Master of Gothic House 5

 

Chapter 5

 

Abigail Hendry ploughed doggedly through a pianoforte piece. She played with great accuracy, and all the depth of feeling of a lump of coal. Abigail did not particularly enjoy playing, but she had been taught because it was the thing to do. Abigail could not really see what people saw in music, but she was an obedient girl who accepted that some people did like it. It was her duty to please people and make a good marriage.

“It’s good of you to be prepared to marry some Indian fellow to fund us all having come-outs,” said her sister, Alexandra.

“Oh, well, I have to get married some time, I suppose,” said Abigail, vaguely. “As well to someone rich, so I can have a pink silk ballgown, and hot chocolate in bed every day.”

“You don’t mind that he wants children?” asked Alexandra, anxiously.

“Not really; if he’s rich enough, he’ll have nursemaids and things for them, so I don’t have to have anything to do with them, unless they are clean and smell nice.”

“Having a baby isn’t very nice, they say it’s painful,” said Alexandra, anxiously.

“Oh, well, I can put on a heavy cloak,” said Abigail, vaguely.

Alexandra frowned.

“A heavy cloak?”

“Well, to deal with the thorns from the gooseberry bush where you get babies,” said Abigail.

“Abbie, it... it doesn’t work like that,” said Alexandra. “Babies grow inside you.”

Abigail stared.

“No, don’t you dare try bamming me, it isn’t nice.”

“I’m not! Ask Mama!” said Alexandra.

“I will! You’re unkind!” Abigail ran out of the room to find her mother. “Mama! Tell Alexandra not to lie to me! She said babies grow inside you!”

“Abigail, we had this conversation when your courses started, that a man plants a seed in you which grows into a baby inside you.”

“I... I thought you meant he plants a seed to grow under a gooseberry bush!” she said. “No! I can’t do this! I won’t do this! It isn’t fair, it’s wrong, it’s... it’s wrong! Men shouldn’t even touch a woman!”

Alexandra sighed.

“I told you Abigail’s understanding is not superior, Mama. I’d better go and see the Indian gentleman. I’m sixteen, and perhaps he’ll let me have a ball instead of a come out.”

“Oh, dear!  It was such a long birth, I fear she was quite blue when she came out,” said Mrs. Hendry.  “With Charley at university, and Annabelle, Agatha, Amelia and Alberta in the nursery, and little Christopher about to start school, one of you needs to marry well, and it’s a good chance that a cautious man is playing down his wealth to put off people like us who have to chase money.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

“Clara,” said Tommy Snowe, “You don’t have to get married, you know, if you don’t want to. I don’t mind going to the local school not the Ipswich School. Or maybe going to sea, when I’m older.”

“It’s not your job to worry, sweetie,” sighed Clara. “I could hope to marry for love, but you never know! Maybe the Indian gentleman and I will fall in love, and live happily ever after; it will be an adventure.”

“But I’m the man of the house, and I should be caring for you,” said Tommy, stubbornly. “If I become a midshipman, I’ll have pay to send home, you know, and they have schoolmasters.”

“Oh, Tommy!  I know you like sailing your skiff on the Black Water, but it isn’t the same,” sighed Clara.

“Well, perhaps the Indian gentleman will find me a berth on a merchant ship so I can make my fortune,” said Tommy.

“We won’t be able to make any plans until we meet him,” said Clara, taking the easy way out.

 

oOoOo

 

“You’re a damned fool to throw away a good man like Jeb Curtis, my girl,” said Mr. Mortimer. “I know he isn’t a gentleman, but it’s only since my father put me through university that we are counted with the gentry. Being a doctor not an apothecary gives me the entrée to more places than your grandpapa, but when you consider that the other gentry around here are not as well off as Jeb, who is a resourceful man, and very good with his hands, to make extra as a cabinet maker, it’s not much entrée. The vicar is elderly, his son is his curate, which is not exactly going to keep you as you wish to be kept, the squire is mortgaged to the hilt, so his son must do as he can in the army, and Mr. Pecksniff does all his own work as a solicitor because he cannot afford a clerk.”

