The Madness (23 page)

I know Smoaker has been watching me in me work and I can tell by his face that I’ve done nothing to cause complaint. I knew I could do the dipping standing on me head. I just knew it. I feel puffed up, like I’ve just stuffed me face with one of Miss Cranston’s creamy pastries. But instead of me belly being full of cake, it’s full of pride. I just wish Noah was here to see me.

The lull in the weather hasn’t lasted. The wind is whipping up the waves and there is the smell of a storm in the air. When I lead the horse back up the beach, there are no bathers waiting for me. Smoaker is grumbling. ‘Not even enough to pay for the horse feed.’ The sky is growing darker by the minute. I would be happy for a storm to come now. Smoaker will have to close the hut and I’ll be free to go to Noah. Or at least to the manor to see if there is any sign of him. I imagine him lying in his bed; his eyes bright with fever.

There is a deep rumbling from the skies behind the village. Smoaker swears under his breath, but I smile to meself and me belly clenches tight with excitement. As the first fat drops of rain fall on to the slipway outside, I am at the back of the hut taking off me bathing gown and pulling on me frock and boots.

52

Apples and Hot Sugar

It’s a long walk to the manor. I’m soon soaked to the skin, but I don’t mind one bit. I don’t mind when me wet hair sticks to me face or when rainwater runs down me neck. I don’t mind when the water finds its way into me boots and between me toes. All I care about is getting to Noah as quickly as I can.

I’d forgotten what an effort it takes to walk this road. It’s so pitted and rutted by carriage wheels. As I hobble through puddles I pass a small herd of cows sheltering from the storm under an old oak. I am out of breath now. I have tried to walk too quickly and now me leg feels weak and me hip is throbbing. Perhaps I should have brought me stick after all. I rest for a moment by the side of the road and pull a broken branch from the undergrowth. It takes me weight when I lean on it, so I twist and crack off the dried shoots from its length and fashion a walking stick of sorts. It will help get me the rest of the way. I hate to give in to me weakness, but more than anything I need to see Noah.

I begin to walk again, slowly but easily, and soon enough the still, grey walls of the manor come into view. Me heart flutters wildly in me throat. It won’t be long now.

I hide me stick in the roots of a horse chestnut tree that stands guarding the entrance gate to the manor. I want to be strong and walk the rest of the way without any help. It’s strange to walk up the wide gravelled driveway again. It feels as though eyes are peering at me and watching me closely. Telling me I don’t belong. Telling me I’m a trespasser.

The rain has eased now, but the day is still gloomy. I can see candlelight flickering through the manor windows as I walk around the side to the servants’ door. I know I must look like a bedraggled urchin, but Noah is used to seeing me fresh from the sea so it will be neither here nor there to him. I expect he’ll bring me inside and sit me by a fire to dry. I pass the carriage-house and stables, the coalhouse and the gardener’s building. There’s no one about.

Then I hear the bang of a door and voices. Steam billows out from behind a low wall. I step closer and hear the sound of clattering pans. I walk past the servants’ door to the next one along. It’s the kitchen I think, and someone is there, someone who’ll fetch Noah for me. The door is ajar and I tap on it lightly, praying that it’s not Hetty who answers. The noises inside grow louder, so I knock on the door harder. I jump back when it’s suddenly opened by a red-faced woman with her sleeves rolled up to her forearms. She is holding a large spoon in her hand. I wonder if she’s Sally the cook.

‘Yes?’ she snaps at me.

I open me mouth to speak, but before I can get a word out she says, ‘We don’t have no beggars here. Get on with you now.’ She shakes the spoon at me and moves to close the door.

‘No!’ I shout. ‘Stop! It’s the master Noah I’m after.’

She keeps her hand on the door and snorts. ‘The master Noah?’ she says slowly. ‘Now what would you be wanting him for?’

‘That’s me own business,’ I say. I have already decided I don’t like this woman. I look her in the eye. ‘Please tell Noah that Marnie is here to see him.’

‘Marnie, eh?’ The woman’s eyes glint. She raises her spoon again and points it at me. ‘Well, well. I’ve heard about you and your mad ideas. Master Noah, as you can imagine, is otherwise engaged and I’m sure will not wish to be bothered by the likes of you!’

