“The likes of him don’t sit at table,” said Edna told her dryly. “He slaps it between two pieces o’ bread and takes it with him.”
“I see,” Mina climbed to her feet and picked up the empty pail. “I’ll go and fetch more water for heating while you make the tea,” she said.
Edna acquiesced and Mina traipsed back out to the pump. Feeling eyes on her, she grabbed the handle and started vigorously working it. By the time she felt able to take a surreptitious glance about the courtyard, all she caught was a glimpse of Nye’s back disappearing into an outhouse.
Edna made their tea strong and hot and she added sugar but no lemon. Mina drank her cup with a sigh of pleasure for the blend was a surprisingly aromatic and unusual one. “What kind of tea is this?” she asked, lowering her cup. “It’s got a lovely flavor.”
Edna shrugged, opening the cupboard to show paper packets tied with string. “I just picks one off the shelf,” she said. “There’s plenty to choose from.”
Mina gaped at the extensive choice of tea leaves. She had never seen so much in one place outside of a tea merchant’s establishment. “Someone must enjoy tea a good deal, I think,” she commented.
Edna’s gaze swerved away evasively. “There’s plenty of tobacco and brandy about the place too,” she said dryly. “But I don’t poke my nose in what don’t concern me.”
Mina frowned, but Edna did not elaborate, so she set about tying a scarf about her head as the water heated. “Do you have any white vinegar or lemon?” she asked, thinking of Hannah’s tried and true methods when it came to domestic cleaning.
“No lemon,” Edna said succinctly. “But we got white vinegar.” She indicated a cupboard and Mina set about making her diluted solution.
She spent an industrious morning scrubbing down every surface in the kitchen. When she’d done all the obvious ones, she opened all the cupboards, turned them out, and set about scouring the shelves. At various points, she heard people come in and out of the room, but steadfastly ignored all comers. Her upper body usually wedged in a confined space in any case.
Edna made a good quantity of flat pastry pies with mince and onion and baked them in the scullery oven, before she set about boiling up a load of linen and bedclothes which looked none too savory. “Prizefighters bleeding all over the sheets,” Edna complained crossly. “And worse!” She took a half a raw potato to the worst of the stains and rubbed it to the discolored spots while muttering to herself. She made them another pot of tea at midday and wordlessly slid one of her pasty pies toward Mina for her midday meal.
In the afternoon, Mina replaced all the contents in the cupboards and attacked the scullery with the same zeal. By four o’clock, she was exhausted and realized she had somewhat over-done it. She had to work hard to pick her feet up and not drag them when she once more trailed out to the pump to refill the copper for washing. She was far too tired to lug a load of buckets of warm water up to the porcelain hip bath on the first floor, she thought wryly. Instead, she would have to settle for a strip wash in the scullery.
It was a shame as she felt simply filthy and despite the scarf wrapped around her head, her hair would now need washing, as she had worked up such a sweat. Then she noticed a small tin bath hanging from a peg in the scullery. That would be just the ticket. She filled it and fetched out the abrasive carbolic soap once more, thinking longingly of the scented cake in her trunk. In reality, the carbolic would serve her much better in her current dirt-covered state, though she did not know in what condition it would leave her long brown hair.
There was a tatty folding screen in one corner which someone had once covered laboriously with cut out scraps of what looked like programs and flyers for various music hall and circus performances. It was coming apart now, but Mina saw with interest that it had once been edged with velvet ribbon and studs and had clearly been a labor of love. She dusted it with a damp cloth and arranged it around the tin tub to give her some modesty as she bathed.
Edna had not reappeared since mid-afternoon and Mina could only assume, she had duties elsewhere. Other than Nye, she had not seen any other men about the place since the previous evening, so she thought she would simply get on with it. Kneeling beside the tub with a jug, she first washed her hair and soaped it up with the red carbolic soap. Then she swiftly undressed and lowered herself into the water, lathering up her limbs and dragging a washcloth over her skin until she began to feel much refreshed. Reclining in the tub a moment, she covered the tops of her breasts with the washcloth and with a sigh, fell back to lazily contemplate the colored illustrations on the screen.