“I hate farm animals,” said Esther.

“But to marry some foreigner...” said her father.

“He has English connections,” said Esther. “And yes, I know he’s probably on the wrong side of forty, with pockmarks, or a squint, but I want to marry someone who doesn’t keep chickens, or expect me to milk a cow. And I wouldn’t mind if he wants to visit India.”

“Yes you would,” said her father. “John Company ships keep livestock on deck for fresh milk and eggs. When I was a boy, we had goats, and a pig as well as chickens, and milking goats is a lot harder than milking a placid cow. Getting the hog into the woods to eat acorns, and back was my job, and it’s a lot harder than dealing with chickens, my girl; and I had schoolwork as well to study to go to university.” He frowned. “You’ve grown up far too nice, Esther, with expectations out of your class in life. If you were a beauty, you might hope to pull off a coup like the Misses Gunning, but you ain’t.”

Esther flounced.

“I might at least meet the Indian gentleman,” she said, sulkily.

“Yes, and I won’t forbid it, so you can work out which side you bread is buttered, aye, and Jeb can keep you with bread, butter, jam, and plenty of good vittles.”

 

oOoOo

 

Jeb Curtis was not going to take Esther’s decision lying down. He had every intention of following his lady if she should be chosen to be whisked off to this Christmas party, and gate-crash. She needed someone to look out for her interests.

 

oOoOo

 

Jane Northcote played the pianoforte with verve as well as accuracy.

“Should Bach’s little fugue be played as if it was a declaration of war, dear?” asked her mother, amused.

“Bolstering my courage,” said Jane. “I know the Indian gentleman will probably be glad of a lady being prepared to marry him, but we do not know him.  I have to assume he is elderly, and though one feels a degree of natural distaste in such a union, the older he is, the sooner I shall be a widow and have my independence, security, and a peaceful life.”

Her mother sighed.

“Your father and I are not enamoured of the idea of you going to meet a stranger, let alone go off to a Christmas party with him.”

“He made it clear that his elderly English aunt would be a chaperone, and assuming she is a lady, and I see no reason she should be anything else. I will have my maid with me as well, of course.

“I would not permit it otherwise, and nor would Papa. He is not happy. But you are of age, and we cannot stop you,” her mother said. “Your mind is made up to meet him?”

“Yes, mother, and then we shall decide if I want to go further or not,” said Jane.

 

oOoOo

 

“Well, child, I’m sorry that you slipped between the cracks, as you might say, but at least you can have a decent position, now,” said Elinor to the orphan, named Jane, who insisted she was Jenny, whose blonde locks were strained into two tight pigtails. “And I wager your new mistress won’t expect you to pull your hair so tight and painful either. You can take the coach into Chelmsford and give her the letter to explain yourself.”

“Yes’m,” said the girl. She was in something of a whirl, having been questioned thoroughly by this formidable old lady in the asylum in Brentwood, and informed that her father’s landlord wished to make sure that she was cared for. She had spoken up about her brother, to the ire of the woman Jenny thought of as ‘the Wardress.’

“Well, of course, your brother as well,” said Elinor. “Dear me, the record keeping has not been good. My nevvie will sort that out.”

Jenny hugged her brother, Will.

“You be good, Will,” she said.

“Won’t be no hardship now we ain’t in gaol no more,” said Will. Will was ten, four years his sister’s junior. “An’ not likely to be a climbing boy.”

“As you are used to farm labour, there’s a goat for you to care for and sundry odd jobs under Ram Gopal,” said Elinor, austerely.

“Yes’m,” said Will, obediently. That could be worse.

 

oOoOo

 

“Please’m, I’m looking for Miss Cubitt, wass livin’ here?” said Jenny. “I’m Jenny Wren, I am, and I got a letter for you.”

“You’d better come in while I read it,” said Angela. “Here, have an iced bun, do; you look half starved, and your eyes and nose are straining after the baked goods.”

“Ooh, fanks, m’m!” said Jenny, who did not need a second invitation.