I don’t expect this and panic rises in me like a rolling wave. ‘Please,’ I say. ‘He’ll want to see me. I know he will.’

The woman shakes her head. ‘I don’t have time for this nonsense. We’ve a dinner to get ready. Now get on your way.’ She starts to close the door.

‘No!’ I shout. ‘Wait! He’s not ill, is he? Please tell me Noah isn’t ill!’

The door shuts hard. I bang on it again. Over and over until me knuckles hurt. It stays closed and I don’t know what to do next. I’d like to scream Noah’s name at the windows and make him see me. If he knew I was out here, he’d come to me. I’m sure of it. I kick me boot against the wall in frustration.

I close me eyes. I can picture Noah quite clearly. He is lying on his high, soft mattress, his head surrounded by plump pillows. His face is flushed by fever and he is moaning in his sleep. He can’t get out of bed, but somehow he knows I’m here. He needs me. I can feel it deep inside of me.

I slump against the wall. I wonder if I should go around to the front of the house and pull the bell of the Grand door. But the thought of it makes me feel stupid and lowly. If the door was shut on me at the back of the house, how much worse would it be at the front? They’ll never listen to me, or let me in to see Noah.

The smells of cooking drift out of the manor kitchen and into me nose. Me mouth grows wet as I sniff apples and hot sugar and a rich meaty scent. I remember I’ve eaten nothing all day and suddenly I feel angry. One day I’ll dine with Noah and taste those smells and the nasty hag who shut the door in me face will be sorry she ever did.

I’m tired now, and me disappointment is so heavy it weighs me feet to the ground. I think of the long walk home and the hours that have to pass before I can come here again. Then a thought springs into me head. I’ll bring a note tomorrow, I decide. I’ll go to the Grand door and pass the note in. I’ll say it’s an urgent message for Master Noah. Once Noah gets the note, he’ll have to tell the servants all about me, and they’ll take me up to him. Then I can kiss his hot forehead and hold his hand and make him well again.

This thought calms me and I want to get home now, as quickly as I can, to write the note. I’ll have to wait till Ma and Smoaker have gone to bed. Smoaker is precious with his papers and dip pen. He thinks himself a fine gentleman when he fills in his ledgers. He keeps his pen and paper in the dresser drawer and if I’m careful, he’ll never know that I’ve made use of them. I hope I can remember me letters and not smudge the ink too much.

I pull meself away from the wall and stretch the weariness from me shoulders. The day is ending as it began, with dark skies and a gale beginning to wake up again. If I hurry, I can be home before dark. I begin to walk, and as I round the first bend in the path, I pass by a window that is fully lighted now. With the day being so dim outside, I can see into the room beyond, and there is a gathering of people. I see a fire burning in a vast fireplace, a dozen candles in ornate holders and the bright colours of silk dresses. I can count at least five persons standing in the room. The ladies are holding feather fans and the gentlemen are drinking from glasses that sparkle in the candlelight. It all looks so warm and fine. I shiver in me wet frock. I watch as the gentlefolk move around the room slowly and speak words I can’t hear. As they move, coming together and parting again, it looks like they’re taking part in the most graceful of dances. Then me heart flips and I cry out before I can stop meself.

I can see Noah.

He’s at the back of the room. He’s dressed in a black suit and white shirt, with a carefully knotted cravat at his throat. The high, stiff collar of the shirt is brushing against his cheeks. His face is flushed in the light. His hair is combed to one side and is shining like the brownest of chestnuts. He’s smiling and laughing and is bending his head towards a young lady who is standing next to him.

At first I’m relieved and jubilant. There’s Noah, at last. He’s not ill and he hasn’t gone to London. All I have to do is tap on the window and he’ll see me. I lift me hand towards the leaded glass but as I do, a sick and horrible uncertainty crawls through me insides. Me hand drops by me side. I stand and stare, watching the young lady’s dark eyes follow Noah’s mouth. I see how pretty she looks with her black hair dressed in long ringlets. I see how her rose-coloured gown with its wide ruched skirts curves into her waist and shows off her creamy white shoulders. I see how Noah is looking at her, with his head on one side and his eyes lowered. I’ve never seen him look like that before. I stand and watch until me teeth are chattering so much that me whole jaw hurts. Only then do I tear me eyes away and turn to go.

