Emily Goes to Exeter (6 page)

‘No, your honour,’ said the landlord, Mr Silvers. ‘They’s all abed.’

‘Then have a bottle of brandy sent up. Miss Pym and I have much to discuss.’

Hannah’s eyes flashed green with excitement. But although she was happy to let the thought of drinking brandy with a lord go to her head, she was worried
about the effects of so much alcohol, and when they were seated in the coffee room before the fire, she asked for only a little to be poured for her.

The wind howled ferociously outside, and snow whispered busily against the glass of the bay window that overlooked the courtyard of the inn.

‘Nasty weather,’ said Lord Harley. ‘I fear it will be a few days before any of us can move.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Hannah happily. She felt she had walked out of the wings on to the centre stage for the first time in her life. There was so very much to interest her in the other guests.

‘Now to Miss Freemantle,’ said Lord Harley, stretching out his booted legs to the fire. They were very handsome legs, Hannah noticed. Hannah firmly believed that any gentleman with good legs was set for life. No one bothered about his face so long as he had good legs.

‘Has she spoken to you of this sad affair?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Hannah. ‘It appears her head was filled by a lot of rubbish about you by her governess, a Miss Cudlipp. This Miss Cudlipp told Miss Freemantle you had an opera dancer in keeping.’

‘The deuce she did! And does that make me a monster?’

‘To an impressionable young girl who has not yet made her come-out and has had no influence on her mind other than that given it by novels and by one addle-pated governess – yes.’

‘What a coil,’ he mused. ‘I had planned to marry, to settle down, you know how it is. My aunt sent me
a miniature of the Freemantle chit with a long story about how the girl had seen me in the Park and had fallen instantly in love. Miss Freemantle is from a good background. I thought it time to marry. My affections were not engaged. Mr and Mrs Freemantle came to see me. My lawyers met their lawyers. All was arranged. I thought it time to call and see this maiden who was so enamoured of me. The house was in an uproar. Maiden fled. Aunt had lied. Governess interrogated. Yes, she is a vastly silly woman. At last, parents decide the girl has gone to Exeter to visit her old nurse. I thought that if I took the stage myself and asked at inns and posting-houses on the road, I might catch up with her. Why on earth does she think I might want to marry her now?’

‘Because she is so very beautiful.’

‘Did she say that?’

‘I think it was more the voice of Miss Cudlipp speaking in her head.’

‘Talk some sense into her, Miss Pym, I beg of you. She might do something silly, like running off into the snow.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Hannah, ‘but the damage done by a silly governess is hard to counteract in a short space of time.’

‘What takes you to Exeter, Miss Pym?’

‘I have never seen Exeter.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘I have a wish to travel,’ said Hannah, clasping her long, thin fingers.’

‘On the common stage?’

‘The stage-coaches are not common to me,’ said Hannah. ‘I used to watch them going along the Kensington Road. All that motion and adventure.’

‘You live in Kensington?’

‘Yes, at Thornton Hall.’

Lord Harley looked at her curiously. ‘You must be one of the Clarences.’

‘Distantly related, my lord,’ said Hannah, quickly lowering her eyes.

‘Indeed? And which branch of the family would that be?’

Hannah felt a stab of panic. The aristocracy and gentry knew everything about everyone. It was their way of making sure that no interloper or adventurer broke into their gilded ranks. There were ladies, Hannah knew, who did little else but discuss families and relations.

She looked miserably into her brandy glass and prayed for inspiration.

‘You are not running away as well?’ asked Lord Harley sharply.

No reply.

‘Come, I shall find out, you know. Clarence died only recently, and I am a friend of his brother, Sir George.’

‘I lied,’ said Hannah miserably. ‘I was the housekeeper at Thornton Hall for years and years. Mr Clarence left me five thousand pounds in his will. It has always been my dream to travel and see the world.’

‘There was no need to lie to me.’

Hannah raised her eyes. ‘There was every need,’ she said passionately. ‘Servants, my lord, are the most despised class in England. Oh, I have heard the ladies talk about us often in the days when Mrs Clarence used to entertain. Hard as we work, we are regarded as some sort of parasite. The tradesmen and artisans despise us too. They consider the whole servant class lazy and unskilled. You ask me to talk sense to Miss Freemantle. If that young lady realized for a moment she was talking to a servant, then she would not listen to a word I said.’

