The Madness (6 page)

To her surprise, the boy began to laugh. ‘You are probably right,’ he said. ‘I would be no match for hardy men and strong waves. But maybe, when you are not so busy, you would consider teaching me the ways of the sea? Or at least introduce me to the pleasures of paddling?’ He tossed Marnie a smile so full of easiness that she was too stunned to reply.

Then he whistled to his hound and the both of them were gone, out of the door. Marnie looked down at the pile of towels in front of her and realised she had folded and unfolded the same one at least a dozen times.

11

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. JULY 21st 1868, Tuesday

I stayed for a long while at breakfast this morning and ate three boiled eggs for want of anything else to do. Mother has ordered in The Times newspaper (although she never reads it herself) and I felt quite the gentleman as I breakfasted alone while flicking through its pages. The only item worth noting was the weather report. This July is one of the hottest ever recorded. It has not gone unnoticed. Everyone and everything is wilting! It is too hot even for Mother to take the sea-cure. The strength of the sun is too much for her to bear.

Despite the heat, I felt in need of some life outside these stone walls, so I took Prince for a walk into the village and along the esplanade. I have never seen so many people crowd the shore.

I saw the girl, Marnie, walking back and forth from the bathing machines with armfuls of towels. I could not help but go and speak with her. She is certainly fierce! She seems not to care at all that I am the son of Sir John de Clevedon. For some reason I like that about her. She intrigues me. I will try to persuade her to teach me to swim. It will give me something to do, at least.

Dined with Clarissa again tonight. At least the food was agreeable (pork cutlets and baked pears). Clarissa says Mother is refusing to take even a little broth. I wish she would just have something. I will take a tray up to her in the morning. Maybe she will eat for me.

I must write to Father now and ask him to send me more books.

12

A Scrap of Scarlet Ribbon

After supper that evening, as Marnie sat in the shadow of the old stone wall in the backyard at Ratcatcher’s Row, she remembered the boy’s name. She wasn’t even thinking about him when, suddenly, the name
Noah
announced itself. She shook her head, trying to get rid of it. She didn’t want to think about him.

She was looking at the treasures she’d collected over the years that were hidden under the old firebrick. Things that had been left behind in the bathing machines: lost objects, broken objects, things that might not ever be missed. Did a young lady from London ever notice she’d lost a carved-bone comb? Did a starchy old matron from Bristol ever miss a mother-of-pearl button? Did a frail governess from Wales mean to leave a scrap of scarlet ribbon behind? Marnie was thinking all these things as she tried to cool her skin in the shade of the old wall. The heat of the day seemed to have sucked all sound from the world and Marnie thought she might be the only person left breathing. She felt small and lonely. In a strange way she even missed Ambrose and his mocking sneer. She’d known what to expect from him, at least. His half-cocked taunts had been a familiar part of her day. Now he was just another piece of her life that was missing.

Noah’s name came into her head again. Tap, tap, tapping behind her ears and pushing its way in front of her other thoughts. Marnie groaned with annoyance. He didn’t deserve a name; he only deserved to be thought of as ‘the boy’. Why did he and his family have to come back to Clevedon and ruin everything? A pier? Marnie snorted. Who needed a pier anyway?

But despite trying her hardest not to think about him, Marnie couldn’t help remembering how it had been in the hut that morning and how his smile had made her feel. A flicker of warmth sparked in her belly. It was as though the boy – Noah – had known somehow that she had always wanted to be smiled at like that.

But no. She wouldn’t think of him any more. She never wanted to see him again. Not when it was his fault that everything was being taken away from her. Marnie was surprised to feel hot tears slipping down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily. She hadn’t cried for years; not since she was a little girl, unused to the cruelties of the world. She sniffed hard and pushed her shoulders back. There was no room for that sort of nonsense.