Angela read the letter.

“My dear Miss Cubitt,

Please forgive me for being somewhat forward in hoping that you will do me a favour. I discover that a dependent of mine has died, and left a daughter who went into an orphan asylum. Naturally, I cannot have her in a bachelor establishment, so I hoped you would not mind taking her as your personal maid. Naturally, as she is my responsibility, I will cover her wages, and her clothes allowance. Please find five pounds enclosed for more clothes for her.

Once I am married, regardless of whom I should choose, she can enter my wife’s service if you do not wish to retain her services yourself. In advance, thank you for your help in this delicate matter.

E.A.[the Indian Gentleman]”

 

Angela showed the letter to Mrs. Partridge.

“Well, to be sure, it’s irregular, but perhaps he could not think of anyone else,” said Mrs. Partridge.

“Cookie, I suspect him of finding a girl who believes she’s his dependent to help me out to give me a maid,” said Angela.

Mrs. Partridge considered.

“Well, if that’s so, he’s a generous man but he’s doing this Jenny Wren a favour too. She can have a truckle in your room, so she don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to start baking. Jenny Wren indeed! It’s a liberty and she shall be plain Jane unless her name is Jennifer, and whichever it is, she shall be called.”

It might be said that though Jenny faintly resented being ‘Jane’ again, she did not resent being permitted  some broken cakes and biscuits.

It may also be said that not calling her Jenny only lasted two days.

 

oOoOo

 

“Well, what else was I supposed to do with him?” said Elinor. “It would look odd if you took responsibility for one and not the other.”

“Well, he can take care of Faith and see to the kitchen garden,” said Edwin.

“Just exactly what I thought,” said Elinor. “The girl is a nice child, not cowed, not too troublesome, and as like the Jenny Wren that her name is, ready to be loud and bold defending her and hers.”

Edwin laughed.

“Jenny Wren, really?”

“Jane Wren, officially, but of course the nickname is obvious.”

“Well, she will do nicely for a sweet little robin.”

 

oOoOo

 

Time fairly flew past, until the date Edwin had assigned for the meeting of the girls. The Black Boy was a large, prominent inn, built in the modern Palladian manner, on the corner of High Street and Springfield Road in Chelmsford, on the main coaching road from London. It was three storeys high, its frontage mirroring that of an older, timber building. It still had its own brewery and an extensive inn yard.  Edwin had booked two rooms on the ground floor, and ordered that each be arranged after the manner of a private parlour if not already so arranged. The rooms he had been given were to the left of the arch of the outer courtyard, away from the bustle of the stables and coachhouse which were through another archway to a second courtyard, flanked by the brewery. This courtyard arch had a billyards room above it, Edwin knew, though he had no time for a game today.  He was pleased to have been reserved two small private parlours which did not interconnect, though a passage ran behind them which did connect them. He would have liked to have overheard the women talking, but one could not have everything.

The atmosphere of the inn was like that of any such similar centre of transience; the private parlour in which Edwin was to interview the shortlist had a fire, but managed not to be cosy. It smelled of stale bodies, stale coffee and staler dreams abandoned to the death of hope. The fire burned brightly, burning frostily, as the local vernacular would have it, indicating a good draw to the chimney with cold air outside, a hard frost, and a few desultory snowflakes. And the heat of the fire almost completely vanished more than two steps away from it.

 

Edwin watched out of the window as various women began arriving on local coaches, and Angela Cubitt with her little maid and an older woman, arriving on foot, the frost and light snow crunching under foot, but at least they had good boots. Another, very young, lady arrived with an older woman, as well as a maid, and Edwin frowned. Had one of them misrepresented her age to him? Well, she should have short shrift if so.

A no-nonsense shooting-brake tooled into the yard, behind an unmistakeable doctor’s gig, the doctor having handed out the young lady and her maid, squashed in beside him, to take his equipage through to the second courtyard where he surrendered his gig to the ostlers, and ascended to the billiards room. The occupant of the shooting brake asked a few questions of an ostler, and strode towards the private parlours.

