The Madness (2 page)

Above the noise of the lapping waves, the heavy crunch of horses’ hooves on shingle and the creaking and rumbling of bathing-machine wheels, Marnie heard the din of voices. She turned to look and saw a small crowd gathered on the slipway outside Smoaker’s hut. There seemed to be an excitement in the air. People were pausing from their usual business and turning their heads.

Marnie held up her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and saw two footmen, dressed in gold livery coats, black breeches and white stockings, carrying something heavy on to the beach. Their powdered hair had come loose and was sticking to the sweat on their foreheads. There were several maids in black dresses and starched white aprons running to and fro, flapping their hands about, and a boy in a blue suit standing very still in the middle of it all.

Then there was Smoaker, marching down the slipway towards a bathing machine that was being towed into the sea. He called to the attendant to stop and banged on the side of the machine, shouting, ‘Time’s up! Time’s up!’ He pulled open the door and there was a shriek from inside. Smoaker stuck his head in the doorway and a moment later a red-faced lady clutching a bonnet to her chest with one hand and carrying a pair of boots with the other stumbled down the steps and shrieked again as her stockinged feet trod on shingle. The horse was turned, and the empty bathing machine was pulled back up the beach towards the footmen. Marnie saw then that the thing that had been carried on to the beach was a bulky Bath chair, and reclining in its depths was the most beautiful lady Marnie had ever seen.

She was swathed in layers of creamy lace and pale golden hair trailed in curls from under her huge straw bonnet. She had smooth ivory skin that shone like a polished pebble and her eyes were the deep green of the sea on a stormy night. Marnie wondered if she might not be a mermaid that had been stranded on the rocks. She watched closely as the footmen lifted the lady from the Bath chair and carried her into the bathing machine. Was she being returned to the sea? Marnie looked carefully, trying to catch a glimpse of a fishtail or the shine of scales under the layers of lace. But there was nothing. Two maids followed the lady inside the machine, and then the footmen came out and shut the door.

The fuss in the air calmed then, as the bathing machine was towed down to the water’s edge. The footmen and the maids sat on rocks at the bottom of the slipway, gossiping quietly and dabbing at their faces with handkerchiefs. It was only then that Marnie noticed the boy in the blue suit again. He had moved away from the rest of them and he was on the beach, standing with his back to the sea. He had his hands in his pockets and he was staring right at her.

2

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. JUNE 15th 1868, Monday

We arrived in Clevedon last night. The journey here was tedious. Mother was unwell for the most part and had to resort to her smelling salts on several occasions. The servants went ahead of us last week to prepare for our arrival, but despite the fires they have lit, it still feels cold and damp in the old manor. My bed sheets have the tang of mildew about them.

I miss the noise of London already. It is far too quiet here. I wish I could have stayed with Father. I don’t see that I can be of any use here. Mother has Clarissa to look after her and the servants to run the place. But Father’s wishes are to be obeyed, and he is busy with pier business, so here I am. I don’t know what I shall do with myself. At least I have Prince to keep me company. He won’t mind being here with the endless countryside and countless rabbits!

Mother went to take the sea-cure this morning. We caused quite a fuss on the seafront with our army of servants and Mother in her Bath chair! The cure is said to be most beneficial. I can only hope it lives up to its promises and that Mother gets well as soon as possible, so that we can return to London.

There was a strange girl on the beach. I could not help but stare at her. She looked a wild little thing, with a tangle of dirty yellow hair. But she had the most beautiful face I have ever seen. I am sure she cannot belong in this place. Though I suspect I shall have plenty enough time on my hands to find out more about her.

I dined with Clarissa this evening as Mother took to her bed early.

3

Inside a Seashell

Ma was full of it. All that evening she could hardly sit still. ‘Can you believe it, Smoaker? Lady de Clevedon back at the manor after all these years! Is Sir John come home too, I wonder?’ She bustled around the kitchen, carving chunks of bread for the supper table and stirring the thick pea soup on the stove. She stopped now and then to glug from her pot of beer and to top up Smoaker’s pot from the jug on the table. ‘This’ll be the making of us, Smoaker! Soon as word gets round I’ve been asked for special by the
Lady
herself, they’ll be coming from all over. Reckon we can put our prices up, don’t you think, Smoaker?’

