master of gothic house 8

 

Chapter 8

 

“Miss Snowe, please, and Master Snowe,” said Ram Gopal.

Clara took Tommy’s hand to go through to the interview room, curtseying when Edwin rose to bow. Tommy made a creditable leg.

“Please sit down,” said Edwin. He had arranged for a chair for Tommy with a footstool so his legs would not dangle.

“Thank you; you are thoughtful,” said Clara.

“I noticed when I passed by that Tommy preferred a stool to sit on,” said Edwin. “I hear you want to go into the navy?”

“Clara wants me to go to school and university, but in the navy I get education and pay,” said Tommy.

“Logically thought out; though it is a very big step and not easy to rectify if you feel you have made a mistake later,” said Edwin. “It’s hard work as well; but you don’t have to decide yet.”

“No, sir, thank you,” said Tommy.

“I would prefer him not to go into the navy,” said Clara. “As he is all the family I have left. I have found it challenging to travel during weather which killed our parents.”

“Is it snowing again?” said Edwin. “Well, do not worry, because you will be travelling with hot bricks and plenty of quilts, my mother felt the cold so very much. She insisted that we always travel with extra quilts, and dry firewood kept inside the coach, in case of being stranded in a snowdrift, so as to make a shelter and light a fire outside the coach, to reheat bricks and make hot drinks. I have never had to test her providence, but I do not neglect to follow her fears.”

“That makes me feel somewhat better,” said Clara. “You must think me, a native of this land, rather foolish.”

“On the contrary, I salute your courage, and consider it wise to always be careful,” said Edwin. “What did your father do?”

“He was a stockbroker,” said Clara. “He left us well enough off, but he added to our income in trading shares. I... I learned some of the craft from him, but I did not dare risk what we have in attempting to trade shares, especially as there will be people ready to try to cheat a woman.”

“Ah, you should speak with my brother-in-law,” said Edwin. “He will guide you, if you want to learn more, regardless of my choice.  I would like you to come to the house party; and perhaps you will ask Miss Cubitt to come in.”

 

Angela curtseyed.

“My lord,” she said.

Edwin froze.

“You have made some wild guesses,” he said.

“Not so very wild,” said Angela. “You were in the village. The old lord was wont to rail about his insufferable rich brother who came back from India a nabob. I gather his worst offence was in bailing him out of various crises.”

“That does rather cover it,” said Edwin, ruefully. “When did you work it out?”

“When you sent Jenny,” said Angela. “If you were sorting out dependents, it really did argue inheriting property, and Gothic House was standing waiting to be inherited.”

“And does it make a difference?”

“Not in the least, but I wanted you to know I’d worked it out, because I am vain about my intellect,” said Angela.

“And honest with it,” said Edwin. “Your goat has moved into Gothic House, you know; the vicar did not care for her at all.”

“Oh, he is a horrid man but he told me not to take any property of the living,” said Angela.

“I have threatened the Bishop over him,” said Edwin. “Dear me, you already know I belong to Gothic House.”

“What, were you hoping to hold a Christmas party in what has become a mausoleum? It should be beautiful and welcoming, but I wager Hymes and Mrs. Hymes cannot arrange that miracle.”

Edwin pulled a rueful smile.

“I planned to have a break-down outside it, and use dealing with its mausoleum-like aspect as a test, but that will not work on you.”

“No, and I suspect that apart from scaring Clara most unkindly, she will also rise to the occasion,” said Angela, severely.

“I could not know of her not unreasonable fear before planning this, alas,” said Edwin. “But I hope you will help her find her courage for the short while between accident and the relative comfort of Gothic House.”

“I believe I can do that,” said Angela.

“Tell me, as I am not taking three of the six I initially shortlisted, would Mrs. Partridge like a bit of a holiday?” asked Edwin, spontaneously. “I cannot like leaving an elderly woman alone in what is really very cold weather.”

“I will ask her, but she has not packed,” said Angela.

“Perhaps you can go and help her, whilst I set up the horses and have bricks warmed,” said Edwin.

“You are thoughtful,” said Angela.

 

Mrs. Partridge stared.

“Well, I won’t mind seeing Maggie Hymes again, no I won’t,” she said. “Let us hurry; that dratted child can guard your luggage.”

“Angela! You haven’t been dismissed, have you?” cried Clara.