Marnie sat with her back pressed against the wall. The cool dampness of the stones spread across her shoulders like a soothing cloak. She pulled her knees to her chest and held them tightly. The wall was solid against her back; it felt like it was the only thing holding her in place. She thought if she moved too much she might float from the ground and not be able to get back. She might float higher and higher into the sky until she reached the place where the gulls glided and screeched and they might peck at her hungrily and tear her into bloody little bits. Just like they’d done to the rat-dog. Marnie had never felt so adrift and fearful. She couldn’t imagine what would happen to her when the workers arrived to fill the beach with ironworks and cranes. ‘What will I do, Pa?’ she whispered. ‘I think I might die without the sea.’

Marnie stayed out in the backyard till the sky eventually darkened and the closeness of the night fell around her like an unwanted embrace. There was no noise coming from the cottage. Ma and Smoaker must have taken themselves to bed. No one had come to find her; no one had noticed she was missing. Like all the things left behind in the bathing machines, Marnie was lost and no one was looking for her.

She uncurled her body from against the wall and struggled to stand. Her leg was worse, she was sure of it. Without the sea to nurse her, the old pains were returning. She felt the disease inside her waking up and stirring; like a nightmare returning to haunt her.

It was dark inside the cottage and Ma wasn’t in their bed. Marnie heard the low murmur of her voice up in Smoaker’s room. Once, when she’d been no more than ten, Marnie had woken in the night to find Ma gone from the bed. Marnie had turned cold with fright at first, convinced that Ma had vanished the way that Pa had done. Then she’d heard voices from upstairs. She’d heard Ma’s laugh and Smoaker make a noise that sounded like he was in pain. Then she’d heard Smoaker laugh and Ma shush him with a smile in her voice. Marnie had pushed herself up the stairs on her backside, anxious to be included in whatever was going on. She’d sat outside Smoaker’s room for a while, listening to the unfamiliar sounds. They were playing a game, Marnie decided, and she wanted to join in too.

When she’d pushed the bedchamber door open, it had creaked loudly and Marnie had found herself looking straight into Ma’s eyes. Ma had stared at her hard with a look so full of hatred that Marnie had bumped back down the stairs so fast she had bruises on her behind for days. Marnie never forgot the way Ma had looked at her, nor the glimpse she’d had of Smoaker kneeling in front of Ma with his britches round his ankles and Ma sitting on the edge of the bed with her large breasts hanging bare over the top of her bodice.

Marnie shuddered now, at the memory. She hated Ma for doing things like that with a man who wasn’t Pa.

Marnie sat in Ma’s chair by the kitchen fire and watched as the glow from the embers grew dimmer and dimmer. The noises from upstairs stilled and Marnie was left alone with the night.

As she stared into the dying fire, she wondered how things had come to this. Why had it all turned to ashes? Had she been so foolish to believe that everything would always be as she wanted it? That the sea was hers for ever? That Pa would come back? That one day she would be cured and would be like everyone else? She didn’t want to let any of that go. She couldn’t let it go. She clenched her fists tight. It was all their fault, she thought. The de Clevedons. With all their money and grand plans, they didn’t give two hoots about the likes of Marnie. She hated them and what they were doing, and if she ever saw the boy Noah again, she would tell him so.

She sat in the deepening gloom, not bothering to light a candle. In the distance, Marnie heard the sighs of the sea. It sounded as though it was missing her as much as she was missing it. It was so close, only out the door and a short walk away. It would be so easy  …  so easy.

It was then that the idea struck her. Such a simple, gleaming idea that she gasped out loud at the wonder of it. She could go now. Right now. Ma and Smoaker were asleep, they would never know she’d gone. The village was in darkness; no one would see her creep down to the beach.

Blood rushed through Marnie’s ears in a tide of excitement and she laughed to herself quietly. Not even Nep the cat saw the kitchen door close quietly behind her.