She was just examining a flyer for The Amazing Ormerod Sisters whose act seemed to comprise of juggling in their frilly drawers, when she heard banging on the kitchen door which she knew she had secured by turning the key into lock. Sitting up with a muffled exclamation, she reached for her towel and wrapped it securely about herself before peering around the doorway into the kitchen. It was Nye, stood at the door with a face like thunder. Hurrying across the kitchen she turned the key and swung the door open.
“We don’t lock this door—” he started furiously before catching sight of her barefoot and dripping on the flagstones.
“I was taking a bath in the scullery,” she explained with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she had wet hair straggling down to her waist. To her annoyance, she could feel hot color rushing to her face.
He paused a moment. “There’s a bathroom on the next floor,” he said through gritted teeth.
Mina inclined her head. “I am aware, but I simply did not have enough energy left to carry cans of water up and down the stairs.”
“Next time,” he said shortly. “Tell someone.”
Mina’s chin came up. “Such as who? I’ve only seen Edna all day, and she already has enough duties without waiting on me.”
He gave an irritable shake of his head. “Such as me,” he answered gruffly.
Oh. She eyed him apprehensively. “I need my trunk carrying up to the attic,” she said after clearing her throat.
His eyes stopped their trudging progress over her bedraggled figure, and he nodded, then stepped past her. Mina turned her head to watch him stride out of the room. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his instead of a collar, he wore a twisted neck scarf at his throat like a laborer.
Until the past month, she had never seen her father arrayed in anything but full correct attire for a gentleman. It crossed her mind that her schoolmaster father would have been very shocked indeed to learn she had been married off to a publican. Ironically, in allowing herself to be led by Lord Faris, she had been carrying out her father’s own last wishes.
“Any reason you’re still stood here, dripping all over the floor?” Will Nye asked her harshly from the doorway. She gave a start. He had her trunk on his shoulder, as though it weighed no more than a few pounds. “Which room are you in?”
“The only free one,” Mina answered tartly. She supposed he meant she should follow him up the stairs. Gathering her neatly folded clothes from the scullery, she hurried after him. He was already halfway up the first flight of stairs and she made sure to keep the span of a few steps between them.
At the top of the stairs, he paused, raised his eyebrows quizzically and angled his thumb in the direction of the largest room. Mina nodded. She hovered outside the room waiting for him to deposit her trunk and sure enough, he emerged mere moments later and strode right past her, heading for the stairs.
“Thank you!” she called after him pointedly. He gave no acknowledgement and Mina, balling her fists, marched into the room, once more wedging the door shut with a chair. He had no manners whatsoever, she told herself grimly as she unbuckled the straps of her trunk in search of her nightgown and robe. She would not descend below stairs again today. She had, had quite enough of The Merry Harlot and Will Nye for one day. Besides, she felt fit to drop and she needed to apply some lotion to her poor hands which were red-raw.
Once
she had dragged her high-necked, white cotton nightgown over her head and rubbed the last of her lavender-scented hand lotion into her sore fingers, she felt sufficiently revived to set about making the room her own. Unpacking her familiar things in these unfamiliar surroundings was a bitter-sweet experience. She hesitated before placing her silver-backed brushes on the dresser.
It seemed strange to see them there after all the years they had sat on the same dressing-table in her small bedroom at Hill School. She laid her glass-topped hairpins next to them along with her lavender soap and glass stoppered bottle of rosewater, but the dresser still looked empty. Its large proportions proclaimed it for a gentleman’s dresser in truth, along with the large rectangular swivel mirror that topped and the two-drawer locked hatbox that stood above the drawers.