He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Strange as it may seem, Miss Pym, there was a Pym in my family, a fourth cousin, recently dead, of the Surrey Pyms, the last of the line. I will make you a present. Use your good sense with Miss Freemantle, and you may claim me as kinsman to all who care to listen.’

‘It is of no use,’ said Hannah. ‘My voice …’

‘What is up with your voice?’

‘There is a certain coarseness of accent.’

‘My dear Miss Pym, as a lady of your years should know, it is only recently that the ton started ruthlessly shedding their regional accents. I myself went to see a great-aunt in Edinburgh and could not make out a word she was saying. You are over-sensitive on the subject of rank. Banish it from your mind. If it helps, you are now Miss Pym of Surrey.’

‘I felt very wicked lying like that,’ said Hannah in a small voice. ‘Perhaps it is best to tell the truth, and if people are of any worth at all, they will not despise me. Sir George did not. He … he took me to Gunter’s.’

‘Well, there you are. But the world is a wicked and vain place, and there are many misguided people like Emily Freemantle. Think on it. You may use relationship to me as you think fit.’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘You have perhaps too much character for a gentlewoman and too much concern for others. Why, for example, did you think to bring poor little Mr Fletcher clean linen and a new wig? They were Miss Freemantle’s, I assume, and I am also sure she would never have thought of such a thing.’

Hannah put her hands to her face in sudden consternation. ‘I have
stolen
from her,’ she whispered.

‘She has no need of them. Tell her I commanded you to find something. But you have not answered my question.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Hannah put down her glass. ‘It is this wicked evil drink, my lord. It made me feel so confident, so assured, that it did not dawn on me until now that I was stealing.’

‘Tell her first thing in the morning, and if she is enraged, let me know and I will hand everything back, even if I have to rip it off Mr Fletcher. But what was in your mind?’

‘I feel Mr Fletcher is a bachelor and has never had anyone to care for him,’ said Hannah slowly. ‘I do not like that Captain Seaton. I suspect he is an adventurer and after little Mrs Bisley’s money. You see, I feel she was married to Mr Bisley and probably very fond of him for a long time. She is one of those ladies who rely totally on a gentleman for their very existence. The captain cleverly moved into the vacuum created by
Mr Bisley’s death. Mrs Bisley should have more time to mourn. As it was, I think she saw in the disgusting captain a broad shoulder to lean on. Mr Fletcher has a neglected air, neglected in body and spirit. I do not think he has much money, and I do not think anyone has ever cared for him. I thought that perhaps if he were arrayed in clean linen and a good wig, then perhaps …’

Her voice trailed away. Lord Harley roared with laughter, his black eyes dancing. ‘I’ faith, Miss Pym, you are a travelling matchmaker.’

‘It was the drink,’ said Hannah in a hollow voice.

‘Poor Mr Fletcher,’ said Lord Harley with a grin. ‘Into what masterful hands he has fallen. I scrub his back and you make over his clothes. Let well alone, Miss Pym, and heed my advice. Never think for a moment you can alter the course of people’s affections. Now we shall have some sobering coffee and go to bed.’

He rang the bell. No one answered its summons. The inn was quiet apart from the roaring of the wind in the chimney.

At last the landlord appeared, looking worried. ‘Beg pardon, my lord,’ he said, ‘but the maids went to their homes in the town as they usually do, along with the waiters, me not having the room to house them here. I got the ostlers to help them through the storm. There’s not one here now but me and missus, and she is feeling poorly. I myself will bring you anything you desire.’

‘Go to bed, landlord,’ said Hannah quickly before
Lord Harley could say anything.. ‘I shall fetch coffee myself. You will need your strength for the morrow.’

‘Thank you, mum, but it don’t seem fitting.’

‘Anything is fitting in such a storm as this. Pray retire,’ said Hannah, ‘and I shall look at your wife tomorrow and see if she needs help.’

When the landlord had bowed his way out, stammering his thanks, Hannah said, ‘I shall fetch the coffee now, my lord.’

‘You are no longer a servant, Miss Pym. It appears we must all be our own servants, and it will do us no harm. Lead the way!’

He followed Hannah through a long narrow corridor and then through a green baize door and so to the kitchen of the inn, which was at the back. Here the noise of the storm was worse than ever. He sat at the table and watched as Hannah ground coffee beans and then made a jug of coffee. She was arranging cups on a tray when he said languidly, ‘We will drink it here. Are you never tired, Miss Pym?’