“The yeoman farmer, I presume; Ram Gopal, invite him in with us,” said Edwin.

 

Master of Gothic House 4

 

Chapter 4

 

“You are not dressing up in clothes you do not normally wear, Edwin; that’s just play-acting and tomfoolery,” said Elinor. “Wear a suit. I’ll be asking most of the questions and you and James Ringshall shall sit each side of me and ask any questions you wish to add, but if they assume you are the gentleman advertiser’s man of affairs in India, that’s their lookout.”

“Yes, Aunt Evermore,” said Edwin.

“You don’t fool me by acting meek,” said Elinor. “I know fine well you go your own path. But wearing anything but what you were reared to wear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Edwin, who had been wont to play with the local boys dressed only in a loincloth in the glorious days when he could get away with it, and before they had come to England.

 

 

oOoOo

 

“Now, then, Miss Angela,” said Mrs. Partridge, “I have no doubt that dark skinned men are no different than white men, and white men are trouble so that applies to all men. I’m coming with you to the inn when he meets his shortlist, so there.”

“You need not put yourself out,” said Angela. “I... I am convinced the gentleman I met was the Indian gentleman, and when I was destitute and homeless, he could have used that to entice me, but he did not try.”

“Well, I hopes so, my dear, but I’m coming anyway.” Mrs. Partridge could afford to shut up shop; Edwin had arranged for her stock for the day to be purchased as a buffet for the visiting ladies, with sandwiches and filled rolls made by the inn, to add to Mrs. Partridge’s the sweet confections. Angela was not sure if this was philanthropy on the part of the Indian Gentleman, or merely that he was glad to have the direction of a baker’s shop making more fancy goods; the making of bread was hard physical labour which was beyond the elderly woman.

 

 

oOoOo

 

Gothic House almost shook to a regular fusillade of knocking.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” muttered Hymes, irritably. He opened the front door, and in strolled a goat.

“Well, I’m damned, that’s my friend from the village,” said Edwin. “Hymes! Look at the state of her, she’s half starved and her udders are full to bursting! You can count her ribs!”

“Take her through to the kitchen, my lord; my wife can milk a goat,” said Hymes. “That’s Faith, the vicarage goat, that is; and still in milk, after they sold Hope and Charity, too. Her kids,” he explained.

Edwin led the goat through to Mrs. Hymes, who exclaimed.

“You hold her head, my lord, and feed her some salad, and I’ll relieve her poor udder,” said Mrs. Hymes.  “And I’ll throw away what comes first, too. We can hope to avoid mastitis.”

“Hymes, nip down to the village, and ask what the devil the vicar means by letting her get to this state,” said Edwin. “And if he has no reasonable answer, I’ll be writing to the Bishop about him, as the living is in my gift, and I want him replaced.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Hymes. “Will I mention your involvement?”

“No, I don’t think so, nor that I plan to write to the bishop; he’s likely to turn up here and be unbearably oleaginous once he knows I’m the new viscount,” said Edwin. “Poor old girl!  We’ll have you up to scratch in a brace of shakes.”

 

Hymes returned, looking sour.

“Them ow’ vicar say that the goat is nothin’ ter do with him,” he said. “He declared goats to be beasts of Satan, and that he wants nothin’ ter do with it. Nothing to do with it, of course, I mean,” he added, his plummy tones returning. “Abrogating his responsibilities,” he added.

“And I wager he told that poor girl not to take anything belonging to the vicarage, as well,” said Edwin, grimly. “He’ll have to go.”

He duly wrote to the bishop; it could go in the next mail. This letter, he did frank.

Faith was given a stall in the extensive stables, which she mostly ignored during the day time, being content to spend some time on the kitchen garden turnip tops, and wander into the kitchen to the irritation of Ram Gopal.

“This caprine is not a sign of a well-run house, my lord, no, not at all,” he complained.

“She’s a more welcome guest than the spiders in the vestibule,” said Edwin. “This house is not, as yet, well-run; that’s the whole point.”

