The Madness (8 page)

‘Well now.’ Mr Tyke leaned over his counter and beckoned Marnie forwards. He rubbed his hands together again. ‘That’s because, young missy, the Lady de Clevedon is ill in her bed. She didn’t take to the sea-cure by all accounts and has had to have a London doctor attend to her.’ Mr Tyke smiled and licked his lips, like he’d just eaten one of Miss Cranston’s cream pastries.

‘Well, it weren’t the sea that made her ill!’ Marnie snapped.

Mr Tyke shrugged. ‘Just telling you what I heard, that’s all. Now, anything else I can do for you?’

Marnie shook her head and mumbled a thank you. She stepped outside and stood in the lane watching the back of the maid disappear up the hill towards the manor. It was strange, thought Marnie, how she kept thinking about Noah de Clevedon. It was stranger still that she should feel glad he hadn’t gone back to London. There was a chance now that she might see him again, and somehow that made a difference.

Even the breeze that blew in from the sea was charged with a new kind of hope and anticipation. The villagers were buoyed by the idea of the new pier. It was all they talked about. As Marnie waited her turn at the pump the next morning, the village women let her stand there in peace. They had more important things on their minds now. A crippled girl and a drowned boy held little interest for them against the notion of a village full of strangers and an unimaginable iron structure that was to be built in their midst.

It was a new feeling for Marnie, to be able to go about her business and look up and around at the world without meeting a hostile eye or hearing the sharp words of a bitter tongue. She liked the feeling. It was something she’d never had before. ‘You see, Pa?’ she said as she walked back to the cottage. ‘You see how they don’t bother me any more? Things are changing round here. It’s time you came back now. Ma’ll be glad to have you. I know she will. Smoaker doesn’t need her any more now there’s no dipping. We can get a cottage, just the three of us. I’ll come out in the boat with you, Pa. You know I’m not afraid of the sea. I’m like you, Pa. I belong there.’

Marnie stopped at the bottom of Ratcatcher’s Row and stared out at the horizon. ‘I’ll never stop looking out for you, Pa,’ she said. ‘I know you’ll come for me one day.’

19

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. AUGUST 28th 1868, Friday

I have not had the time nor inclination to write this journal for the last few weeks. Mother has been dreadfully ill. Worse than I have ever known her. Doctor Russell stayed for the first two weeks of August and even Father came back for a few days at the doctor’s urgent request. We all thought we should lose her.

But for whatever reason it is not her time yet. She has rallied, and we are all so very thankful. I do not know what I shall do when she does finally leave this life. I do not love another in the world like I love her and I know there is no one in the world who could love me as much either.

I have stayed by Mother’s bedside night and day and I admit to being exhausted by it all now. I have been reading to her at all hours. Sometimes from the Bible, sometimes from her favourite novels. Today she requested Mary Barton again. I have read this one so often to her, I feel I know the Bartons and the Wilsons as well as if they were my own family!

It has been far too hot to venture outside of late. The days have passed cruelly slow. It is as if the world outside of the manor has come to a halt. I don’t think I can stand another day cooped up inside these ancient walls. I need other company now. I think of my dear London friends often, and if it were not for my letters from Arnold I would think the whole world had forgotten me. He writes to me of the parties he has attended and, most maddeningly, of the ones that Cissie Baird has attended too. I know he tells me to excite my jealousy, but I shall not fall for his games. There will be time enough for me to woo the splendid Cissie when – eventually – we return to London. But for now, alas, I must make the best of my situation here in Clevedon.

I confess, the dipper girl Marnie has never been far from my thoughts. She has aroused something in me that I cannot put into words. I know I should put her from my mind. I know this place is playing tricks with my imagination. But can it harm me to have some measure of amusement and company other than Clarissa and Mother?

There is the bell again. Mother is ringing for me.