‘I am fortunate in needing very little sleep,’ said Hannah. ‘Oh, my lord, what a wonderful day it has been. God is very good.’

‘You amaze me, Miss Pym. To my mind we have endured a day which would make most sober people doubt the existence of their Maker.’

‘But they have not been starved for adventure, as I,’ said Hannah.

They fell into a companionable silence. Lord Harley felt he knew why Sir George, a high stickler if ever there was one, had decided to take the
housekeeper to Gunter’s. There was something childlike about this Miss Pym, an innocence that was strangely endearing. He thought of Emily Freemantle and his face hardened. What a fool he had been to settle for an arranged marriage. It was not that he did not believe in love. Several of his friends had been fortunate to find it. But he himself never had and was sure now he never would. All he wanted was to settle down with some amiable female and bring up a family. But the next time, he would go about it all the time-honoured way and court and get to know the lady first.

He drained his coffee and thanked Hannah and stood up and stretched his arms above his head. Then he exclaimed, ‘I forgot about Mr Fletcher’s bath, and there is no one to take it down.’

‘I shall help you,’ said Hannah.

And so it was. While Mr Fletcher slept curled up in the large bed, Hannah and Lord Harley, on Hannah’s instructions, opened the bedroom window, which was fortunately on the leeward side of the inn, and poured out jugs of dirty bath water into the snow. And then Lord Harley lugged the empty bath down to the kitchen, where he left it propped against the back door.

Hannah went to her own room, washed in now cold water, changed into a voluminous night-gown, tied her nightcap under her chin, and crept into bed beside Emily.

Lord Harley was right, she thought sleepily, there was no need to interfere. But Emily was so beautiful
and he was so handsome and Emily’s parents would be overjoyed if they were to marry after all and that silly Miss Cudlipp would be confounded.

And, still making plans in her head, Hannah fell asleep.

4

Hannah awoke at six o’clock, climbed out of bed and drew back the curtains. She could see nothing but a sort of raging white wilderness. She washed and dressed and then raked out the fire and lighted it. If Emily wanted hot water to wash herself, then she would need to fetch it from the kitchen. Hannah was sure none of the servants would be able to manage to get to work that day.

She went down to the kitchen. Mrs Silvers was sitting at the table wearing a night-gown, a wrapper, and a huge red nightcap. Her nose was red and her eyes watery.

‘Oh, Miss Pym,’ she said. ‘I do feel mortal bad.’

‘Then you must go to bed,’ said Hannah briskly. ‘Where is your husband?’

‘Out at the stables, rousing the post-boys. They sleeps over the stables.’

‘Good,’ said Hannah, relieved to find that there was some help. She looked around her. The soiled linen lay piled up in a basket in the corner, but the fire was blazing brightly. ‘Please do go to bed, Mrs Silvers,’ she urged, ‘or we shall all catch your cold. We can all make shift for ourselves.’ Her eyes gleamed green with excitement. ‘It is an adventure for me.’

Mrs Silvers went reluctantly and Hannah set to work, filling a huge copper with water from the scullery pump and hanging it on a hook over the fire. She found a bar of washing soap and began to shave flakes off it for the wash. There was a container of chicken dung in the scullery, so useful for whitening yellow linen, but Hannah did not think she could bear the smell of it so early in the day. After she had put the clothes on to boil, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate, drank it and then ran up the stairs and roused Emily.

‘It is still darkness,’ moaned Emily. ‘What’s to do?’

‘The servants went home last night and are not able to return this day because of the ferocity of the storm. You must rouse yourself and help me prepare breakfast.’

‘I!’ said Emily aghast. ‘I, work in a common inn kitchen? No, I thank you. I would rather starve.’ She pulled the blankets over her head.

‘In that case you will starve!’ said Hannah. ‘If you are not prepared to work, then you will not be allowed to eat.’ She went out and slammed the door behind her.

Lord Harley heard the indomitable Hannah rousing Mrs Bradley and Mrs Bisley. He heard her tell them that there were no servants and that she was in need of help. He picked up his watch and looked at it by the light of the rushlight beside his bed. Seven o’clock. He groaned. But she had the right of it. Everyone must help. He swung his long legs out of bed and then twisted around and looked at the sleeping Mr Fletcher. The lawyer lay calmly asleep. His face looked younger with the lines smoothed away. Lord Harley decided to leave him. Wouldn’t be of much help anyway, he thought.

