“I’m sure you’ve done extremely well,” Mina said, eyeing the fancy packages done up with ribbons. She dreaded to think what this little lot must have cost.
Edna beamed and took a large drink of tea. “You’re not going to look at ‘em now?” she asked with faint disappointment.
“Of course,” Mina said, picking up the first box which was pale blue and contained a sheaf of notepaper and envelopes decorated tastefully with forget-me-nots, a pot of lavender ink and a box of new nibs for her pen. “Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed. Papa had been of the opinion that black ink was the only acceptable color for letter writing. “Such tasteful decoration,” she said, running a finger over the borders of the small blue and yellow flowers on the writing paper.
“I picked that out,” Edna said, clearly gratified. “Auntie thought violets, but I said no. If the mistress is writing to old friends and acquaintances, then forget-me-nots are more appropriate.”
It crossed Mina’s mind what plain, sensible Hannah might make of the flowery notepaper when she received her letter and had to suppress a wince. “How well it will look on my writing desk!” she commented instead and stood up to carry the things over to the handsome little desk. The only thing she had been able to add to it so far was the mother-of-pearl dip pen which had been her father’s. She set the pot of lavender ink next to the pen and placed the envelopes, paper, and nibs into the empty drawers. “There!” she said, turning back around to look at Edna. “Now my desk is fully furnished!”
Edna nodded, setting her cup back on its saucer. “Oh, there’s something else too,” she said, reaching into her back and drawing out a handful of penny stamps. “These for your letters.”
Mina took them gratefully and added them to another drawer. “And now I have no excuse not to finish that letter to Hannah very soon,” she murmured. Though goodness only knew what she was going to say about being married!
The next box was a pale yellow and filled with matching tissue paper. Inside it contained three little glass bottles of Eau de cologne decorated with floral labels. “Oh, how pretty,” Mina exclaimed.
“They’re all different,” Edna said proudly. “I picked out the spring flowers and auntie picked lily of the valley. The third one’s jasmine, I think the girl said.”
Mina immediately passed Edna the spring flowers bottle. “Then, this one is for you.”
Edna looked shocked. “Oh no, Mrs. Nye! I couldn’t!”
“Nonsense Edna. A perfectly modest woman may sprinkle scent on her handkerchief and gloves. Even my mother thought so. I’m sure Spring Flowers is a lovely fresh scent.”
Edna bit her lip. “It is,” she conceded. “But—”
“But nothing! Which do you think Ivy would like?”
“Ivy?” Edna snorted. “Whichever is the strongest!”
Mina sniffed the remaining two bottles. “Then, I think the jasmine,” she muttered, setting this to one side. She reached the last item, which was the most intriguing. The pink tin was done up with a rosetted ribbon on the top, so it looked almost like a hatbox.
“The gentleman in the apothecaries had to help us pick out the other things,” Edna admitted. “As auntie had no more knowledge than I about balms and lotions and such like.”
Mina levered off the lid and looked down at the three fancy pots within. Bloom of Roses she read on one pot. Restores youthful freshness. Its fluffy, whipped contents smelt good enough to eat. Emulsion of Almonds, she read on another, reduces wrinkles and blemishes she read. Magnolia cold cream was the third which apparently reinstates natural smoothness of complexion. “Which would you rather?” she asked Edna. “Restore freshness, reduce blemishes or reinstate smoothness?” Edna merely looked bewildered. “What do you think of the scent of this one?” Mina said passing her the Emulsion of Almonds.
“I couldn’t accept another gift, Mrs. Nye,” Edna began dubiously.
“Nonsense. I only bought three so I could share them with you and Ivy.”
Edna hesitated at this, clearly loth to miss out if Ivy would receive a share. “I’ve never held with artifices,” she muttered, looking flustered.
Mina reached across and pointed at the label on the bottle. “It says that one is a tonic and made from nature’s ingredients,” she pointed out. Edna removed the stopper and sniffed the milky-looking contents. “It doesn’t smell,” she said with surprise.
