Mr Cavell's Diamond

Mr Cavell’s Diamond

by Kathleen McGurl

Published by the author for the Amazon Kindle

Copyright 2014 Kathleen McGurl

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

Please visit
kathleenmcgurl.com
for contact details.

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Cover design by Connor McGurl

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A note on the text:

This ebook uses UK English spellings and word usage throughout.

Chapter 1 – January-March 1829

Jemima

Being as I am now sixteen years of age, and my next sister is old enough to take my place helping Ma with the little ones, my Ma told me it was time I found a job and moved myself out, and give her
more space and one less mouth to feed. So I went around the town knocking on back doors and tried all the new houses along Marine Parade which face the sea and at the tenth or eleventh house I found luck.

A round smiley lady opened the door.
She was the cook, her name was Mrs Smith and her master had given her authority to take on another servant.

‘
Come in the kitchen and sit you down there,’ she said, pointing to a chair beside the fire. It was a cosy kitchen with a well-scrubbed table, shelves full of copper pans, and a large fireplace with bread oven beside it and a rag rug on the floor in front. I did as I was bade, and she told me to open my mouth so she could check my teeth. They are good so I think I passed that test. ‘Hold out your hands,’ came second, and I did that, and my hands were clean and my nails not bitten, which made her nod in approval. ‘Bend your head,’ she said last, and I did, and she peered at my scalp to look for lice, but I washed my hair in beer that morning so it was clear.

‘
You’ll do,’ she said, and smiled at me, and I smiled back, and that was how I got my job. I felt sad not to be living with my family any longer but they are not far away, just across the town, and I will sometimes get an afternoon off to visit them.

Mrs Smith showed me to a little room on the top floor at the back of the house which is to be mine. It does not overlook the sea but it is my own room and I do not have to share with any sisters or little ones so I was very happy to have it.

Mrs Smith put me straight to work and I had to clean the pots and peel vegetables for the master’s dinner, set fires in the grates and make the sitting room clean and straight for the master to use that evening. Our master is a Mr Cavell who has been away as an officer in the Indian army, but is now settling here in Worthing.

In one room upstairs there
were decorators painting woodwork and putting up pretty patterned paper with swirly cream flowers on green background. The decorators were a Mr Simpson and his son. Mrs Smith sent me upstairs with a jug of ale for their refreshment.

I tapped on the door of the room fear
ing one of them might be on a ladder the other side, and when I heard a reply I pushed open the door carefully and placed the jug of ale down on the floor away from the paint pots.

‘
From the cook, sirs. For your refreshment,’ I told them. As I stood up I bumped into someone close behind me, and nearly kicked over the ale. ‘Oh! Excuse me!’ I said, but then arms went around my waist and there was a pressing into my back which makes me blush to recall it.

‘
Ah ha, wench, I have you now, how about a bit of fun?’ It was the decorator’s son – a young man perhaps two or three years older than me, with a face full of red spots and a nose which has been broken more than once.

‘
Leave off me,’ I said, and tried to pull myself free of his grip.

‘
Aw, what’s wrong? I’m just after a bit of a cuddle.’ His hands went tighter, and one went higher onto my chest while the other went lower.

His father stopped his painting and stood watching and laughing.
‘Go on, son. Get your thrills where you can. This one’s not much of a looker but she’s not ugly either, and too small to put up much of a fight.’

‘
Get off me!’ I said again, and twisted and turned to try to free myself, but he had hands like snakes which writhed all around and as soon as I peeled one away another took its place. The boy laughed and I found myself thinking Mrs Smith would not give
him
a job with teeth as rotten as those inside his mouth.

‘
That’s quite enough. Let her be, this instant.’ A man was standing in the doorway. At his voice those serpent arms dropped away and I stepped away and straightened my dress. The man was smartly dressed, tall, aged perhaps thirty five, his hair dark and curly and his whiskers dark too with a few streaks of grey. This must be the master, Mr Cavell, I thought, and I prayed he did not think I had encouraged my tormentor.

‘
Are you all right?’ Mr Cavell looked directly at me. My Ma told me masters never notice their servants let alone care about them so I was surprised to see concern written in his dark brown eyes.

‘
Yes, sir, sorry sir, I was only delivering some ale for the decorators in case they were thirsty.’ I found myself babbling and stopped up my mouth afore I annoyed him with too much chatter.

