Harriet was generous in her thanks to Mrs Davies for the late luncheon she pressed on us. Chiefly she needed tea to revive her, saying that her appetite had died at the sight of the poverty of the area. Perhaps it was true: at least our poorest villagers had cleaner air to breathe and the chance of occasional fresh food. She expressed proper admiration of all our hostess’s schemes to benefit the poor drudges of the area.
At last it was time for the journey home. Seeing a newspaper boy, I bought a paper. I suspected I might be his only customer.
Usually when I offered her my arm, she gaily dismissed the need for any assistance; today, as we walked to the station, I could feel her fatigue as occasionally I took her weight. Under her pretty hat, her head was bent. I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the depth of her sighs, as if she lamented more than the death of a simple servant girl. And we still had to break the news of Maggie’s death, of course.
‘I must change into mourning first,’ she said, as if she read my mind. ‘We will all wear black in the House, until after the funeral at least. Who will take the burial service?’ she gasped, as if thinking of it for the first time.
A porter slammed the door on us. We were in motion.
‘Not Mr Pounceman, not if I have anything to do with it! I wonder … I might ask my father, if the Church permits. He certainly would be willing, I would vouch for that. And you would be able to meet him and Mama when they stay in my house – you’ll recall Beatrice had the house prepared for visitors—’
‘For them?’
‘Exactly. I wanted them to meet you – you to meet them! It was to be a surprise for you! But an aunt was unwell, and they had to postpone their visit. They are due any day.’
We were walking back from the station and had nearly reached the House, when we saw Silas, trudging towards the servants’ entrance.
Harriet and I exchanged a glance: this would not be a comfortable conversation, but one which she would initiate.
‘Silas!’ She took his hand and retained it. ‘I have just come from Wolverhampton. I fear I have sad news for Ada and for your mother-in-law.’
‘Well, it’s something Ma-in-law won’t hear, Mrs Faulkner. I was on my way to tell you she passed away this afternoon, God rest her soul – just when we hoped those blue pills were doing her some good, too.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
It was my turn. ‘My condolences, Silas – and to Ada. How is she?’
He shrugged sadly. ‘I’d say she was glad her ma’s suffering was over. But she can’t stop the tears coming yet. But you said you have bad news too – young Maggie, is it?’
‘It is indeed. She had a daughter, whom some kind people have taken in as their own. Unless you and Ada might want …?’
His face expressed purest panic. ‘Six, and already – and yes, another on the way. Don’t say it, Mr Rowsley. Dr Page already has. So – would those folk love her?’
‘They already do, Silas: I tried to bring the baby away, but it would have broken their hearts. But you must tell Ada – consult her.’
The panic returned. ‘If his lordship hears, won’t he do what his ma threatened and turf us all out?’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it!’
‘But he’s your boss, Mr Rowsley – he might sack you too. And where would we all be then? And the Stammerton folk too? If you ask me, you’re the only one who seems to care about the land!’
Harriet stepped diplomatically into my horrified silence. ‘In the meantime, is there anything you need, Silas? No? May I ask if you have any plans for the funeral? Because we’ve arranged for Maggie’s body to be brought back here to be buried amongst her own, and it occurs to me that she and her mother might be reunited in death.’
He snorted. ‘If I was Maggie I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near her ma. You know why the poor mite ended up miles from home? Because her mother sent her, that’s why!’
‘Sent her!’ I repeated.
‘Ah, ’cos her ladyship said to. She said if there was any squeak about poor Maggie being with child by his lordship, which, by the way, she said wasn’t true, though we all knew it was, not just Maggie but the whole family would have to go. So off the girl went, and Mrs Billings pointing everyone in the wrong direction, like. Come on, Mr Rowsley, sir – that search we had. All the time Ma-in-law knew you were wasting your time, and everyone else’s too.’
I nodded gravely. ‘Tell Ada what I have suggested. If she thinks separate graves are more appropriate, then naturally the estate will pay for two.’