“I cannot like a goat in my kitchen,” said Ram Gopal.

“Put her out in the vestibule, then,” said Edwin.

And with that, Ram Gopal had to be content; though Edwin pretended not to hear him threatening Faith with becoming kebabs, whilst slipping her a handful of weeds to eat.

 

oOoOo

 

“You know what, Peter?” said Mariah Eddington, “I’ve answered an advertisement for a man seeking a bride. He’s an Indian gentleman, with a comfortable independence, and I don’t care if he’s brown, as long as he isn’t Tobias Carrington.”

Her brother stared at her.

“I thought you wanted to marry Toby?” he said. “You were used to say you would marry him when you grew up, when we let you hang around with us.  You never made much of a push to fix the attention of any other gentleman when I squired you to the assembly rooms in the summer after you came back from that deucedly expensive finishing school, so I assumed you were still of the same mind; and as Toby admired you now you’ve grown out of being gawky, and asked if I minded if he courted you, I said yes. If you don’t want him, that’s an end to it.”

Mariah stared. 

“But you seemed adamant that I should marry Toby!” she said.

“Only because I thought it was what you wanted!” said Peter. “I thought I was reassuring you that Toby was happy to marry you!”

“Oh!” said Mariah. “Well, in that case, I don’t have to run away and try to marry the Indian gentleman who advertised.”

“You’ll jolly well write to him, then, to whatever poste restante address he left, and apologise for wasting his time,” said Peter.

“Why should I apologise?” grumbled Mariah.

“Because you essentially accepted an implied potential offer of marriage, and are now turning it down,” said Peter.  “I won’t make you apologise to Toby, that’s on me for assuming you had not changed your mind, but you will write to the Indian gentleman.”

“Very well, Peter,” sighed Mariah.

 

oOoOo

 

“I don’t know why she doesn’t want to marry you, all of a sudden, Toby, when she used to be mad keen,” grumbled Peter. “I’m sorry; I know you carry a torch for her, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as my brother.”

“Why, then, Pete, let us apply our famous pranking brains to the matter,” said Tobias Carrington. “I will thank her for her honesty, but in a week or so, I will be seen in the winter season to be dancing attendance on a lovely lady. And if Mariah is jealous, I will know not to lose hope.”

“You can’t go encouraging some other poor girl,” said Peter Eddington.

“I shan’t,” said Toby. “I know a young widow who has no desire to re-marry, as she would lose her widow’s portion, and she has young children to rear, but she’d take a small fee to pretend to be my flirt du jour.  George Abbott’s bride, you know,” he added, naming a third member of a schoolboy friendship, who had died in the wars with the French.

“Oh, well, that’s different,” said Peter. “A captain’s pension isn’t large, and Abbott was well enough blunted for a bachelor from his own fortune, but raising children on her third of six hundred a year won’t be easy, in addition to whatever his pension was.”

Toby smiled.  Peter was the best off of the three friends, and Toby thought that Laura Abbott would suit him very well; and then, if Mariah was duly jealous, he could tell her he was matchmaking for Peter.

It all fell nicely into place.

 

oOoOo

 

“Well, look at this,” said Edwin. “Two letters; one at the poste restante address, and one from the bishop.”

“A late entrant for the marriage mart?” asked Aunt Elinor.

“I suppose so,” said Edwin, opening it. “Oh, the reverse; one of the ladies is apologising for her withdrawal, as she misunderstood her brother’s intent, and she is not being forced into marriage after all. I must write and thank her for her honesty and apology.”

“And the bishop?”

Edwin tore open the letter, well decorated with a letterhead and seals, giving the grandeur of the letter scant respect. He snorted.

“Silly old fool,” he said. “Asked me to try to tolerate my uncle’s choice until after Christmas when he will try to find somewhere for him. I’ve a mind to write back and say that I will indulge him thus far, but withhold all pay in the New Year if he is not withdrawn. See how long the nasty fellow stays put when he isn’t being paid.”

“Do,” said Elinor. “You need to state your intent, after all.”

