The Madness (25 page)

I nip out quickly as the service finishes and wait at the back of the churchyard, leaning against the old stone wall. They all come out, the gentlefolk, and gather around each other, parading their finery. Then finally Noah appears, looking like a proper toff in his Sunday-best buttoned-up frock coat. But I drink in the sight of his face. He doesn’t see me standing here. He’s too busy chattering with his father. The dark-haired girl is standing behind him next to Lady de Clevedon and another gaggle of decorated ladies. I wonder who she is and why she is here. They start to move out of the churchyard. The men place their hats back on their heads and the skirts of the ladies sway and bob over their wide under-cages. I wait to see what Noah is going to do. The churchyard empties. There is only Noah, Sir John, Lady de Clevedon and Reverend Strawbridge left.

Then it happens. Noah glances up and his eyes meet mine. Properly meet mine. His eyes widen and he quickly looks back to where his mother and father are still deep in conversation. He starts to walk slowly away from them, so I peel meself from the wall and begin to dawdle out of the churchyard. I want to rush to him straight away but I can see he is nervous about greeting me in front of his parents. Has he not told them about me yet? I peer at a dog rose and the white blackthorn flowers that are growing in the hedgerow that lines the pathway down the hill from the church to the village. I check behind and Noah is walking towards me. He’s not smiling. His face is pink. Sir John and Lady de Clevedon are close on his heels. I move away from the hedgerow and as soon as Noah comes by me side I whisper quickly, ‘Noah! I’m so glad to see you home safe. I’ll be at the beach tonight, eleven o’clock. Please come!’

Anyone looking will have seen him walk straight past me as though I wasn’t there, but I was close enough to hear him whisper back, ‘I will bring some wine!’

58

Shadows and Moonbeams

At last! He spoke to me. I put me hand to me chest to calm the clamour inside. I watch him walk the rest of the way back to his carriage and then I crumple to the ground and sit there for an age, not quite believing his words. It’d been a barely there whisper.
‘I will bring some wine!’
But I’d caught it all the same. I’m so comforted that I want to stay here for the rest of day and not move till it’s time to meet him. But a sudden hunger catches me unawares and I realise I haven’t eaten much for days. It’s like me belly knows everything is sorted now and it’s bellowing for food.

Mistress Miles is nowhere to be seen as I pass by her cottage on me way home. But her whites are still fluttering on their string lines. Just for the devil of it, and partly because I’m feeling in such high spirits, I pick up a handful of earth and fling it over the clean linen. I wish I could stay and see her face when she finds all her hard work spoiled.

Ma’s still not up when I get back to Ratcatcher’s Row. Smoaker glowers at me. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he asks. ‘Your ma’s sick. You can’t just bugger off like that.’

I think for a moment. ‘I’ve been to church,’ I say.

‘Church?’ Smoaker’s eyebrows disappear into the wrinkles on his forehead. ‘Now why would you be taking yourself off to church?’

‘I’ve been praying for me ma to get well,’ I answer.

Smoaker doesn’t know what to say after that, so I busy meself boiling potatoes and fetching the Sunday bacon from the pantry. Me and Smoaker fill our bellies and I take a small dish through to Ma. But she waves it away and asks instead for beer. It stinks in the bedchamber, of old shit and illness. I open the shutters to let the air in. ‘Ma, I’ll be sleeping in the kitchen tonight,’ I say. ‘Give you some peace.’ I don’t think she cares one way or another. She just groans at me.

‘Get me that beer, Marnie. And close those shutters. I’m freezing.’

Me mood can’t be blackened tonight. Nothing’s too much trouble. I fetch Ma her beer and clear away the supper pots. I whistle as I rinse the bowls. ‘What you got to be so happy about?’ Smoaker asks.

‘Nothing to be
un
happy about,’ I say. I’m not going to tell him that me heart’s skipping inside. That after all these months of waiting and yearning I’m going to be with Noah again. Soon though, I’ll be able to tell Smoaker and Ma everything; I’ll be able to tell the world everything. Soon as Noah says it’s all right.