Smoaker Nash never said much about anything as a rule. But he was as excited as Ma was and he patted Ma’s behind and pinched her cheek between his thumb and forefinger, as though she were a chubby baby in napkins.

‘I reckon you might be right, Mrs Gunn,’ he said.

‘She hardly weighed a thing, you know,’ Ma continued. ‘As light as a gull feather. She almost floated by herself. Quite lost her breath when I dipped her, mind. She was only strong enough for the once under.’

Smoaker nodded knowingly. ‘A proper lady. Fancy that, Mrs Gunn. We’ve got ourselves a proper lady.’

Marnie chewed on her bread and tried to feel excited too. But she couldn’t help being disappointed that the beautiful lady in the Bath chair hadn’t been a mermaid after all.

Ma ladled the soup into bowls and Marnie sipped at hers while Ma’s chatter filled up the room. Marnie broke a piece of crust from her bread and held it under the table for Nep. The cat snatched at it, then ran to the corner of the kitchen where it swallowed the bread in two bites. Nep was Smoaker’s cat, through and through. It sat on his lap most evenings and Smoaker would stroke its back, tickle its chin and whisper, ‘Who’s Papa’s baby?’ in its ears. It would never sit on Marnie’s lap. It knew she wasn’t quite right, and like everybody else, the cat didn’t want to come near. The only way Marnie could ever catch its attention was by offering titbits. Usually Ma would have scolded her for wasting her supper on a cat, but she was so taken up with the day’s events that she didn’t notice.

Smoaker belched loudly and mopped up the last of his soup. He was as small as Ma was large, with a huge belly that hung over the belt of his trousers. Tufts of grey hair grew behind his ears, but the rest of his head was bare. The sun and the wind had roasted it reddish-brown, like the thick crackling on a Sunday leg of mutton. Nep jumped on Smoaker’s lap and purred noisily as it licked its paws. Marnie was envious of the cat. She hated that it had a Pa when she didn’t. She wished every day she had a pa to dote on her like Smoaker doted on Nep. She wanted to know what that would feel like.

Ma had told her often enough that Smoaker wasn’t her pa. He was just ‘a dear, dear friend’. Marnie knew he was a
dear friend
to Ma because sometimes Ma didn’t come to bed at night and Marnie would hear thuds and the squeaking of bedsprings from upstairs in Smoaker’s room. This made Marnie feel left out and empty. It was as though Ma, Smoaker and Nep were the real family and she was just a visitor.

Whenever Marnie asked about her pa, Ma’s face would go all tight, like someone had tied a knot in the back of her head. ‘You don’t have a pa,’ she would say as she tapped the bowl of her pipe. ‘I found you washed up on the shore, I did, curled up soft and pink inside a seashell.’ Marnie knew that wasn’t true, of course. She knew she must have had a pa at one time. She wasn’t daft. She knew that a man had to have shared in the making of her. He was out there somewhere, she was sure of it. She dreamed about him all the time. He was a fisherman with a dark-brown leathery face and yellow hair. He smelt of the sea at low tide; of warm fish and seaweed. If Marnie squeezed her eyes shut tight and held her breath for a moment, she could conjure up a memory of a rough woollen gansey pressed against her cheek and a pair of strong arms holding her. Marnie imagined her pa had gone out in his fishing boat one day and got caught in a storm while chasing a shoal. She never believed the sea would have taken him away from her, though. He had just got lost somewhere and was sailing around the world right now, trying to find his way back to Clevedon. She was certain he would come home one day, and she wanted to be the very first thing he saw when he pulled his boat up on the beach.

When Marnie went to bed that night, Ma and Smoaker were still up drinking beer, smoking their pipes and celebrating their good fortune. Marnie knew it would be one of those nights when Ma never came to the bed they shared. The bed felt big and lonely. Even Nep wouldn’t come and curl up on her feet. She closed her eyes and listened to the shush of the sea and the rasping noise of shingle being dragged by the waves and flung back on to the beach. She tried to breathe in rhythm with the ebb and flow of the tide.