“Yes, I jolly well shall,” said Edwin. “And I’ll write that one first as I can work off my temper and show a doucer face to the young lady who cried off. I wonder if it was just a misunderstanding, or whether she used leverage of not running off with a gentleman of colour?”

“You’ll never know, but if it made a difference to her, you are well shut of her, my boy,” said Elinor. “What were you going to do with the second carriage, by the way?”

“What second carriage?” asked Edwin.

“Well, you said you were considering up to half a dozen young ladies; five, now, I assume,” said Elinor.  “And I will be travelling with them as chaperone.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Edwin. “The Berlin will take three on each seat,”

“And where are you going to put their maids?” asked Elinor.

There was a long silence.

“I am not as clever as I thought,” said Edwin.

“You can hoop the old shooting brake and add a tarpaulin to keep off weather; it is one which has the seating arranged so the back of the long seats are outermost, and the feet inside. And maids will feel safer in that configuration than if they sat back to back with their legs outside the vehicle, too,” said Elinor. “And the compartment for dogs to take extra luggage, for those dratted girls will bring more than they need, and likely the kitchen sink too,” she added.

“You have saved me many blushes,” said Edwin. “And of course, it will not take everyone so we still have to stop when the Berlin breaks down.”

“Gunpowder! Honestly!” sniffed Elinor. “And what if it is wet?”

“Straight to the nub of the matter, Aunt Evermore!” said Edwin. “All I can do is to pack it in oilcloth to guard against splashes, and if it’s very wet, I’ll have to loosen the nuts on the hub and deliberately drive into a rut. It’s not as certain, but it can be done.”

“Or, you could stop the coach a little before where you want to have an accident, and check the wheel, and tell us there’s a nut worked off, and say that gently does it will take us all the way, and then fit your contraption when there’s no chance of any of the girls or their maids seeing it and asking questions, and being out in the open the shortest time possible,” said Elinor.

“You are a superior plotter, and I bow to your wisdom,” said Edwin.

“That’s as maybe, but you’d better sort out a maid for your ginger wench from the village,” said Elinor.

“Dear me, how do I arrange that without offending her?” cried Edwin.

“You send her a letter telling her that you are embarrassed to find that a dependent of yours passed away, and his daughter ended up on the parish, and being unable to take her into a bachelor household, you wondered if she would be kind enough to take the girl on, and you would, naturally, cover the wages and clothes allowance.”

“I adore you, Aunt Evermore!  If only you were thirty years younger and a few more degrees of separation between us, I’d look no further for a wife,” teased Edwin.

“Well, well, I shall take over the training of this ginger chit of yours, and make sure she is suitable,” said Elinor.

“I might not choose her, you know,” said Edwin.

“You might not. But we shall see how it goes,” said Elinor.  “I’ll go into Chelmsford to the orphan asylum and pick a suitable girl, who can be persuaded to conform to the right story.”

“You are going to get an innocent child to lie?” Edwin was shocked.

“Of course not! I’ll convince her you just discovered her, of course,” said Elinor. “Bound to be a girl whose family were tenants somewhere, so long as she believes it was your land, she’ll say as she believes.”

“You are a most devious person,” said Edwin.

“If I wasn’t, I shouldn’t have survived the idiot husband who was my parents’ choice and the far from idiot but most reprehensible rogue I took up with when he died,” retorted Elinor. “Oh, he was a handsome rascal, but I will say, he never let any scandal touch me, and he shot himself to save anyone finding out about his thievery, and I was never caught wearing any of the sparklers he stole, for I never knew about much of it, until he wrote about it all before he shot himself. Such a wicked man, and so much gaiety.”

“Was your second husband a highwayman?” gasped Edwin.

“I prefer to think of him as a gentleman of the road,” said Elinor. “Oh, I knew he was a crook, and I’ve bound up wounds tight enough for him to act quite healthy when Bow Street came too close, but I loved him to distraction, and he loved me.”

Edwin shook his head. Who knew Elinor had had such an exciting life!