“You see,” Mina encouraged her. “Try a drop on the back of your hand.” She poured a second cup of tea for them both as Edna sampled the lotion. “It’s not as though it is rouge or powder, Edna. It’s a treatment for your skin.”
“My skin does get very dry,” Edna admitted, accepting the second cup.
“Then it’s settled.”
They smiled at each other over the rim of their teacups.
As it was Edna’s afternoon off, Mina threw her own supper together. An impromptu meal of cold mutton, pickles, cheese and bread and butter was partaken of, followed by her cream slice. After weighing the likelihood of being discovered by Nye eating in the kitchen, she resisted the temptation and instead took her plate through to the parlor. She still felt unsettled after their confrontation earlier and did not want to risk escalating matters. She dined in silence, washed hurriedly in the scullery alcove, and then extinguished the lamps and mounted the stairs with her candle in one hand, the bag of shopping in the other and her new curtains under her arm.
On reaching her room, she dragged a chair over to the window and set about fixing the curtains to the hooks. Once they hung in place, she stepped back to survey the results and thought they would look a lot better if they had a lighter pair underneath for decorative purposes, such as Nottingham lace. Pulling them to, she had to admit the heavy fabric provided a barrier against the cold blast which emanated from the attic window. It also served to muffle the intermittent bursts of rain which drummed against the panes.
Slipping across to Ivy’s room opposite, she left the bottle of jasmine perfume and the magnolia cold cream on the barmaid’s dresser before returning to her own room. She was not sure that she liked the lily of the valley scent that remained, but she set it on the dresser anyway as the bottle was pretty, telling herself she did not feel guilty about keeping the Bloom of Roses for she thought it was by far the nicest of the three lotions.
It was still early, but she did simply did not feel like taxing her eyes further over letter-writing or reading. Stripping down, she set her clothes neatly over her chair, donned her nightgown and spread some of the scented cream sparingly on her elbows, knees, and décolletage. Then she did her neck, face and hands and braided her hair in one long plait and climbed into bed.
Perhaps because she had spent the whole day sat in a chair, she did not feel tired once her head hit the pillow. Instead she lay there, her mind wandering again and again in the same direction. William Nye. Doggedly, she steered her thoughts away from the width of his shoulders, the strong column of his tanned throat and the way his dark hair fell across his forehead and toward his general objectionableness.
He had made it entirely clear, she thought, that he intended for them to lead entirely separate lives. The parlor bar had been converted for her exclusive use and she was to be confined to it, leading an unconnected existence to the rest of the inhabitants of The Merry Harlot. It scarcely seemed practical, she thought, but he seemed determined to promote the scheme.
Fleetingly, she allowed herself to remember how he had come after her when she had fled to the cliffs, then hastily pushed such recollections away, before she had to examine her own behavior that day. It was too bad that he seemed determined to deprive her of any company, even if it was only Edna’s. If ever she tarried too long in the kitchen or scullery he seemed to pop up and send her away. She had almost expected him to show up that morning and chase Gus Hopkirk out of the parlor. It seemed funny now, that he hadn’t, she pondered. Almost as funny as Nye sharing with Gus that she was a schoolteacher.
She simply couldn’t imagine Nye ind
ulging in idle conversation let alone with her as the topic. And yet, he must have, for how else could Gus have known? She shifted over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling beams. It was most odd. Irritably, she twitched at her bedsheets and remembered something that had been niggling away at the back of her mind since that morning. Namely, where she had heard the name Grayking before. Finally, she remembered. Edna had told her it was the name of Werburgh’s favorite goose! Mina sat up in bed.
Gus had said that the monastery was a place of pilgrimage because they housed the holy bones of St Grayking. St Grayking? Mina frowned. Surely the early church had not sainted a goose, even if he had been miraculously raised from the dead by his mistress? Who would travel miles and weather untold hardships to pray at the resting place of a bunch of old goose bones? Mina lay slowly back down, clutching her blanket. Had Gus been spinning her a yarn, she wondered? The words had certainly tripped off his tongue easily enough.