53

A Dip Pen and Ink

I don’t remember walking home. But I’m here now, sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of bread and bacon in front of me. Smoaker is sitting opposite, picking bacon rind from his teeth. Somehow I know that Ma has taken to her bed early. Smoaker must have told me; but I don’t remember when. I take a bite of bread and chew. I try to swallow, but I can’t. There’s a big lump in me throat. I spit the chewed dough into me hand and pass it under the table to Nep. I had better take some supper through to Ma soon, I think. But I don’t move.

Poor Noah. Done up so stiff in all his finery and forced to be polite to his father’s friends. Because that’s what happened, I tell meself. He couldn’t get away from the visitors. The more I think about it, the more I know it must be true. Noah would never have let me down without good reason. I think about the girl he was talking to. I’m sure it was the same one that was on the pier with him yesterday. She might have been pretty, but I imagine her head was as empty as a pauper’s purse. She was dull, I know it, and Noah was only doing his duty.

He must be worrying about me, I think; hating himself for not getting a message to me. I’ll put him out of his misery. I’ll let him know that I’m waiting for him whenever he can get away. I’ll write that note and I’ll take it to the manor first thing in the morning.

I feel better now and I manage to swallow some bread, though it lands like a rock in me belly. I prepare a plate for Ma and take it through to our bedchamber. She’s lying on her back under the blanket, snoring like an old dog. She looks grey in the face and smaller than I’m used to seeing her. I don’t wake her, though; me head is too busy with other thoughts. I put her plate on the floor and go back to the kitchen to wait for Smoaker to go to bed. I know it’ll be a long wait. Smoaker always stays up late these days, staring into the fire and smoking his pipe. He can while away hours smoking and stroking the cat. He’s such a silent man, with never much to say. I’m glad about that tonight, but I do wonder what thoughts fill his head that he can sit so long.

I busy meself washing the supper pots and sweeping the floor. Still Smoaker stays sitting in his chair. He throws another log on the fire and I want to scream. Me fingers are itching to get at his papers and pen. I fold some linen that has been drying by the fire and take up a shirt of Smoaker’s that Ma has been mending. It’s quiet in the kitchen; only the sucking of Smoaker’s lips around his pipe, the spit of the fire and the distant rumble of the sea breaks into the silence. I hope Smoaker can’t hear the thoughts in me head, they seem so loud to me.

My dear Noah,
I think.
I have missed you these last few days. I waited for you at the beach and was worried you had fallen ill when you didn’t come.
I have something important to tell you.

I write the letter in me head. I try to remember all the words I want to say. I need to get it right so I don’t use more than one sheet of Smoaker’s paper.

I miss you, Noah. Just send me word when we can meet again. And please let it be soon.

Yours always,

Marnie.

I say the words over and over in me mind and when at long last Smoaker goes to his bed, I rush to the dresser and pull open the middle drawer. I take out Smoaker’s dip pen, a brass ink pot and a sheet of yellowed paper. I bring a candle and settle meself at the table with the paper smoothed out before me. I hold the pen between me finger and thumb and try to get used to the feel of it. It’s been a long while since I was taught me letters and me hand trembles. The shaft of the pen is smooth, the bone worn to a shine. I like the warm feel of it. I dip the nib in the ink and tap it gently on the side of the pot. I hold me breath as I begin to scratch out me words to Noah. It takes a long while and me arm aches with the effort. It’s only when I sign me name at the bottom of the page that the ink drips and marks the paper with a black spot. It’s spoiled! The whole thing is spoiled. I want to rip it up and begin again, but me head hurts and me eyes are tired. Noah will forgive me the mess, I think. I blot the ink with the sleeve of me frock and hold the paper over the warmth of the dying fire to dry. I fold the paper carefully and before I place Smoaker’s pen and ink back in the drawer, I write Noah’s name on the front of the note. It looks good there; the black ink proud against the pale paper. I kiss his name softly before I slip the letter in me pocket and take up the candle to light me way to bed.