Chapter 8
Lady Calver was beside herself with fury. First of all, the impudent innkeeper seemed convinced that she was some kind of lightskirt. He insisted that the only guest was a man who had lost his memory but whose effects had him named Jefferson, and she had demanded to see the bedroom of the unfortunate young man. Pigeon had his own idea about the identity of his lordship, but with the solidarity of the fraternity of men, he mentally closed ranks against the loud and overbearing female.
If she had been his mother, he, too, would have run away; and as the boy, Pip, was up and about, he could go and warn his employer.
Having spent his time taking the female up to his guest’s bedroom, he was pleased to note that Pip had smuggled his lordship out of the priest’s door. The window was wide open, and when the lady – or otherwise – demanded to know where this supposed Mr. Jefferson was, Pigeon shrugged.
“Dew he han’t awready left, reckon yew’ve frightened un out of the winder,” he said.
“Well, stop him!” screeched Lady Calver.
“What for?” asked Pigeon.
“I want him to come home!”
“Ar, well, I want to not have rheumatics, but that be-ant goin’ tu happen neither,” said Pigeon. “Wass for yer chasin’ arter a grown man? Dew he di’n’t pay you fer services?”
“I am not a prostitute! I’m his mother!” screeched Lady Calver. “I’ll have you sacked! I want to know who owns this inn!”
“Yew’ll be lucky,” said Pigeon. “I be-ant about to sack moiself, am Oi? Thass moi house, and Oi own ut. An’ Our’ll be pleased if yew’ll leave.”
“Leave? I’m going to stay here until my son returns!”
Pigeon scratched his head.
“Yew’d better come down to the bar, then; this room is taken, an’ paid for ahid o’ toime, and there aren’t no more rooms for hire. Do-ant yew try to drum up custom, though, I oon’t have no hanky-panky.”
“You are offensive!” hissed Lady Calver.
“Ar, well, glad to oblige,” said Pigeon. “Now, I hev work to do, so yew’ll excuse me.”
Lady Calver did not know what to do. She tried to talk Jinny Pigeon into giving her a room, but Jinny did not want someone like her in the inn, and smiled, and said that all rooms were full.
“Well, throw someone else out, then,” said Lady Calver.
“Whoi?” said Jinny.
“Because I want a room,” said Lady Calver.
“Thass yor problem, not moine,” said Jinny. “I hint got no spare rooms, and they’re paid up ahid o’ toime. So tough luck, missus.”
“Do you know who I am?” asked Lady Calver.
“Yor a roight nuisance wass in moi way,” said Jinny. “If yew was genuine gentry, yew’d be stayin’ with yor own types.”
“I can scarcely stay with a bachelor like Philip-Paul Seward,” said Lady Calver, haughtily.
“Well, yew’d better go foind somewhere wass got room for yew, or hev people what’ll hev you; wass you’re a doin-of here I do-ant roightly know,” said Jinny.
“I’m looking for my son!” screeched Lady Calver.
“Ar? How old is he?” asked Jinny.
“He’s seven-and-twenty,” said Lady Calver.
“Dicked in the nob, is he?” asked Jinny.
“Certainly not; there’s nothing wrong with my son,” said Lady Calver, haughtily.
“Ar? Then reckon yew du be the one dicked in the nob fer chasin’ arter an adult wass got no need o’ leadin’ strings,” said Jinny, brawny arms akimbo. “An’ good luck to un, Oi say. It oon’t wash, missus, account o’ how thass the thinnest story Oi ever heard. Lookin’ for a son wass his own master? Reckon Our’ll have a word wi’ the constable to tearke yew in charge for lewd harassment, pretendin’ to be a fond mother, or with the reverend to pray for yor soul, dew yew hev one.”
Lady Calver had hysterics.
Had she asked her coachmen, they might have told her that his lordship’s team and curricle were in the paddock behind the inn, there not being room in the stables; but the idea of asking servants was beneath her.
She withdrew to the rectory, demanding to be put up there, and the Reverent Coot, pleased enough to bully those he thought able to be bullied, meekly left her there with his own servants, and withdrew to stay with the doctor and his sister.