Emily did not go back to sleep. At first she felt tearful. Here she was in a strange inn with that monster somewhere about and she was expected to work like a common servant. It was too bad.

Then she heard Mrs Bradley’s voice from the corridor. ‘Right you are, Miss Pym, m’dear. Just get my duds on and I’ll be with you in a trice.’ And then the sleepy voice of Mrs Bisley: ‘I shall be there, too, Miss Pym. Give me but twenty minutes.’

The beginnings of an awakening conscience stabbed at Emily. She got out of bed and studied the little amount of cold water left in the cans on the toilet table. She rang the bell and waited. Back down in the kitchen, Hannah looked up at the swinging bell and tightened her lips. Miss Freemantle would soon find there was no one to wait on her.

Emily washed herself as best she could and brushed her short hair till it shone. She noticed all her clothes had been hung away but assumed the servants had done it while she was asleep. She lifted out a blue kerseymere wool gown. It was high-waisted with a high neck and long sleeves. She put on two petticoats and woollen stockings and half-boots before putting the dress on.

Emily pushed open the door and went into the dining-room. It was cold and dark. She went through to the coffee room. A fire was blazing brightly. She shivered and went to stand in front of it.

The door of the coffee room opened. Lord Ranger Harley came in and stood for a moment watching Emily.

She was standing looking into the flames, one little booted foot on the fender. Then, as if conscious of his gaze, she slowly turned and looked at him, her eyes widening with fear.

‘Miss Freemantle,’ he said coldly, ‘before you start to scream or indulge in any further stupid behaviour, let me make one thing very plain: having met you, I would not marry you if you were the last woman on earth.’

The fear left her eyes and she looked at him in ludicrous amazement. ‘You are … you are sure?’

‘Of course, you widgeon. What man of any sophistication and breeding would want a silly little schoolgirl?’

Her eyes flashed. ‘I am out of the schoolroom this age, sir!’

‘But your behaviour is not. Where is the excellent Miss Pym?’

‘I believe she is in the kitchen.’

‘And in need of help?’

‘So I believe. But I do not see why—’

‘Then shall we join her?’

Emily had been about to say she did not see why she, a lady, should be expected to work in an inn kitchen, but something told her that Lord Harley would despise her further for that remark. Never in her short life had anyone ever despised or disliked Emily. She had been cosseted and feted and petted from the day she was born.

‘I do not know where the kitchen is,’ she said.

‘But I do. Follow me.’

Emily reluctantly followed him through to the kitchen. Hannah was cutting slices of bacon, and Mrs Bisley was frying sausages. Mrs Bradley was out in the scullery, scrubbing the boiled clothes on a washboard.

‘More help here,’ said Lord Harley. ‘What would you like us to do?’

‘Lay the table,’ said Hannah promptly, ‘and then rouse the other guests. They cannot drift down to meals just when they feel like it.’

‘Where is a tray for the dishes?’ asked Emily, looking helplessly around.

‘We’ll all dine at the kitchen table,’ said Hannah.

All in that moment, Emily hated Hannah Pym. This woman was determined to humiliate her. Emily Freemantle being asked to dine in the kitchen!

‘Stop dreaming,’ ordered Lord Harley. ‘Help me with the plates.’

Hannah handed slices of bacon to Mrs Bisley to put in the pan and watched Lord Harley and Emily out of the corner of her inquisitive eyes. Emily was slamming plates down on the table in a sulky way and Lord Harley was paying no heed to her whatsoever.

Hannah swung open the heavy door of the oven in the wall beside the fire and brought out a tray of hot rolls. She said to Lord Harley, ‘If I could trouble you to rouse the other guests.’

Lord Harley grinned at her. ‘I’ll have trouble with Seaton. The commoner these fellows are, the more they expect to be waited on.’

Emily flushed with mortification, thinking the remark was directed at her.

The rest of the guests, the coachman and guard gradually came in one by one, all still in their undress and yawning and grumbling. The one exception was Mr Fletcher. He looked a new man, thought Hannah with satisfaction. The wig looked very fine and neat and the whiteness of his shirt and neckcloth was dazzling. His black coat and breeches looked refurbished because Lord Harley had ruthlessly brushed them after he had finished brushing his own clothes.

Hannah pushed Mrs Bisley into a seat and made sure Mr Fletcher was placed next to her. The captain, in a large night-gown with showy frills of cotton lace and a dirty dressing-gown and Kilmarnock nightcap, glowered at Mr Fletcher from the other end of the table. The landlord came in shivering with cold, and looked first amazed and then gratified when Hannah
told him to take a seat and served him with breakfast and small beer.

