and much laughter and clapping. When I g
lanced back, I noticed that the gentlemen were clerics to a man, with Father Paul leaning forward in the saddle, a wide white grin on his face. So I bent my head and ran with all my strength, and kept running. And the laughter gave way to grunts of effort. They were close, all around me, whinnies and snorts. ‘Come, girl,’ said a braying voice, and I followed the line of his arm. There was the hare, the hare from the chapel, and she was white as snow, and the dogs were almost at her throat, and I was with them, and in my hand a knife.

  My head jolted against the board and I woke and remembered; a strange kind of shame unsettled me all over and I did not like to think of the blade in my hand and who I had found myself standing with. Just beyond my door the panting rhythm of the hunt went on. There are thin walls enough in the village. I knew what it was. But Sir William!

  ‘Come, girl!’ he wheezed, and she whinnied.

  My neck was cricked and I was stiff with hours of sitting. I had no idea what to do. The noises from the bed subsided, but I did not know how deep they slept, or if Sir William’s companion would be staying. Any sudden movement might bang the door and all would be lost. Perhaps Father would be missing me, calling out my absence even now, turning our neighbours reluctantly out of their beds for a girl none cared much to lose. The draught from the shelf blew cold on my chest and I touched the worsted of my bodice. It was wet through. I must have been sobbing in my sleep. The draught! Of course, it must be coming from outside. Maybe the hole wasn’t just a seat and a shelf, but a passageway. I’d heard stories of such houses, with warrens behind the panelling, and the priests like rabbits hiding there.

  Very slowly, very gently, I moved the box of food to the seat, tucking the ham into my shift and taking a good long drink from the pitcher. I needed to piss, too, but I dared not do it so close. I climbed up into the shelf. It was made for lean papists. Even I, little as I was, had to stretch out and shuffle, reaching my fingers before me, fearing to meet a rat, or worse. After a short while they closed on nothing but the dark and a great rush of air. It was a kind of hatch but there was, I soon realised, a ladder reaching upwards. The rungs were slick. I did not want to be found a crumpled heap at the foot of the great chimney, for that of course was where I was, but I had no choice but to clamber up. At least it was not so dark here, for some light filtered in, with a biting cold that numbed my clutching hands.