But why would he? What would be his motivation in telling her a bunch of untruths like that? Ghost stories were meant both to entertain and to frighten the listener. Slowly, she turned his words over in her mind. She had found Gus’s tales entertaining and when it came to the sounds the hauntings were supposed to evoke—the dragging and the rolling of the monk’s cart—she had been scared. For those were the sounds she had heard now several times from her window in the early hours of the morning. Involuntarily, her eyes darted to the closed curtains.
Had he known that? And if so, how could he? He would only know if the sounds were of an earthlier nature, she thought. If they were made by men, intent on some dishonest purpose, then it was not beyond the realms of reason, that they might try to mask their actions by spreading tales of ghosts and apparitions. It would not be the first time such a device had been employed. Mina was sure she had read of such things in her women’s periodicals. Cutthroats and thieves who had sought to ensure their hideouts were shunned by law-abiding folk, by the spreading of false rumors of specters and ghouls.
The only serious falling out she had with her own father had been on the occasion he had found out about her own juvenile scribblings. She had been reading a tale about the haunting of a highwayman by his murdered accomplice to their pupils during their Thursday afternoon sewing hour. Those stories had turned the outright pity in those girls’ eyes into admiration. ‘Oh miss, you’re an author, miss’. ‘It’s as good as anything in ‘Milady’s Fancy’, miss’. ‘You ought to send it in, miss, really you ought’.
Her father had warned her that the female brain was more delicate in its balance and should not be overset with unhealthy stimulus which could depress or send it feverish. Mina had pointed out that more than half the stories in the lady’s periodicals were written by women and her father had seemed to think that proved his point. Periodicals were a vastly inferior reading material and she should be cultivating her mind by devoting her studies to that of worthy books written by men.
Mina secure in her own excellent health, had privately disagreed. She knew that her own Papa was far more prone to stomach upset and colds than she. If her physical form was so robust, then why not her mind also? While it was true, that she had often lay shivering in her bed as a tree branch tapped her window, imagining untold horrors, it was also true that the same frisson of fear held a lot of enjoyment for a girl whose life otherwise was rather colorless. She enjoyed reading thrilling tales and she did not believe they were bad for her.
More importantly, Papa turned a blind eye to the fact his pupils purchased such materials, so why should he not allow his daughter a vicarious thrill or two also? Mama did not read at all, and yet Papa did not lecture her to self-improvement. He thought it charming that Mama fussed about with lace and needlepoint and took no interest in current affairs or politics. She, however, had been forced to abandon her tale of spectral highwaymen forthwith.
Turning over again, Mina acknowledged that fact still stung and forced herself once again, to contemplate Gus’s tale. Had he invented his on the spot to entertain her? It seemed unlikely he would go to so much trouble on her behalf. With a sigh, Mina clambered out of bed in search of her knitted bed-socks. Her feet were simply too cold tonight.
She rifled through her stockings in search of them and frowned when her questing fingers came up against something hard and round. Lifting out the object, Mina found it was her half-sovereign. She stared at it a moment in astonishment before thoughtfully replacing it. Then she found her rather lumpy blue bed socks and pulled them on over her bare feet. Straightening up, she found herself staring once more at the velvet curtains.
Snatching up her shawl, she threw it over her shoulders and inched towards the window. What o’clock was it? She thought she had heard the clock chime eleven. Opening the curtains by the tiniest amount, she gazed down at the yard below and was startled to see a tall shadowy figure below seemingly staring right back up at her window. With a gasp, Mina stepped back and then whirled around to jump straight into bed, her heart still thudding.
Her only comfort was that he had not been wearing a monk’s habit.
9
The next morning, she woke full of renewed vigor. The first thing she did, was check that she had not dreamed the coin in her stocking drawer. No, there it was, shiny as ever. He had not wrapped it back in her handkerchief but had simply tossed it back into her drawer. Her chest swelled indignantly. The man was a law unto himself! She would most certainly tackle him about it, she thought grimly as she made her way downstairs. When the moment was right.