20

A Change in the Air

By the beginning of September stacks of ironwork began to appear in Clevedon, stored in huge piles along the beach and esplanade. The beach was officially closed and Smoaker took the bathing machines up to Eccles Farm, a rambling place up on the main road that ran out of the village towards Yatton. Smoaker had worked there as a boy and the old family were still fond of him, so they let him stow the bathing machines in an empty barn and put the horses out to pasture.

With the bathing machines and horses dealt with, there was only the hut left on the beach. Marnie went with Smoaker to help clear out the towels and bathing gowns before he dismantled the wooden frame and carted it off to Eccles Farm. The beach was unrecognisable. The piles of ironworks cast giant shadows across the shingle; even the sea crept timidly up along the shoreline, unsure of this strange, new place.

Marnie went into the hut and began to push towels into large sacks and to sort through the bathing gowns, putting to one side those that were in need of repair. Outside, Smoaker balanced on a ladder and cursed loudly as he tried to pull nails from the roof of the hut.

Marnie felt the change in the air, like right before a storm when the sky grew tense and the air sparked and prickled at her skin. A mix of fear and excitement rumbled through her insides like distant thunder.

Once the hut was gone, Marnie knew things would never be the same again. It made her belly churn to think of it. Part of her wanted everything to stay exactly as it always had been. Another, much smaller part was glad things were changing, and she itched to walk into the unknown. Marnie brought a towel to her nose. She sniffed the scent of Mistress Miles’s soap and, underneath, the faint whiff of salt and wet bathers. She sighed. As long as she could escape to the sea at night she didn’t really care what happened next.

A dog barked in the distance. Smoaker banged and pulled at nails. There was a loud clank as something dropped on to the slipway. ‘Damn thing!’ shouted Smoaker. ‘Marnie! Come and get me my hammer!’

Marnie put the towels down and stepped outside. She hoped she could go back to the cottage soon. The thought of having to stay and watch Smoaker take the whole hut to pieces made her groan inwardly. She picked up the hammer and stretched up to pass it to Smoaker. He grabbed it from her without offering a word of thanks. He had only managed to loosen one section of the roof and already his forehead was glistening with angry sweat. He was an idiot, thought Marnie. How he was going to help build a whole pier, she couldn’t imagine.

As Marnie turned to go back inside something large and heavy rushed past her and knocked her off balance. She fell hard against the wall of the hut, her breath pushed out of her chest in a sudden burst.

‘Mind yerself, girl!’ Smoaker shouted, as his ladder shook.

Marnie steadied herself and gulped down a lungful of air.

‘Prince!’

Marnie turned. Noah de Clevedon was running towards her. She took another gulp of air as her heart jumped into her throat. Noah ran past her to the beach, where his wolfhound was cocking its leg at the base of a pile of ironwork. He slipped a leash around the dog’s throat. ‘Sorry!’ he shouted back at Marnie. ‘Are you hurt?’

Marnie shook her head. ‘I’m well enough.’

The hound galloped towards the sound of Marnie’s voice, dragging Noah behind. Noah’s feet skidded through the shingle as he pulled on the leash with both hands and his straw hat fell from his head. ‘Beastly hound!’ he shouted.

A laugh slipped unbidden from Marnie’s lips. Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late. Noah stopped in front of her and smiled widely. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was damp and fine wisps of it, the colour of toast, were stuck to his cheeks. He was flushed a deep pink and Marnie felt something inside of her soften.

‘I see you have full charge of your animal,’ she said lightly.

‘He has not been out for days,’ said Noah. ‘I think the freedom has gone to his head. Still now, boy. Still.’ The dog sniffed at Marnie’s ankles and out of habit she tried to hide her bad leg behind her good one. ‘He’s as gentle as they come,’ said Noah. ‘I’m sorry he knocked you.’

Marnie shrugged. ‘I’m still standing, aren’t I?’ Then, fearing she had been too sharp, she held out her hand and the dog licked at it eagerly with a tongue that was as hot and rough as sun-baked sand. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the hound. Then Noah, having got his breath back, looked around as though seeing where he was for the first time.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Of course. I didn’t think.’