I get to the beach early. The church bells have only just chimed ten. I couldn’t help meself. I’d rather be waiting here than pacing the floor at the cottage. Besides, being on the beach makes me feel closer to Noah somehow, and I want to be here first, to welcome him. There’s a light burning in the tollhouse. From down here on the beach it looks like a tiny castle perched on the edge of a dark cliff. The pier stands haughty next to it, its long length disappearing into the darkness out at sea.

Steamers, all the way from Wales, have been landing at the pier’s jetty all week now, bringing more and more visitors to the beach. Smoaker reckons if it carries on like this we’ll have to get some more bathing machines built. The jetty’ll make it easier for me pa to land now, I think. I find meself a comfy spot next to mine and Noah’s rock and settle down to wait.

As I stare out to sea and watch the stars kissing the horizon, I realise I haven’t thought of me pa in ages. For the first time ever I imagine how I’d feel if he never came back. I think about it slowly and carefully, going this way and that way in me head. Always I come back to Noah. As long as Noah is with me, I think, maybe I could let me pa stay away. It doesn’t feel too bad when I think of it like that. Maybe Pa’s happy where he is, and maybe it’s time I let him stay there.

Me backside starts to bruise where it’s been resting on the shingle. I stand and stretch meself. It must be nearly eleven by now. Noah’ll be on his way, hurrying down the esplanade. The hairs on me arms start to prickle and stiffen, like they’re readying themselves for his embrace. I walk up and down the beach for a while, humming anxiously. I hear the distant chimes of the church bells and I stop and count. One  …  Two  …  Three  …  Four  …  Five  …  Six  …  Seven  …  Eight  …  Nine  …  Ten  …  Eleven. Then there’s nothing. Only the sound of the sea rolling impatiently on to the shingle.

I can’t believe he won’t come. Me teeth start knocking together, even though I don’t feel cold. I rub me arms and pull me shawl tighter across me shoulders. I keep looking back at the beach steps, expecting to see the shape of Noah standing at the top.

Then the light goes out at the tollhouse. The pier master must have taken to his bed. I’m alone now. Just me; standing on the beach while the rest of the world sleeps. Is that where you are, Noah? I ask him. Have you forgotten about me? Are you curled up under your blankets dreaming of things I don’t know about? A sudden sadness washes over me. It starts at me toes and sweeps up through me legs and belly till it’s filling me head. But I hold it back. I won’t let it turn to tears.

Something or someone has stopped him from coming. He wouldn’t leave me on me own like this. I know it. I can feel in me heart how much he wants to be with me. If I close me eyes tight, I swear I can hear his thoughts.
I am sorry, Marnie
, he’s saying.
I tried to get there. I really did
. He’s looking out from his window, I’m sure of it. From high up there at the edge of the village, he’s looking down on to the beach trying to catch sight of me. But it’s too far away in the darkness for him to see anything other than shadows and moonbeams. I’m comforted by his words though, and something inside me hardens. I’ll be strong for you, Noah, I tell him.

I won’t let you be taken from me.

59

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. APRIL 4th 1869, Sunday

Today passed pleasantly enough. Spring has well and truly come to Clevedon and our merry party spent the afternoon in the gardens. I walked with Cissie along the upper terraces and we watched the jackdaws croaking around the crumbling chimney pots of the manor. Afternoon tea was served in the orangery, after which we played a few rounds of croquet. It has become quite a craze of late and is most popular with the ladies. Arnold showed me how to send a ball into the bushes as an excuse to search the undergrowth with Cissie (with no chaperone at our heels!). He is a devil indeed. But I did steal a kiss from my love and we were deemed rotten at the game as we managed to lose our balls three times in a row!

One thing that marred the day, though – the girl Marnie was waiting outside church after service had finished this morning. It was a shock to see her there, especially as Cissie and Mother and Father were close by. Luckily I think she sensed my embarrassment and did not approach me directly. As I walked past her to get to the carriage she issued an invitation for me to meet her on the beach. For one terrible moment I thought Mother and Father should hear as they were walking close behind. I hissed at her to ‘leave me alone!’ and I hope that will be the end of the matter.

60

A Metal Hoop and a Hammer

I haven’t slept well. Ma called for me three times in the night and then every time I tried to close me eyes all I could see was the back of Noah’s head. No matter how much shouting and pleading I did, he wouldn’t turn around and look at me. Now me own head’s banging with tiredness.