‘Now, all the women will be able to come here tomorrow afternoon for their mourning outfits which I will order myself,’ Harriet said, cutting through the tension with a practical offer, ‘and I will provide black armbands and hatbands for you men.’
‘Thank’ee.’ He shuffled with embarrassment. ‘But where’ll we get a preacher and who’ll pay for him? There’s not much in the funeral fund pot, Mrs Faulkner: not enough for a funeral supper.’
‘Maggie was not treated well by the Family when she was alive. The least they can do is pay her expenses in death – and her mother’s too, I believe. Don’t you? As for the wake, as we have illness in the House, we could have the big harvest tents erected.’
‘And the clergyman would take the service – or services – for very little, if any charge, Silas,’ I added. ‘My own father. He won’t have known Maggie or your mother—’
‘Neither did Pounceman, if he called the poor little wench all the things I heard tell he did!’
‘No. He didn’t, and Mr Rowsley told him he shouldn’t have spoken as he did. But I knew her, Silas.’
His eyes popped. ‘You’d speak in the church, ma’am?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve no wish to scandalize the village. But others knew her: Marty Baines did. And his friend the Reverend Ianto Davies did. She will be spoken well of.’
He nodded slowly. ‘And I suppose, when push comes to shove, that’s all anyone can hope for.’
As he walked away, I found the most banal question to fill the fraught silence. ‘So many mourning clothes so quickly?’
‘A warehouse in Shrewsbury,’ she said briskly. ‘And I formally request that the estate pay for them, Mr Rowsley.’ She smiled, perhaps combatively. ‘Why should people with nothing and with no choice in the matter have to pay for something they may never wear again?’
‘Why should they even have to pay for their own uniforms?’ I asked. ‘And have to accept aprons as Christmas presents as they do in some households?’
She gasped as if in pain. What could she mean? But she simply returned to the matter in hand. ‘Now, the funeral – or funerals. Are you absolutely sure that your father will officiate?’
‘Yes. Papa is the obvious choice. A senior churchman – how could Pounceman or his bishop object? And he has a frighteningly kind heart.’
She shot me an amused glance. ‘Excellent. Matthew, I am worried that … No, it is time to go in: Beatrice will be needing numbers for supper.’
‘And I am sure she will be able to provide us with some afternoon tea: poor Mrs Ianto is no great cook, is she? But I need to talk over what were really not our decisions to make: would you join me in my office for a few moments?’
We went, as the local phrase had it, all round the Wrekin as we wrestled with our consciences. At last, I said, ‘Ianto said it would be like this, didn’t he? Let us call it quits, unless Ada is desperate to have the child – in which case there would be months if not years of wrangling, none to anyone’s benefit except the lawyers’.’ As I spoke, my eyes dropped for the first time on the newspaper I had bought. ‘Harriet! Harriet! He’s done it! Mark’s done it! Look!’ I thrust the paper into her hands. ‘That poor child! He’s got her off! And there’s talk of bringing perjury charges against the drunken men who lied about her! In many ways, this has been the worst of days. But there is always joy. Little Lizzie will grow up poor, but she will grow up loved. The child in Oxford has endured a terrible or
deal but – my darling, what have I said?’
She had fainted clean away.
XXX
It was easy to pretend I was overcome simply by a combination of hunger and the emotions of the day, but we both knew my fainting fit was caused by something else. He was simply puzzled and desperately anxious; I was riven by an anguish so great I would wish it on no one – and yet I know that Oxford child may one day face the same dilemma as I face.
To tell or not to tell? No matter how much I pace my room and try to argue my way out of it, the answer must be to tell. The next question is how: do I kneel before him, like a penitent to a father confessor, and spell it out, word by word, euphemism by euphemism? That way I would know his reaction was truthful in its spontaneity. If I wrote him a letter, I would not see his face as he read it.
