Silent on the Moor (35 page)
Read Silent on the Moor Online
Authors: Deanna Raybourn
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #General, #Historic Fiction, #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths
Sometime in April, Somewhere in Yorkshire (otherwise known as the Seething Bowels of Hell)
Well, it is precisely as I expected, a disaster from end to end. It did not begin well. Lady B. was weeping when we left London. She made to dash away her tears, but I could see them, and all I have to say about that is if that sniffy Miss Jane thinks she is too good for Lady B., I will have something to say to her. There’s no finer person than Lady B., even if she does not like men. My friend Bet says it’s flying in the face of God to lie with another woman, but I say the world is a cold and cruel place and if a body can find someone to love, that’s good enough. That reminds me, I wonder what His man Monk is about these days? I thought I should see him when we arrived and made a point of wearing my best hat but he was nowhere to be seen, nor have I heard anyone speak of him since our arrival. ( NB: ask Her if Monk came with Him.)
Which brings me to Him, the whole reason we came into Yorkshire. I have to say, I agree with his high and mighty lordship, Her brother Bellmont. It doesn’t do for a lady to go haring off after a gentleman, even one so flighty as He is. I admit He’s a fine specimen of a man, if you fancy the dark and moody type. He reminds me of that Heathcliff fellow from the book She made me read when She decided we were coming to Yorkshire. I told Her so, and she took the book away before I could finish it. I hope it ended happily, although I cannot see how. Everyone important was dead halfway through.
I am glad I read it in part otherwise I might never have been prepared for the moor. It is a great, empty place, and one wouldn’t think such emptiness could be alarming, but it is the most frightening place I’ve ever been and I once walked the streets of Seven Dials, so nastiness isn’t nothing new to me. It is the wind, I think. It goes and goes, all the time, like a speaking voice that never says a word, but keeps talking just the same. It is enough to send a body mad, I’d warrant, and I’ve taken to stopping my ears with cotton wool to drive out the sound of it. Of course, I cannot hear Her when she calls, but that is all to the better. I’ve little enough to do here. There are no proper rooms for a lady’s maid, no private bedchamber for me, no little parlour to do my needlework. She has taken to wearing country tweeds and my greatest duty is scraping the mud from Her shoes. She does not mind the moor, but I have always said She was not quite like other Ladies. She leaves me to my reading and tending the dogs and listening to Minna chatter. (The cotton wool helps there too.)
She’s a London girl, Minna is, but I’ve seen the way her eyes follow that Mr. Godwin, and there’ll be trouble there, mark my words. He seems a nice enough lad, but I never trust a farmer. They smell of dirt and shit and their hands are never clean. Give me an honest sailor or publican any day. The finest-smelling man I know is Her father, his lordship himself. He smells of pipe tobacco and books. (Mem: Monk smells of beeswax. Why should that be?) I have just realised I wrote “shit”. Lady Hermia said I wasn’t to swear anymore and that I must give a ha’-penny to the poor box at the church if I forgot. She didn’t say nothing about writing, and if she had I would have told her it is a far sight easier to remember proper speaking when I have to speak to the quality, but writing here is like talking to Bet, and if your best friend can’t overlook a little swear word now and again, what’s the use of her? Besides, She doesn’t go to church except to listen to the music or look at the windows, so how am I to get to church to put my coin in the poor box? Perhaps with Easter coming on She will make an exception. If not, I can send the ha’-penny to Bet. She’s poor enough, I reckon, and that just means I will have passed over the part where the coin sits in church, waiting to be given. Poor Bet. I’ve told her a hundred times to leave the game, but she says it’s easy money. Easy money! I never worked harder in my life than I did as a whore. Taking care of Her is a far sight easier than trying to make enough to kip in the doss house for the night. I try not to remember it, but it is like trying to stuff too many clothes into a trunk. You can shove and shove and even try sitting down upon it, but if you’ve put too much in, it will burst open and make everything untidy. That’s how bad memories are. There are times I lie in my bed after I’ve tucked Her in, and I know I am warm and safe and none shall harm me, but still I remember. I remember the fear and the hunger and the bone-grinding sameness of it all. And that’s when I make certain Her slippers are warmed the next morning and Her bath is just as She likes it. She thinks She takes care of me, but really, I take care of Her.