‘
Go back to the kitchen now,’ he said. ‘I will deal with this boy.’

I scuttled off past him, with just one backward look at the decorators. Mr Simpson had turned back to his painting but his son was standing head bowed and face as red as his spots. As I went down the stairs I heard Mr Cavell tell them that while they worked in his house they would respect his rules and if either laid a finger on any of his servants again they’d be out on the street with no payment.

Well, I thought, what an eventful first day! I wanted to be able to go home to my family now and tell them how the handsome master of the house had defended my virtue against ruffians, and me just a maid of all work who’d taken up her position in the house not two hours earlier. But there was no one I could tell, for I didn’t feel like I knew Mrs Smith well enough yet to confide in. All I could do was to snuggle the secret into myself and use it to keep me warm at night. I knew I was going to like working for Mr Cavell in this house by the sea, with Mrs Smith as company below stairs.

Caroline

‘Your father and brother have gone off to work without their lunch,’ Ann Simpson grumbled. ‘Will you take it to them this morning?’

Caroline sighed, and flung down the stocking she was darning.
‘Must I, Ma? Can’t Harriet? Or Jane? Why me?’

‘
Because your sisters’ll be off to
their
work shortly. Because
they
have jobs, and bring in money. Because you don’t, and you do
nothing
to help this family.’

Caroline waited while her mother finished ranting and
finger-wagging. It was always the same. She always had to run around after the rest of her family. Just because she refused to take a low paid menial job. She was better than that, she knew. She wouldn’t spend her life scrubbing floors and cleaning grates, married to a lowly tradesman like her mother.

‘
I’m darning Jane’s stocking, aren’t I?’ she retorted. ‘I look after the baby. And don’t I get the dinner ready every evening?’

‘
Well excuse me, miss, but
I
get the dinner ready. You might peel a few vegetables, with a face fit to sour milk, but that’s all. And playing with a baby is not what I call work. Didn’t I bring up six of you and you don’t hear me call that work? Now, you’ll take your father’s lunch and no more complaints. And on the way back, you’ll ask at that new hotel on the sea-front, see if they’re taking on more maids. It’s time you stood on your own two feet.’

Caroline snorted, and grabbed the folded muslin which contained her father’s
and brother’s lunches. ‘Where are they working today, then?’

‘
One of those smart new houses on the front. Walk along the beach till you pass Prospect Place, then you’ll see it.’

‘
That’s miles!’ Caroline complained.

‘
The walk will do you good,’ said her mother.

Caroline left the house, banging the door. As she stepped down into High Street she thought she heard the baby wailing. For a moment she hesitated. Should she go back in and soothe the child? Little
Frances was the only one of the family she had any time for. No. Let her mother deal with it. Then she might realise how much work Caroline did with that child.

It was a cold, blustery, but sunny day.
Caroline pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. She headed down High Street towards the sea, passing the Steyne Gardens on her way to the newly-named Marine Parade. She admired the elegant new terraces that had recently been built – their generous windows sparkling in the winter sun. So different to her parents’ dark and cramped cottage. Worthing was becoming fashionable. Maybe it would soon rival Brighton. She hoped so – the more rich visitors the town attracted, the better her own prospects. Maybe the Prince Regent would come to visit and build another Pavilion here, bigger even than the one in Brighton, ten miles or so along the coast.

The brisk walk and fresh
salty winds energised her, and she decided to walk along the sands rather than the road. Fishermen were at work on the beach, sorting their catch and mending their nets. She smiled broadly at them and picked up her skirts to keep them clear of the sand, swinging them around her ankles as she walked. They stopped working for a moment and whistled appreciatively as she passed.

Caroline
always enjoyed seeing the effect her striking looks had on men.
This
was why she would never need to scrub floors for a living. She would find some rich fellow who would fall in love with her, marry her, and make a lady of her. No need to skivvy in other people’s houses. She would have people to skivvy for her.

The walk passed in a pleasant daydream of the life she would lead, the life she deserved. By the time she reached the house her father was employed to paint, her cheek
s were flushed pink from the winds, and strands of her long blonde hair had come loose from her bonnet.