Nothing about it looked dainty or feminine, despite her scattered things. She thought fleetingly of Ivy’s cosmetics and perfume bottles strewn across her chest of drawers in the room opposite, but she had nothing like that. Only once, Mina had dared to spend her saved pennies on a thrilling box of pearl powder done up in pink tissue paper which promised miraculous transformative powers for a rosy glow. Some of the girls at Hill school had sworn by it, and in truth, Mina had not been so very much older than many of their pupils. Her mother however had been so horrified and disappointed that Mina had been forced to throw it out before she’d even had a chance to try it.
Painting your face is the height of vulgarity, her mother had denounced in shocked, hushed tones. Only fallen women would indulge in such depravity. When Mina had wept penitently, her mother had patted her shoulder and promised she would not tell her father of her fall from grace. Not all girls are intended to be beauties, her mother had explained gently. We must accept our lot in life with good grace. Your father and I are simply glad you have been spared the snares and temptations that a beautiful face brings with it. No doubt, she had meant it as a heartening pep talk, but Mina had been left feeling plainer than ever.
It was only when Mama had died and Mina had been clearing out her toiletry case that she had come across the secret compartment which held Mama’s own stash of rice powder for the complexion, a handful of burnt sticks for darkening her lashes and a tin of pink balm for her lips or cheeks, Mina wasn’t sure which. Dear, hypocritical Mama. Mina had thrown the contents out without ever telling anyone. The fancy walnut lacquered box with its velvet lining and silver-topped bottles had been sold along with Mama’s French bronze vanity set with the pretty blue guilloche pattern. The proceeds had been used to buy a new morning coat for Papa to meet with their esteemed governors.
Now, picking up her hairbrush and running it through her damp locks, she almost wished she had kept the contraband beautifying products. She looked a pale, drab thing she told herself, looking herself full in the face. The mirror showed her depressing reflection. Like one of those gloomy paintings of Ophelia floating down a stream, singing to herself with her hair full of weeds. It was no wonder her groom had left her in the church. Setting down her hairbrush, she caught herself up short. She hardly wanted William Nye’s attentions, she told herself sternly. What on earth was she thinking of?
Then she remembered she did have some jewelry to her name after all and went to fetch her stocking. Upending it, she retrieved her mother’s silver locket and her father’s gold watch and chain which she had stashed in the toe for safekeeping while she bathed. Jewelry would add a finishing touch to the dresser. She set them down in a few different places before she was satisfied, and then ran to her trunk to find the small china dog that one of her ex-pupils had given her as a farewell gift. Her father had laughingly said it looked like a long-haired ferret, stood on its back legs, but Mina knew it was supposed to be a pampered little lap dog such as society ladies owned. She set him carefully down and then returned to her trunk.
Mama’s engraved silver teapot, spoons, and sugar bowl she set on an empty shelf next to the window. She’d love a cup of tea now, she thought longingly, but could not face running the gauntlet downstairs even though there was a cupboard full of the stuff. Perhaps she could keep a packet upstairs for her own use, she thought. It really ought to be stored in tins to keep it fresh.
Of her mother’s bone china tea service, she had kept two settings and the milk jug only. It had not been such a wrench as she’d feared, for in truth, it had been far from complete, gaining a few chips and cracks over the last thirty years. She placed these pieces of pretty yellow floral carefully on the shelf next to the silver teapot and surveyed the results with a critical eye, moving one cup and saucer closer to the edge and nudging a silver spoon closer to the others for the purposes of symmetry. She hoped Hannah had found somewhere to display the rest of the set to advantage, for she had gifted the remaining pieces to their old maid who had professed herself most pleased with the oddments.
It was only then that she recalled the folded, weighted paper that Hannah had pressed into her palm at their hurried farewell. Mina frowned, remembering she had stuffed it in the concealed pocket in her skirts at the time. Returning to her trunk, she lifted out her dresses in turn, searching for the one she wanted. It wasn’t so easy now they had all been dyed a uniform black and she smothered a sigh for the loss of her best green silk which now looked sadly streaky. Still, it couldn’t be helped and quite honestly the green silk had been on the tired side for a while now, however many times she had replaced the trim and then cuffs. Besides, she would be in mourning for twelve months at least, so what difference did it make?