It was exactly as she imagined. The night air still held the warmth of the day, the beach was empty and the light of the moon had turned the sea to liquid silver. Marnie stripped naked, so as not to wet her shift. She entered the sea slowly, savouring each delicious sensation. The water gripped her ankles and held tight. Then it crept up her legs and swallowed her hips. Finally, when cold tongues licked at her chest, Marnie sighed and gave herself up to the rocking motion of the waves. She swam and swam, a wild energy filling her limbs. She whooped out loud. ‘I’m back, Pa!’ she shouted into the dark horizon. It felt so good. She knew she would stay there all night if she could. She was where she belonged and would never stay away for so long again.

13

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. JULY 24th 1868, Friday

The last few days have been so hot and tedious, I think I am going quite mad. I dreamed of the girl Marnie last night. I dreamed of her tousled hair and sun-kissed skin and the piercing blue of her eyes. When I woke this morning I was tangled and wrapped in my sheets and covered in an unpleasant sweat. Why I dreamed of her I do not know. I can only imagine it is the boredom and heat setting my imagination on fire.

I felt more settled after I had Hetty draw me a cool bath and I joined Mother in the shade of the orangery for a light luncheon. I told Mother she must at least have a little fruit and cheese if she is to be strong enough to take the sea-cure again. ‘I will eat for you,’ she said. ‘You are such a comfort to me.’

I am not sure which takes longer to pass here: the interminably hot days or the endless evenings.

14

Salt and Fish

It was the last Saturday of July. Marnie was woken early by the sun pouring bright through the shutters and resting ribbons of warmth across her face. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and rolled on to her back. It was quiet in the cottage. Ma and Smoaker must still be asleep. Ma had slept in Smoaker’s room again last night and it suited Marnie just fine. She had been able to slip away once more, down to the beach, to swim her fill in the night ocean. Marnie lay still now and listened to the soft hush of morning and the distant, muffled breath of the sea. She hugged herself. She could cope with the long, hot days now she knew the sea was waiting for her after dark. She wished she could tell someone her secret. She wished she could share what she was feeling. But there was only Pa, and he wasn’t here.

‘You’d be proud of me, Pa,’ she said. ‘I won’t let them take the sea from me, you know. I’ve found a way. Even when the workers come to build the pier, I won’t let it stop me.’

Marnie brushed a straw-yellow curl from her face. She was glad to feel that her hair had dried in the night. But it was still sticky and stiff with salt. She sat up and dragged her fingers through the mass of tangles. She couldn’t have Ma noticing anything and becoming suspicious.

‘You’d understand, wouldn’t you, Pa?’ said Marnie as she climbed from her bed and pulled on her shift and frock. ‘I know you’d understand.’

‘Understand what?’ Suddenly Ma was in the room and Marnie flushed.

‘Nothing,’ she muttered.

‘You keep talking to yourself like that, my girl, and you’ll end up in the madhouse.’ Ma glared at her. Marnie tossed her hair over her shoulders and caught the faint scent of salt and fish. She bent to pick up her boots, hoping that Ma wouldn’t catch the smell too.

Instead Ma grunted at her. ‘When you’re finished dressing,’ she said,‘you can go down the village and fetch me an ounce of baccy.’ Ma plodded from the room. ‘How I ended up with one like that I’ll never know,’ Marnie heard her say.

For such an early hour, Clevedon was as busy as Marnie had ever known it, with villagers scurrying about their business before the day got too hot, and visitors taking an early stroll along the esplanade before going back to their guest houses for breakfast.

There was a queue outside Mr Tyke’s the grocer, and Marnie joined the back of it. She liked Mr Tyke’s. It was always very dark and cool inside his shop, and you could buy anything from a pin to a pound of bacon. Mr Tyke wore a long apron over his pot belly and tiny round spectacles on the end of his nose. Marnie didn’t mind Mr Tyke. He treated her like everyone else, rubbing his hands together and asking, ‘And what can I do for you?’

He was saying this now to the girl in front of Marnie who had reached her turn at the counter. The girl was small and dressed neatly in a dark frock and a clean white apron. Marnie looked at her closely. She didn’t recognise her from the village, but she couldn’t be a visitor either. They never came into Mr Tyke’s.