She ate breakfast with Edna, with her hip propped against the kitchen table. She was not poised for flight she told herself. Indeed, she half wanted Nye to walk in on her this morning, but disappointingly, he did not appear even though she lingered long after her second cup of tea. Finally, she took herself off to the parlor room and settled to sew up the curtains for Edna’s room. She finished them at midday and took them up to place them folded on the bottom of Edna’s bed. While she was in there, she was gratified to see that another rail had been put up ready for them over the window.
She was halfway down the stairs again when she saw Nye passing through the hallway below. “Nye!” she called, and slowly he turned to look at her, a ferocious glare on his face.
“Well, what is it?” he growled before she had reached the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ve finished the curtains and now I intend to clean those parlor windows,” she said breathlessly. “They’re filthy. I’ll need newspaper for it. Do you have any that you’re not saving for clippings?” He shook his head and her face fell. “Oh.” Then inspiration struck. “Tell you what,” she said affably. “You can direct me as to what sections you want saving and I can cut them out for you and even paste them in a scrapbook, if it will help.” Nye scowled. “After all,” she pointed out reasonably. “Those papers must have been collecting dust for years. They’re taking up valuable cupboard space.”
“No,” he said tersely.
She crossed her arms. “No?” she repeated. “Pray then, what am I to use?” He muttered something under his breath. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.”
“I said, you’re not going to let this lie, are you?” She shook her head obstinately. He wheeled about and headed back for the scullery. After a moment’s hesitation, Mina followed him. He was retrieving the first bundle of newspapers, she noticed with interest. “Follow me,” he said grimly and made for the kitchen where he cut the string binding them.
Mina watched as he rifled through the first newspaper, extracting one page which he set aside. “You can have the rest of it,” he said. Then he opened the next paper and repeated the process. Again, he removed one page and set it with the other and then handed her the remains of the paper. “Is that enough?”
Mina shook her head. He repeated the process with another two newspapers and Mina surreptitiously strained her eyes to scan the pages he removed. She could just about make out a headline of the top page Nye wins by knockout in third round. Oh, the
y were press clippings from boxing matches. “If you separate the rest of the pile,” she said. “Then I could do all the windows in the inn. Edna doesn’t really have the time,” she added quickly, anticipating his refusal. “Not with the day-to-day duties she already covers.”
He shot her a level look. “Not in the public bar,” he said tersely. Mina shrugged, perfectly willing to concede that point. Not another word passed between them as he swiftly separated the rest of the pile and stuffed his pages into his waistcoat. “You can have those,” he said, nodding to the discarded pile.
“Thank you.” She spent the afternoon cleaning windows. Her arms ached after she had completed the parlor bar, the kitchen, and the scullery. She stopped at six o’clock to take her solitary meal that Edna brought her which was a rich beef stew. After that, she contemplated turning in for another early night, but the idea frankly did not appeal to her.
She needed a bath, for though the newspaper left the windows sparkling, her own palms were stained with black newsprint. Before this though, she wanted to tackle the windows in the three private parlors. After all, Nye had banned her from the taproom, but he had made no mention of the private parlors.
Feeling vaguely defiant, she mixed up another batch of water and white vinegar and carried her bowl to the first of the parlor bars. The solution soon cut through the film of dirt, the smell of vinegar making her eyes water. She had just taken up the newspaper and was swiping it across the glass when she saw a sporting looking carriage career into the yard, taking the bend in the road far too fast. Mina let out an involuntary cry, for the carriage was leaning over so far that for an instant she thought it would overbalance.
Then, just as quickly, it righted itself. The gentleman sat atop it, pulled viciously on the reigns and the four horses came to a stop. He threw down his whip, righted his top-hat and swiftly climbed down, calling to a passing ginger bearded man who Mina vaguely recognized as fixing up the curtain rail for her the day before. He took the head of one of the horses and started leading it toward the stable before the gentleman shouted again, and then wrenched open the door to his carriage, dragging out a dainty looking female from its recesses. His rough treatment practically set the poor child on her backside, Mina thought with disapproval. Surely the girl looked familiar, she thought, her nose practically pressed to the glass at this point.
A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 11