The house was tall and elegant. It had been built within the last few years, and according to her father had recently
been bought by a gentleman. It was made of gleaming white stone, with a gently curving bay window on the ground floor, and evenly spaced sash windows on the upper three floors. Caroline wondered if she should go around to the back and find the servants entrance. But, remembering that her father had said there was no sign of the gentleman having a wife, she decided to try the front door. After all, she thought, she had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. She smoothed her skirts, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, climbed the three steps which led to the front door, and pulled on the bell-rope.

As the bell jangled somewhere in the depths of the house, Caroline put on her best smile. Maybe the gentleman himself might open the door, if he had not yet employed any servants.

But the door was opened by a mousy young maid who only came up to Caroline’s shoulder. Caroline wrinkled her nose at the smell of lime-wash as she stated her business, and was shown inside. Her father, she was told, was painting a room on the second floor. The maid asked her to wait in the hallway while she scampered upstairs to find him.

The hallway was long and narrow, with rooms coming off to the right. Its floor was a chequerboard of black and white tiles. A Chinese-style wallpaper covered the walls
above the dado rail, below the rail the wall was painted (probably by her father, thought Caroline) a delicate sage green. It was all very modern.

She tapped her foot impatiently. The maid seemed to be taking for ever to go upstairs and find her father. The door nearest her was ajar. Caroline approached, thinking to peep round and get a glimpse of one of
Worthing’s newest and most fashionable drawing rooms.

As she did so
the door swung open, and she jumped back to avoid being knocked over. A tall man strode out, calling to the maid.

‘
Who was that at the door? Was it Dennett? Where is the blasted man? Oh!’

Caroline dipped her knees in a tiny curtsey, but kept her eyes fixed on the gentleman. She held out
her hand.

‘
Caroline Simpson, sir. My father and brother are here, working for you. I’ve brought their lunch. Excuse me for intruding.’ She gave her most alluring smile, dipped her head slightly and looked up at him, an attitude she’d practised many times in front of the glass at home. He was a very handsome and distinguished looking man.

‘
Caroline Simpson, eh? Nothing as pretty as you could be said to be intruding,’ said the gentleman. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, warm and soft against her chilled fingers. ‘Why, you are cold, Caroline Simpson. Did my maid keep you waiting on the doorstep? You must come into the drawing room, and warm yourself beside my fire.’

He ushered her into the front room. It was, disappointingly for Caroline, only half decorated and part furnished, but a welcoming log fire blazed in the grate. The curtain-less bay window afforded a fine view of the beach and the sea. She could imagine this room, completed and furnished, on a summer’s day. She could imagine herself, clad in a fine
silk gown, her hair in ringlets, watching the maid serve tea to guests while the gentleman hovered at her elbow, besotted by his beautiful and charming wife.

She couldn’t help herself – the vision was so perfect she let out a tiny sigh.

‘What ails you, Caroline Simpson?’ said the gentleman. ‘Why the sigh? Is my house not to your liking? I am sorry this room is not finished yet. You must tell your father to hurry up and finish his work. Then perhaps I could receive you in more style.’

Caroline turned her head towards him.
‘Your room, sir, will be beautiful without a doubt. But sir, to receive me in more style you must first introduce yourself properly,’ She smiled as she spoke, hoping he would not think her too forward, but just charmingly coquettish.

She’d gauged it right. The gentleman
raised his eyebrows then gave a deep bow. ‘My apologies, where on earth are my manners? Henry Cavell, ma’am, at your service.’ She curtsied in return, smiling again.

The
mousy little maid entered. ‘Sir, ma’am, Mr Simpson asked me to bring up his lunch, he is not able to come downstairs just now.’

What bad timing, thought Caroline, but she smiled sweetly at the maid and handed over the lunch parcel.
‘Please tell my father and brother I prepared the food myself, and will have their favourite supper on the table when they return home.’ The maid nodded, and left the room.

‘
Beautiful, an excellent cook, and a loyal daughter and sister,’ said Henry. ‘What more could a man want?’

Caroline gave a shy, embarrassed smile and looked down, hoping she was blushing slightly.
‘Oh sir, you tease me. I must go now, my mother will wonder where I am.’

She curtsied again, and headed towards the door. It wouldn’t do to spend too long here today. Let him spend an evening thinking about her. She would bring her father’s lunch again tomorrow, or find some other excuse to call.
He was good-looking and charming into the bargain. Fate, it seemed, was smiling on her.