“Ooh, Simmy, I hint never been rude to a customer before, d’yew reckon her’ll cause trouble?” asked Jinny, flinging up her apron over her face.
“There, now, mor, do-ant yew taerke on, so,” said Pigeon. “Reckon we’d ever be hevvin society ladies come visit? Acoss we oodn’t, not nowise. Now, his lordship’s friends, thass a different matter. He’s sent off his man o’ business to buy a yacht; and reckon, dew we play our cards roight, we moight git visitors yearly, messin’ about on the river, and wantin’ a plearce tu come and drink and eat. And those as wants to sleep on land; that liddle bit money we’m saved moight come in tu expand the house. And his lordship moight put in a share, an’ either be a silent partner or let us buy him out.”
“Simmy, yew du hev a hard hid fer business,” said Jinny. “But won’t that interfere with the Trade?” by which she meant the free trade, or smuggling.
“Not nowise,” scoffed Simeon Pigeon. “When they’re here, whass one more small boat when the revenue cutters have to deal with a heap o’ mostly overbred fules, backin’ an’ fillin’? an’ a dose o’ what for is what them ow revenue men will git, fyin’ out one of the nobility’s vessels. Ar, and when they ain’t here, as long as two boats goes out, an’ the crews swear blind they was racin’ on account o’ a wager on the part o’ the owners….”
“Simeon Pigeon, you are a clever man!” declared Jinny, kissing her husband into the state which led to them both withdrawing; and on which a modest veil should be drawn.
oOoOo
“I wonder if I should just have faced my mother?” wondered Geoffrey, sitting in the pigsty and breakfasting on gala pie, chopped pork around hard boiled eggs baked in a hot water crust. It went well with the pickled gherkins.
“I guess it depends,” said Pip. “I run away from Da because I’m afraid of him, and I don’t like getting broken ribs and broken bones, and I’m afraid of him killing me. I think you run away from your mother because you’re afraid of killing her.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Geoffrey. “She drives me to such anger that I want to strike her, and it’s easier to run away, ride until my temper cools, and then ignore her until the next time. But this time, I don’t feel fit enough to take any of her nonsense.”
“I’m glad that I don’t have to be man enough to face da,” said Pip, candidly. “But you are going to have to face up to your mother eventually, and put her in her place. You can’t have her going around making your decisions for you; it will get you in serious trouble if people assume she talks with your voice.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Geoffrey. “And it’s getting worse.”
“Will she stop trying to run your life, and telling people what you want, if you set her up in her own house in town?” asked Pip.
“No,” said Geoffrey.
“If you sent her to the dower house, would she stay there? Or would she interfere with the running of your seat at least, even if she did not come up to town to set up her own establishment, passing the bills on to you?” asked Pip.
“You seem to have met her,” joked Geoffrey, weakly. “Yes, she would interfere at the hall, but she would become bored and would come up to town, and expect me to pay for it all.”
“Then, you’ve answered your own questions, haven’t you?” said Pip. “Such an obsession with ruling your life is not normal, and she needs to be controlled.”
“Her social life is all she has,” said Geoffrey.
“Maybe she should have thought about that when she decided to interfere in your life,” said Pip. “You could always hire a heap of ladies in genteel poverty to be companions.”
“Yes, I could,” said Geoffrey, brightening. “Goodness knows what nonsense she’ll be spinning about my absence when she returns.”
“Then, you should write to sundry of your friends, and your solicitor, and your bank, telling them that you are taking a repairing lease in the country whilst you consider the painful matter of your mother’s decreasing mental health, apologising to anyone whose balls you should have attended, and so on, and make any story she tells into a farce,” said Pip. “You can say that you’ve been sorting out Seward’s offspring as well, so that prepares people for me.”
“You darling! You are clever. I am afraid she just makes my brain stop functioning,” said Geoffrey.
“Da does the same to me,” said Pip. “I just want to curl into a ball to protect my belly from punches, but that doesn’t protect my head, or my arms or my legs or my back. I… I think I have scars. Will… will you mind?”