I wasn’t certain of Her at first. I mean, She knows She is a Lady and who Her father is. That doesn’t matter to Her. She will have a conversation with me, just as civil as if I were Her equal. Curious, isn’t it? I said Bet was my best friend, but really, I think it must be Her. When I first went to Her, she was a little silly and vague. She barely noticed me. But after the master died and He came into Her life, things changed a bit. It’s as if She woke up and really saw things for the first time. Now She’s got a trick of looking right through a person, as if She can see precisely who you are. I think she’s learned that from Him, and I think that scares the devil out of Him. (NB: another ha’-penny to Bet.) He’s never met the like of Her, and why would He? There’s not another like Her, and if He were half the man I think Him, he’d have noticed by now. Well, of course He’s noticed, a man would have to be blind and deaf not to notice Her. (She was pretty before the master died, but widowhood has been the making of Her. Lady B. has turned her out smartly, and She has a liveliness about Her that She never had before.) Still, He hasn’t done anything about it, and I begin to despair of Him. He’s no proper Scot if He cannot screw up His courage to court the woman He loves, and I think He does love Her. He’s just too daft to know it yet.
In 1861, Isabella Beeton published the seminal work,
Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management
. More than just a cookery book, it offered the wife or cook-housekeeper recipes, advice, and gentle admonishment. Each recipe was given with seasonability, price, and yield so that the most discriminating home-maker could be certain of receiving good value for money. She further included suggestions for serving the various dishes, with Baked Mushrooms designated as suitable for breakfast, luncheon, or supper. It is a perfect dish for invalids, being soft and easy to digest, provided the mushrooms are fresh and wholesome. It is a favourite dish of Lady Allenby’s and this is the recipe used by Mrs. Butters at Grimsgrave Hall.
Baked Mushrooms
16-20 mushroom-flaps
Butter
Pepper to taste
For this mode of cooking, the mushroom-flaps are better than the buttons, and should not be too large. Cut off a portion of the stalk, peel the top, and wipe the mushrooms carefully with a piece of flannel and a little fine salt. Put them in a tin baking dish, with a very small piece of butter placed on each mushroom; sprinkle over a little pepper and let them bake for about 20 minutes, or longer should the mushrooms be very large. Have ready a very hot dish and serve with hot gravy. Sufficient for 5 or 6 persons.
EANNA
R
AYBOURN
A Reader Group Guide
We hope you enjoyed this novel
by Deanna Raybourn.
See the discussion questions on the
following pages to further enhance
your reading enjoyment.
- Although Julia and Nicholas are a Victorian couple, they have a very modern problem: his career versus their relationship. In what ways does his work complicate their future?
- Hilda Allenby speaks bitterly about how difficult it is to be a woman and subject to the whims of men. What are some examples of this in the book?
- The Allenbys have let down the villagers of Lesser Howlett by not fulfilling the responsibility they have toward the locals. How do they fail in their role and what impact does this have on the family and the community?
- Jane gives up her relationship with Portia in order to assume the more traditional role of wife and mother. Is she right to do so?
- Nicholas and Julia both rely to varying degrees upon intuition. How does this play into their decision making?
- The Allenbys are devoted to the memory of their ancestors. How is this pride manifested in the inhabitants of Grimsgrave Hall?
- Hilda Allenby chooses employment and uncertainty over marriage with Valerius March. Why?
- Julia Grey is not a traditional Victorian woman. Discuss the qualities that make her unconventional and whether these qualities make her relatable to a modern reader.
- The tragic story of Mariah Young has repercussions into the next generation. Discuss.
- Will Julia and Nicholas be able to sustain a working relationship or will they find this problematic?
One of the loveliest aspects of being a writer is having the opportunity to acknowledge the debts I owe. Great appreciation and tremendous thanks:
To my family: my daughter, who provides endless companionship, laughter and very often food, my mother, who tidies everything up—including my manuscripts—and my husband, who makes it all possible.
To my agent, Pam Hopkins, a woman of tenacity and good humor whose skills at hand-holding, negotiating and talking her writers down from ledges is unsurpassed.
To my editor, the stylish and demanding Valerie Gray, who never rests unless she has my best.
To my friends, particularly those who traveled great distances, hosted me, shepherded me through their cities, or made multiple trips to events, most especially Vanessa, Sherri, Kim, Stephanie, Jerusha, Suzanne, Kristin, David, Tyler, Sali and my beloved godfather, Billy.
To those who have given technical assistance and shown exceptional professional generosity: Chris Wallbruch, Dr. Sandra Hammock, Shea Titlow and Dr. Gregory Davis.
To all the unsung heroes and heroines of publishing, the many hardworking people through whose hands my books
pass and are made better and who work so tirelessly to get my books into the hands of readers—editorial, marketing, sales, public relations and production. Most particularly, I would like to thank Emily Ohanjanians and Nancy Fischer for their elegant and attentive contributions to the editing process, and Michael Rehder for the exquisite new covers.
To the many booksellers who have shared their enthusiasm with their customers and converted them to readers.
To the readers of blog and books who have been so generous in their praise and kind in their compliments. I have shared my stories with you, and in return you have shared your stories with me. Thank you.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2939-0
SILENT ON THE MOOR
Copyright © 2009 by Deanna Raybourn.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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