‘Didn’t think what?’ said Marnie.

‘Your business,’ said Noah. ‘You cannot trade while the pier is being built.’

Marnie snorted. ‘Did you think it would be otherwise?’

‘I  …  I didn’t think at all,’ said Noah. ‘Is it so very bad? What will you do?’

‘Oh, don’t worry your head,’ said Marnie, feeling the hairs along her arms bristle. ‘It’s all arranged.’

‘But how? Where are your bathing machines?’ Noah’s face was so full of concern that although Marnie wanted to throw all her anger at him, she found that it had fizzled out.

‘They are up at Eccles Farm. In the big barn,’ she said.

‘So you will go back to the business when the pier is finished?’

Marnie nodded. ‘I expect so. We are to take in a lodger in the meantime, and Smoaker  …  ’ Marnie tilted her head towards Smoaker at the top of the ladder, ‘  …  will labour on the pier.’

‘I am glad,’ said Noah. He looked up at Smoaker and lowered his voice. ‘He is your father, I presume?’

Marnie felt her face flush. ‘No! He  …  he’s just a friend of Ma’s.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Noah looked at her.

‘Me  …  me pa is a fisherman,’ said Marnie quickly. ‘He  …  he’s away fishing now. Gone for months at a time, he is. But he’ll be back any time soon.’ She licked her lips and looked Noah in the eye.

He smiled at her. ‘He sounds like my own father. He is always away on business. I never know when I might see him next.’

The hound had lost interest in Marnie’s hand and began to tug at its leash and pull Noah back up the slipway, away from the beach. ‘Whoa, boy!’ said Noah. ‘I am sorry,’ he said to Marnie. ‘I had better take him back to the manor before he gets me into any more trouble. I hope everything turns out well for you and your family. The pier will be the making of this place in time! You’ll see!’

Marnie didn’t know why she said what she did next. It came out of her mouth before the words had entered her head. Perhaps she just liked the way Noah talked to her. Like she was the same as him somehow. Or maybe it was just the change in the air.

‘Still want me to teach you how to paddle, then?’

Noah held tight to the hound’s leash and looked back at her in surprise. He laughed. ‘Indeed I do! But we shall have to wait until the pier is finished now, won’t we?’

Marnie shook her head. She stepped towards him and lowered her voice. ‘If you want to see the ocean at its best, meet me on the beach tonight, at eleven.’ She pointed. ‘Over there, beyond the ironworks. The tide’ll be just right.’

Noah laughed nervously. ‘Tonight? After dark? Will that not be dangerous?’

Marnie raised an eyebrow. ‘No more dangerous than your great lump of a hound on the loose.’

Noah laughed at her cheek. ‘But it will be cold,’ he said. ‘And I usually take to my bed by ten o’clock.’

‘And where’s your bed?’ asked Marnie. ‘Still in the nursery?’

Noah opened his mouth to protest. Then shut it again. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he murmured. ‘Eleven o’clock, you say?’

Marnie nodded. ‘I’ll be there anyway,’ she said. ‘Whether you dare to come or not!’ She turned and went back into the hut, her hands shaking slightly as she picked up the last of the towels.

There was a ripping sound and a shower of wood dust fell on Marnie’s head and shoulders. She looked up to see that Smoaker had pulled the first plank off the roof and was peering down at her through the space.

‘What did
he
want?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Marnie carefully. ‘He was just poking his nose around.’

‘Huh! Well, he can bleedin’ well keep his toff’s nose out of our business! Caused us enough trouble already, that family.’ Smoaker grunted as he began to prise the next section of roof off.

Marnie blinked the dust from her eyes and hurriedly finished packing the towels. She wanted out of the hut quick, before the whole lot fell down around her.

21

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. SEPTEMBER 5th 1868, Saturday

This morning, a slight breeze blew in through my chamber window and woke me up. There were clouds in the sky too that, at long last, softened the brutal blue of these past weeks. I somehow knew today was going to be different. A change at last from the damnable routine of late.