Sifting past her stiffened horsehair petticoats, she delved into the discrete pocket and found the folded paper. Sitting back on her heels, Mina unwrapped it and found it to contain one of the two shiny gold half sovereign coins Lord Faris had given Hannah for her tip. Tears sprang to Mina’s eyes at Hannah’s unexpected generosity. The dour servant had shared half of all her wealth in the world with her. Wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, she read the smudgy message their old maid had painstakingly printed on the cheap yellowing paper.
“Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.”
Mina blinked, then reminded herself that Hannah had never met William Nye. If anything, it was likely to be a warning against her half-brother Jeremy, who Hannah must have taken against despite his munificence. Scrambling to her feet, she crossed to the dresser once again, and put her half sovereign into the top drawer along with the hand-written warning.
Returning to her dreary black dresses, she carried them over to the wardrobe, but on opening the second door, was surprised to find some of the hangers already occupied. Drawing them out, she found several gleaming white shirts with elaborately pleated fronts, a necktie of flaming red silk and a waistcoat of striped scarlet and black the like which quite took her breath away with its garishness.
Her father had always said black and white were the only two permissible colors for a gentleman’s evening attire and everyone knew that neckties should be as small and soberly colored as possible. The final hanger displayed a walking suit of a loud and vulgar plaid, which she was sure no gentleman would ever deign to wear. Touching the fabric and feeling the silk lining there could be no doubt the clothes were expensive though they were wholly lacking in any kind of taste.
Remembering Will Nye’s spartan dress of plain black wool waistcoat and breeches and collarless shirt, she could not imagine who these garments could belong to. With a shrug, she shoved them to the one side of the wardrobe and hung up her own lackluster gowns and stiffened petticoats at the other end. There could be no greater contrast, she thought between the two sets of clothes at opposite ends of the rail. If one side belonged to a fine cock pheasant, then the other side was that of the corresponding female bird with its dull feathers of mottled brown and black.
With a shiver, Mina returned to her trunk and slung a warm blue woolen shawl over her shoulders as she unpacked the last of her things. After all, it wouldn’t matter if she w
ore colors in the privacy of her own room and the black-fringed shawl was thin and provided no warmth whatsoever. At the bottom of the trunk lay her white cotton chemises, drawers and handkerchiefs, her spare corset, and black stockings. These she dropped into the second drawer down and considering herself unpacked she climbed into bed to open one of the few periodicals she had managed to slip down the side of her packed trunk.
It was an old favorite, despite her father’s disapproval of such literature. Their pupils had bought swathes of them over the school terms and instead of throwing them out, Mina had built up quite a collection over the years, which she had kept in neat piles under her bed. Papa thought the serialized fiction and poetry within their pages to be of low quality and betraying poor moral fiber, though he did not object to her reading the domestic household pieces or the cooking recipes. Mina read them from cover to cover and consumed them like guilty treats. She knew the stories to be mere fluff, but the thrill of a female protagonist triumphing over the odds stacked against her was a lure she could not resist.
There was something entirely comforting about re-reading familiar articles and she had only just begun a fashion article on how to revive a ‘tired-looking bonnet’ when the volume slipped through her tired fingers and she nodded off to sleep.
*
Mina woke suddenly in the night, uncertain of the hour but with the conviction some noise had awoken her in the sleeping inn. She lay a moment, breathing in and out, but after a moment, she knew it had not been from inside her own room, but rather somewhere outside. Craning her ears, she caught it again - a sort of rumbling and dragging sound out in the courtyard. When she had steeled her nerves enough to slip out of bed, she crept to the window and peered out of it onto the courtyard below. Sure enough, the hanging lanterns had all been extinguished and she could see no lights in the window of the taproom or any other downstairs. The hour must be extremely late, she thought, indeed, it was highly likely the early hours of the morning.
A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 5