“Mind? Of course I mind, that you have been hurt, but it makes no difference to me loving you, and being tremendously lustful towards you,” said Geoffrey. “I have a few scars, from boxing, and from fencing with Angelo, but mine are, as you might say, self-inflicted, in choosing to fight. You, my poor darling, have scars from being brutalised. I think I might like to meet your da, when my arm is healed. I owe him a beating to at least partly repay what he has put you through.”
“I want to watch,” said Pip.
“We’ll see,” said Geoffrey. “If you do, it should be as Pip, not Philippa.”
“Well, you have writing paper in your valise, so you may as well write letters today, and I will take them to the post,” said Pip. “And as the cat is out of the bag, you can frank them, too.”
“So I can,” said Geoffrey. “I missed a ball and two soirées; I must apologise for them.”
Geoffrey set himself to writing letters, and Pip carried them back to the inn. Here, she encountered Pigeon.
“You can tell his lordship, he can return safely,” said Pigeon. “The owd besom is stayin’ in the rectory, an’ the vicar is stayin’ with Doctor and Miss Gooding. An’ if Rev Coot expects to keep the services of Murfitt and Mrs. Murfitt, he’ll hev another thought comin’ account o’ how they du be whoolly discomsquatchulated by that prating fool anywise, wass thinks he’s a bishy-barnybee, jus’ acoss the church hev foin angel hammer beams an’ a decent ring o’ foive bells. An’ she dun slapped poor little Betty, wass run away to Miss Effie.”
“Oh, poor Betty!” said Pip. “His lordship has found a daughter of Philip Paul Seward, and she will need a maid, presently; I will tell him that Betty will do for her. And he wants to ask Miss Effie to give her a bit of a hint in how to be a lady, so it could be that the Murfitts will have employment, for I wager he’d buy out the tumbledown cottage next to Miss Effie’s and have it made into one.”
“Well, thass a good idea,” said Pigeon. “Do Miss Effie know?”
“No, but he needs to talk to her,” said Pip. “He’s been writing to people in town; will your boy mind going soonest?”
“Ar, reckon we can catch them ow mail directly,” said Pigeon. “Are you off to be a gennelman?”
“Yes, I’m to go away to school,” said Pip, thinking swiftly, and realising that this would cover her disappearance as well as the arrival of Philippa.
“He paid for vittles’ and bedding,” she volunteered.
“Ar, well, thass foine by me,” said Pigeon. “Reckon business will be good dew his lordship an’ his friends hev a yachting club or someat.”
“I’m not sure he’s thought that far, but it sounds fun,” said Pip. “Regattas and things.”
“Exactly,” said Pigeon.
Pip ran back to her sty.
“She’s left the inn, but you’ll have to lie a bit low,” she said. “She’s driving the curate’s servants away, so I thought you could buy the cottage next to Miss Effie’s and renovate it, and hire the Murfitts, and poor Betty. She slapped her!” said Pip, indignantly. “Betty isn’t fast, but she’s a nice girl.” She sighed. “You’d better see Miss Effie as soon as possible,” she added.
“I think I might own the cottage, anyway,” said Geoffrey. “I own the hall, and sundry other places; it came with my grandmother’s dowries, I think, and Seward being in descent of her sister. So he isn’t my heir.”
“Oh, well, when he dies, we can use the hall,” said Pip.
“Yes, why not,” said Geoffrey. “It’s mostly Jacobean, isn’t it?”
“1547,” said Pip.
“Really? I thought all those brick finials on the gatehouse and porch were Jacobean. I stand corrected. I think that’s Edward VI, but don’t quote me.[1]”
“It’s supposed to have a priest’s hole and secret passage,” said Pip, happily. “The Running Buck is the same age.”
“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me,” said Geoffrey. “Edward VI – or his advisers – were not very nice. And then there was Bloody Mary. What a time to live in!”
“Indeed, quite horrid,” said Pip. “Did we eat all the ham before I took the letters?”
“Yes, we did,” said Geoffrey. “I’m leaving the bedding here, though – just in case.”.
Pip laughed.
“Pigeon doesn’t mind; he’s dreaming of you bringing in custom with regattas on the river.”
“Well, that’s further than I was looking, but we shall worry about that if it happens,” said Geofrey. “I hope it may work out well for him, though I’ll be just as happy just to visit a quiet end of nowhere.”
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