If only I had someone to advise me. Beatrice! She would tell me to say nothing. But that would be to marry under false pretences.
The more I pace, the less I know.
And then I hear voices.
THIRTY-ONE
Dressed for supper in the Room, I found myself in the servants’ hall staring at a battered Thatcher, currently surrounded by a mass of hysterical maids and angry footmen. Harriet was establishing calm, sending a young woman for cloths for the blood and dispatching one footman to summon me, another for Dr Page.
‘I can save you one errand at least,’ I said, catching her eye and smiling. ‘Better?’ I mouthed.
Her smile worried me, but this was not the time for delicate questions. I watched her deal with the whole situation, even deploying me once or twice on errands, once to check that the noise had not troubled Samuel, the next to assure Beatrice, flurried for the first time I had known her, that he was well. I was proud to work as part of her team. Accordingly, when it was time to ask questions and we adjourned to my office, I naturally looked to her as at very least my equal.
Dr Page sat opposite us at the table, rather than the huge desk. He looked uncomfortable, as well he might.
‘I do not ask you to break your Hippocratic Oath, Page – but I do need to know what is going on in this house. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of all the staff going quietly about their work who might meet the same fate as Hortense, as Samuel and now young Thatcher.’
‘Nothing but a few superficial cuts!’ he blustered.
‘Only because he is a tall, strong, young man,’ Harriet said. ‘What am I exposing my young women to? I have advertised, as you asked, for a nurse, but until one is engaged, I believe they are all at risk.’
Page took a long, deep breath. ‘What do you think is going on?’ Clearly he was desperate for a few more moments to work out how he should deal with the situation.
Indulging him, I said, ‘I believe that the cause of all these injuries is not her ladyship. Male voices have been heard coming from her private rooms.’ I looked at Harriet.
Nodding, she continued, ‘The chambermaids tell me there is evidence of more than one occupant. Mrs Arden tells me food has started to disappear from the kitchen. I believe her ladyship is concealing his lordship. Am I right? I take your silence as an affirmative. So how do we now proceed?’
Widening his eyes at her calm authority, he said, ‘You have alternatives. Some would say his lordship should be arrested, and feel the full force of the law. But when did the House of Lords last convict one of their own? Some of them would probably think that the beating of servants is acceptable! It is for wives, after all.’
A flick of her eyebrow told us what Harriet thought of that. ‘Is it only those for whom I am responsible that have been hurt?’
‘I understand … there are rumours … that vehicle of his – I believe someone at a house he had been staying at had his revenge. I treated his lordship and Luke when they returned here. They had to hand over their mounts to the man who accompanied them as part of their punishment. All very medieval.’
‘So Luke is here too! Does his father know? He doesn’t! Oh, how cruel.’
‘Is Luke his valet or his guard?’ I asked.
‘Both – more the latter, I suppose. What you must understand, Rowsley – what you must both understand,’ he corrected himself, with a small bow, ‘is that this is not his fault. He is suffering from a sort of madness, the result, I fear, of his father’s … indiscretions. You will note there was only one offspring of the marriage. I believe his lordship passed on the … the infection … to his wife. The version his current lordship has is almost certainly hereditary.’
‘No wonder mamas with marriageable daughters made them avoid him,’ Harriet said quietly. Then her face hardened. ‘He knew about this – is it syphilis? – and still seduced or raped the servants? Knowing he could infect them? He should indeed be brought to trial. They, after all, have a life sentence.’
‘But his legal advisers would argue insanity – and then he would be confined to an asylum where there would be no hope for him.’ He spread his hands. ‘This is not a decision to be taken lightly, is it? One thing we must all agree on, I know, is that he must lose his liberty. He will lose his mother too, by the way, soon enough – her symptoms are manifesting themselves now. The sins of the fathers, and of the husbands …’ He shook his head as if, for the first time, in despair. Then he resumed his professional demeanour. ‘What I propose is this—’
‘Page, I may have some proposals of my own, but not till I have discussed them with the key players in the household – my fiancée, Mr Bowman, and Mrs Arden. Without them, this household is nothing. Their years of loyalty and dedication must not be thrown away by our high-handed decisions. They must and will play a part. In the meantime, it is understood that the places of the staff will be taken by professional nurses and guards. The usual channels have not provided them yet: I’m sure you have people you can summon in an emergency like this? Thank you.’ I reached for the bell.