“Of course she has; even an Indian won’t want anyone so blatantly ginger,” said Esther Mortimer.

“The gentleman asked if Mrs. Partridge would be an extra chaperone,” said Angela. “So, she needs to pack.”

“Oh, I am glad,” said Clara.

 

oOoOo

 

“Cor, Mrs. Partridge, ain’t you goin’ wiv the ladies?” asked Jenny, when that worthy moved to get into the shooting brake with its improvised cover.

“Bless you, Jenny, I’m chaperoning the maids,” said Mrs. Partridge, who thought it a good idea, even if Jenny was on the young side, and Clara Snowe’s Martha rather long in the tooth to need a chaperone. Esther Mortimer’s Lizzy was in need of someone to look out for her, for all her sniffy ways and assumption of superiority; and Mrs. Clitheroe’s Betty would take no nonsense from anyone, as well as being old enough to be less likely to find herself in trouble. But it was a good courtesy to show that the servants had a chaperone as well.  And both Jenny and Aggie Partridge had been told firmly by Miss Angela not to show surprise at ending up at Gothic House, where Jenny’s brother might also be found. Mrs. Partridge was not sure she entirely approved of playing games to test the women; to her mind, it was obvious that his lordship was starting to form a partiality, and she hoped there would be no tears over it.  Well, there would be, from the Mortimer chit, who thought a lot of herself, and was, in Aggie Partridge’s idiom, as much use as a wet dwile. A dwile being the local vernacular across East Anglia for a dish cloth, the comparison was not flattering.[1]

Edwin had installed a coachman and several grooms at Gothic house to deal with the coaches, and the coachman was to drive the servants; he and Ram Gopal took the box of the Berlin, glad of quilts, and hot bricks. He had the communication door to the coach cracked open a little, to eavesdrop on those within.

The snow was desultory still, perhaps a little harder than earlier, but it was settling. Clara swallowed hard.

“It’s not as if it’s up north, like where mama and papa were,” said Tommy.

“And I do not believe we are going far, or anywhere too distant from habitations,” said Clara. Tommy gripped her hand tightly as they got into the old-fashioned Berlin.

“There are spades on the back of the coach, and an axe” said Angela. “If nothing else, we can cut branches and weeds to fill up the cold space under the coach, and put blankets all around the walls and light a small fire in the shovel part of a spade to keep warm.”

“How practical you are!” said Clara.

“Vicars aren’t paid very much; you learn to compromise, and do all sorts of practical things,” said Angela.

“Totally unsuited to be the wife of a sophisticated man of town bronze,” said Esther.

“Still, at least you need to qualify that, where I’m concerned,” said Angela. “I fancy you might have to describe yourself purely with the first six words.”

“I don’t understand,” said Esther.

“You’re totally unsuited to be a wife,” said Angela.

“Girls, please,” said Elinor. “I’m not putting up with you bickering all the way; and I won’t be afraid to make anyone who is causing trouble get out and sit on the box.”

Angela subsided.

“It’s that wretched red-head...” whined Esther.

“You started it, but say any more, and I’ll finish it,” said Elinor.

Esther believed her, and fell into a sulky silence.

“Miss Cubitt, what would you do if we did get into a snowdrift?” asked Tommy.

“It’s unlikely with this small amount of snow,” said Angela. “You mean, though, if we have an accident?”

“Yes,” said Tommy.

“What a ghoulish child; children should be seen and not heard,” said Esther.

“Maybe if your parents had died of cold in a coaching accident like his, you’d have a bit of fellow feeling for a lad wanting to know contingency plans,” said Angela.

“The next poisonous comment you make, Miss Mortimer, I’ll bang on the communication door for my nevvy to stop the coach and leave you to walk back to Chelmsford,” said Elinor. “I mean it.”

“You cannot!” gasped Esther.

“Watch me,” said Elinor.

Esther huddled down in her feather quilt, sulking.

“Anyway, Tommy, you wonder about contingency plans,” said Angela, talking for the sake of talking to keep the child calm. “I imagine if anything happens to this coach, the shooting-brake will carry on, if possible, because we have a duty of care to the servants, which as a gentleman, you know. And one thing they can do is find somewhere to stop, and send back aid. There isn’t more than three miles between villages in this part of the country, or at least, big houses. And I would imagine that the gentleman and his man would likely uncouple the horses, and with you riding with your sister, put us each up onto a horse to carry us on wherever, perhaps adding our luggage to the shooting-brake. It’s not as if we are each bringing an imperial.”