In, out  …  in, out  …  in, out.

She slowly drifted to sleep. She dreamed her feet were cold and wet. She was shivering, her skin was damp, and she could smell the fishy tang of seaweed and the salty air. She stood on the edge of the sea looking out at Pa in his wooden boat. Green paint flaked from the hull in long curls, like peelings of sunburned skin, and waves rocked the boat backwards and forwards as though it was an infant’s cradle. Pa stood underneath the cotton sails, beckoning to her with a raised hand. But as hard as she tried, Marnie couldn’t move. Then she looked down at her feet and her twisted leg, and saw instead a golden fishtail. A wave swept over her and pulled her into the sea and suddenly she was swimming through the water, faster and faster, whipping her tail through the foamy waves. But no matter how fast she swam, Pa never got any nearer. He stayed just out of reach, beckoning her and beckoning her with his outstretched hand.

4

The Rat-Catcher’s Boy

The following morning Marnie went out to the backyard to find Ambrose peering over the wall. ‘What you doing, Marnie?’ he asked, sniffing a slug of snot back up his nose. Marnie ignored him and picked up the metal pail that stood by the back door. The copper over the fire needed topping up and Ma had sent her to fetch water from the pump at the end of the lane.

Marnie didn’t like Ambrose. He was the rat-catcher’s boy from next door. He was always following her about, asking questions and telling her things she didn’t want to know. He was a skinny, bony thing with a mean face and shiny black hair that sat on his head like a flattened crow. Marnie had never seen him without his scabby rat-terrier or without snot hanging from one nostril or another. When he was with the other village children, he would join in with their taunts as they walked behind Marnie, laughing and dragging their legs in imitation of her gait.

‘What you doing?’ he asked again. ‘You should’ve seen the size of the rats me and Pa caught yesterday! As big as the dog they were!’ he shouted after Marnie as she hurried out of the backyard gate. She hoped he wasn’t going to follow her. She just wanted to get her chores finished so she could get to the beach before it got busy. Ambrose never came to the beach. He had a fear of the sea and that was another reason Marnie didn’t like him.

Marnie knew that Ma felt sorry for Ambrose. His pa was as cruel as they come and his ma wasn’t much better. Ambrose could never please either of them. He often had purple bruises across his cheeks or streaks of blood mingled in his snot. Sometimes, when the windows were left open on hot summer nights, Marnie would hear his thin sobs breaking through the night air. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to like him.

Marnie waited her turn at the pump and after she’d filled the pail, she walked back home slowly. Ma was sweeping the kitchen floor and humming to herself as Marnie set the pail down by the fire.

‘That’s a full one, I hope,’ said Ma without turning to look.

‘Yes, Ma,’ said Marnie. She could still feel the sting of Ma’s hand across her face from the days before she had learned to balance herself against her stick in a way that kept the water steady in the pail. Marnie never spilled a drop now and Ma had no excuse to touch her. Marnie grabbed a chunk of bread from the bowl on the table and walked quietly to the door.

‘Mind you help Smoaker today, my girl!’ Ma shouted after her. ‘It’s going to be a busy one!’

‘Yes, Ma,’ said Marnie quickly, and she picked up her stick and left the cottage, stuffing the bread in her mouth as she went.

It was another glorious day. Marnie could already feel the heat of the sun on her skin and smell the sweetness of baking grass. She hobbled across the lane and sat on top of the embankment above the esplanade. As she slid down the slope on her behind, the long tufts of yellowed grass whipped her bare legs. When she reached the bottom, Marnie used her stick to push herself up to standing and stepped on to the esplanade. She was pleased to see it empty, save for a pair of early strollers heading towards Byron’s Bay. The beach was empty too, and the tide low enough to have exposed the pink sand that lay hidden under the waves at full tide. Marnie stopped to take a deep breath of the warm morning air.

‘Marnie! Hey, Marnie! Wait for me!’

She turned at the sound of her name and saw Ambrose scrambling down the embankment after her, with his rat-dog at his heels. Marnie groaned. What did he want? If she hurried to the beach, perhaps he’d go away. He’d never dare come near the water.