‘I’ve not quite finished here yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure the sedatives I have administered to both are working, and then take one more look at young Thatcher. We don’t want those cuts to scar and spoil his beauty, do we?’
‘Indeed, we want no one to suffer long-term damage. I repeat, we need specialist attendants, Page, and some strong young men in case the sleeping draughts haven’t worked. Thatcher’s deputy will escort you to the servants’ hall.’ I rang.
I was not just being unwontedly officious. I wanted to have a few minutes with Harriet to see what she thought of my hasty plans. I drew my chair to hers, and took her hands in mine. ‘It has been a hard day for you especially, my love, and it may get harder. I have a few ideas. But if you disapprove in any way, foresee a single difficulty, I will abandon them without another word, I promise. Today we proved we have a special understanding, but I was conscious that I said things without consulting you first. Can you forgive me for jumping in? It will never happen again, I promise: we may be of one mind, but we need to establish that first!’
‘Yes. Yes, I forgive you and yes, we should work as a team.’ A blush suffused her face. ‘I—’
‘That is how my parents have always worked. It is the basis of their happy marriage. I hope it will be the foundation of ours.’
‘You may not – you cannot want me when …’ She swallowed hard. ‘There is something you should read before you speak of marriage again. I will give it to you tonight.’
I feared she would faint again, she was so pale, but she gathered herself together. ‘Meanwhile, these plans of yours …’
Our shared supper was a very sober affair, but at least Page had deemed it safe for Samuel to partake of the lightest of courses and a very little wine and water.
As we had agreed, I let Harriet explain the situation.
‘Any ordinary person who has done what his lordship has done would stand trial and no doubt be put in prison. But as a peer of the realm, his lordship is entitled to very different justice – and it is unlikely that he would be jailed. On the other hand, he might be sent to a lunatic asylum, which might seem
the best option.’ She paused to look at the others’ faces. ‘He would be deprived of his liberty, which is just, but might be submitted to all sorts of indignities that people like you, Samuel, who have served the Family so long, would find unacceptable.’
‘He was my master, and his father before him – God rest his soul!’ There was no doubting his loyalty – which was about to be put to an even greater test.
Harriet continued, ‘Having his lordship certified would have all sorts of consequences. There is the obvious pain to her ladyship, but I am sorry to say that Dr Page considers she may be suffering from the same disease as her son – and some of our estate workers and their children, of course, may be afflicted.’
Poor Samuel’s face was a study in painful disbelief. ‘No! His father was a kind employer – a decent man!’
‘I agree. But even the best young men have … adventures … when they are young. “See Naples and die!” they say – because of the amount of disease spread by’ – she groped for a euphemism – ‘disease spread from man to woman and back to man. It seems to Dr Page that his lordship’s father may have infected her ladyship – and that their son, our current lord, is suffering from congenital syphilis.’ Her blush threatened to overwhelm her.
It was time for me to take over. ‘Sadly he is not known for his sexual continence, is he? And the disease may shatter the lives of people who, as their employer and landlord, he should have been protecting. I believe the estate must offer discreet but genuine compensation.’
Beatrice spoke up. ‘If his lordship – and maybe her ladyship too – are confined to an asylum, the House would have to be mothballed and even if the estate workers are kept on, all the domestic staff, maids and footmen – even Luke – would end up without work. Think how many families that would affect!’ She exchanged a quick glance with Samuel, clearly concerned for their future.
The Wages of Sin Page 24