So, I’m telling the truth when I complain to Smoaker of not feeling too good. ‘I’m not right today,’ I tell him. ‘I’d best have a day out of the sea to shake it off. I know we can’t afford another doctor’s bill.’

Smoaker’s not happy and he’ll give the other dippers a hard time today, I know. But it’s just how it is, and I don’t care too much. It’s a warm day, fresh and clean, and I can hear the lambs bleating on the hills behind when I go outside to empty Ma’s chamber pot in the privy. It’s a pity I won’t be on the beach today. Before Noah, I wouldn’t have missed a day like this for the world. But he’s under me skin now; buried there deep. He’s stolen me heart away from the sea.

I see to it that Ma is comfy. She won’t have the shutters open, so all I can do is tuck her blanket around her and leave a bowl of broth and a pot of beer by her side. ‘Be a good girl, Marnie,’ she murmurs to me.

‘I always am,’ I say. I put on a clean apron and lace me boots up tight. I’ve got the whole day to meself now and there’s only one thing I want to do with it.

The village is thronging with strangers. They’re parading purposefully up and down the esplanade; gentlemen in straw boaters and caps and ladies in cumbersome gowns and fanciful hats. Miss Cranston’s is bulging at the seams with matrons taking tea and nibbling fine pastries, dropping their crumbs on to lace tablecloths. I can already see five or six bathing machines dotted along the shoreline. A band of rusty fishermen in their smocks and heavy blanket trousers are leaning over the railings puffing slowly on their pipes. Their wives have set up stalls along the way and are screeching, ‘
Mackerel! Fresh mackerel!’
at every passer-by. For a few pence they are splitting and grilling the fish with a little butter and salt. Me mouth waters at the smell. The pier seems to be swaying under the weight of people tramping up and down its decking and I can see white clouds sailing from the funnel of the steamer that’s docked at the end.

I walk by it all and out of the village. The crowds thin out and soon there’s only the odd farmer and cart, so no one sees me as I begin the climb up the road to the manor. I go careful and take me time. I’ve got all day, and I know the road well enough by now to mind the biggest pits and rocks. When I finally reach the gates to the manor, they’re open. I stand at the bottom of the driveway looking up at the soft grey walls and at the windows blinking at me in the spring sunshine. I stare up at Noah’s window. If he’s there now, looking down at me, I won’t have to go any further. He’ll come running out to me and at last he can tell me himself of the troubles he’s been having. But he doesn’t come running. No one comes running. The manor just stands there silently, mocking me and sneering. I toss me head at it and begin to walk up the driveway. I’m not sure what me plan is, but I know I’m not going to the Grand door. I go around the side of the manor, the way I always go, and I keep me eyes and ears open for any sight or sound of anyone. I hear horses snuffling in the stables and whistling coming from inside the gardener’s building. I pass by the servants’ entrance and come to the kitchen door. It’s half open and I hear voices and low laughter. I wonder for a moment if I should go inside. With me apron on, maybe I’d be mistaken for a maid. I could keep me head down and search the whole place for Noah. But then a voice from inside the kitchen grows louder and I’m afraid someone’s coming out and I’ll be caught before I’ve even begun. ‘Hetty!’ a voice shouts. ‘Hurry up with them papers and camphor. I ain’t got till Christmas!’

I hasten away and hide meself behind a small bush. I stand there a while until the voices from the kitchen fade away and I’m certain there’s no one about. I part the bush with me fingers and between the sprigs of green I see the edge of the gardens disappearing around the back of the manor. I take a deep breath to steady meself and I limp as fast as I can to the wall opposite and press meself against it. I edge along it, one step at a time, until I reach the end. I poke me head around the corner and I gasp at how lovely the gardens are. The lawn is emerald green and smooth as pond water. It stretches up to the woods behind and there are stone steps that lead to another garden, high up under the trees, with a house made of glass, twinkling in the sun. I’ve never seen anything like it. I want to pull off me boots and run across the grass and feel it tickle between me toes. I wish, I wish, I
wish
I could do that. I grip me stick in me hand and swear to meself that one day I will. One day me leg will be strong and straight and me and Noah will run across the grass together and nobody’ll be able to catch us.