Tommy giggled at this, as Angela had intended. An imperial was a huge case for clothing which usually filled the roof of a coach, and was generally made to measure, buckling onto the railings around the roof.

“What would you do if we were on moorland?” he asked.

“Is that what happened to your parents?” asked Angela. Tommy nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and she went on. “Well, as a draft comes through the bottom of the carriage, we’d want to get out and cut brush to push under it to keep warm; if it would be too far to ride, it would be kindest to let the horses loose to find somewhere, and write a note to anyone who finds them.  And then there’s the bale of hay coachmen keep which we could spread on the floor, and put extra blankets on the walls, like being in a four-poster bed, and we could keep each other warm. And if there were some small trees, we could build a little shack out from one side, so we could have a fire, sheltered enough from the snow.” Angela had no idea how practical this idea might be, but it seemed to fire Tommy’s imagination, and soothe his fears.

Then, the coach came to a halt.

Edwin opened the communications door.

“Not to worry, ladies, but we had a problem with one wheel; I’ll see what I can do, but there’s a village up ahead where I can hope to find a wheelwright.”

Tommy and Clara both looked apprehensive.

“Well, if there’s a village ahead, we shan’t have to go far, if anything happens,” said Angela, who knew something was going to happen.

The coach started off again, and Clara looked relieved.

And then there was a sharp CRACK! noise, and the coach lurched to one side. Tommy whimpered, once, then firmed his jaw.

“We men will take care of the ladies,” he said, firmly.

“Of course you will,” said Angela.

The communication door opened.

“The wheel has broken,” said Edwin. “But we’re almost at the gates of a large house; I suggest we take our luggage up to the house and ask for hospitality. I cannot see that they would refuse us.”

“It would be churlish to do so,” said Elinor.

Edwin was uncoupling the horses, when Jeb Curtis’s shooting-brake pulled level.

“Trouble, Annesley?” he asked.

“Oh, hello, Curtis,” said Edwin. “Yes, a small accident. Will you carry the ladies up to the house? More comfortable for them than riding, and Ram Gopal and I will lead the horses.”

“Not a problem,” said Jeb.  “I don’t really want to take my nags much further in this muck, either. Fog’s coming down.”

“Mr. Curtis! Are you following me?” demanded Esther.

“Why would I do that?” said Jeb. “You made I clear you have no interest in me. Still, I got to know Annesley because I care enough to find out about a man you might be hoping will court you.”

“Oh!” said Esther, blushing.

“Let us hurry, so Mr. Curtis does not have to keep his team waiting in the cold too long, nor the other vehicle with the servants,” said Angela, helping Elinor down, and then leaping down to lift Tommy for Clara. She looked up into Jeb’s face as he helped her up, and thought him quite the most handsome man she had ever seen, an honest, countryman’s face, but regular of feature, with twinkling blue eyes, and a thatch of straw-coloured hair which she itched to smooth down and tame. She flushed. This would never do! She was supposed to hope for an offer from Lord Aldermede, the Indian gentleman.

They took the hot bricks, cooling, but still with some heat, and the quilts.

“After all, they might be short of bedding, even if they have rooms,” said Clara, practically. “That way, we can always offer to bed down on a bare floor or in the stable loft if they are full to bursting with a Christmas house party, as they might well be. Our Saviour did not scorn to be born in a byre, and at this time of year, we should be aware of that.” It was apparent that her spirits had returned with the prospect of somewhere to shelter.

It was a cold drive in the open shooting-brake up the gravel drive to Gothic house, but it was not far, if not walking. Edwin left the four horses with Ram Gopal, and rang the bell.

Hymes answered the door.

“Good afternoon; we have had a coaching accident,” said Edwin. “This gentleman has kindly driven on the ladies, but we cannot continue until we have a new wheel. Can you put us up?”

“There’s nobody at home, strictly speaking,” said Hymes, “And only me and my wife; but you’re welcome to take pot luck. The old viscount took and died, but we do have some provender.”

He stood back to let everyone in, the ladies carrying their own luggage, and some of the quilts.

 

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[1] Whatever anyone says, dwile flonking is not an ancient pub game. My parents knew the people who invented it for Beccles fete and came up with ‘evidence’ for its spurious origins.