Lord Harley watched Hannah with admiration as she served everyone in record time and then sat down herself, consumed a great quantity of bacon and eggs at amazing speed, and then started to load up a tray to take to Mrs Silvers’ bedchamber.

When breakfast was over, Hannah returned to say that as the circumstances were unusual, she would appreciate any help the gentlemen had to offer in clearing up. Emily was about to say that
she
had done enough, but Captain Seaton began to bluster that he was a gentleman and would not soil his hands with women’s dirty work. Anxious not to be associated with the captain in the public mind, Emily stood about, hoping she looked willing and hoping at the same time that Hannah would not ask her to do anything.

The coachman, who divulged that his name was Old Tom, or, rather, that that was what everyone on the road called him, said cheerfully that if Hannah put some bits and pieces of food together, along with some ale, he would take it out to the post-boys. Assured by him that the post-boys were snug enough from the storm before the tack-room fire, Hannah set about preparing a tray for them. Ignored, the captain got sulkily to his feet. ‘Come along, Mrs Bisley,’ he growled. But to his mortification, Lizzie did not seem to hear him. She was tying one of the waiters’ aprons around Mr Fletcher’s waist, the little lawyer having said he would be glad to help with the dirty dishes.
Mrs Bradley went off to get her basket of medicines to find something to ease Mrs Silvers’ cold.

Lord Harley rounded up the rest of the men and said to Hannah’s relief that a path to the outside privvy must be dug through the snow, ‘for no one surely expects these excellent ladies to empty chamber-pots, and if any of you have used that utensil during the night, then I suggest you carry it down and empty it yourself.’

Emily turned as red as fire. She had been about to nip up to the bedchamber to make use of the chamber-pot but now she could not, for that would mean carrying the nasty thing down in full view of everyone. No one cared about her predicament, she thought tearfully, quite forgetting that no one could possibly know.

The guard, who was called Jim Feathers, and the two outside passengers, Mr Burridge and Mr Hendry, followed Lord Harley outside to find shovels to start digging. Mr Fletcher and Lizzie Bisley were out in the scullery washing dishes.

‘Now dinner,’ said Hannah. ‘There is a pot of stock here, and soup would be a great thing to begin. Miss Freemantle, if you would be so good as to clean the vegetables.’

‘I don’t know how,’ said Emily.

‘For a start, here are carrots. You scrape them, so, and then cut them into slices, and when you have finished that, I shall give you the onions.’

Emily felt too intimidated to protest. Lord Harley’s remark about not wanting her hurt the more she thought about it. There was no Miss Cudlipp to
whisper in her ear that he really did not mean it. And if he returned to the kitchen and found her rebelling, she knew his contempt for her would be awful. He could not really be aristocratic, thought Emily, ferociously chopping carrots. There must be common blood in the Harleys. Aristocrats did not dig snow to clear a path to the privvy. Gently born people hardly ever mentioned the place, and if they did, they referred to it as the ‘necessary house’.

But when Lord Harley came in, stamping snow from his boots, and said the path was clear, Emily slipped gratefully out of the kitchen and fought her way through the storm to the Jericho in the garden, suddenly grateful she had managed to avoid the humiliation of the chamber-pot. She came back to the kitchen brushing snow from her dress, her cheeks pink with the cold.

‘Onions, Miss Freemantle,’ said Hannah, putting the offensive, nasty things down on the table. Emily saw a flash of amusement light up Lord Harley’s eyes and bent to her work. But while she chopped onions, occasionally rubbing her streaming eyes with a handkerchief, she began to feel a glow of satisfaction. Yes, she had behaved badly by running away, but her doting parents would forgive all when they heard how she had been used. And what stories she would have to tell Miss Cudlipp! She could see Miss Cudlipp’s rather sheeplike face looking at her in amazed admiration. ‘Come along, Miss Freemantle,’ came the hated Miss Pym’s voice, ‘don’t take all day.’ Lord Harley grinned and left.

Mr Fletcher was polishing dishes in the scullery and admiring the tender white nape of Lizzie Bisley’s neck as she bent over the sink. She turned to hand him another dish and Mr Fletcher, with a little spurt of gladness, noticed the fine network of wrinkles at her eyes. He had thought her much younger than he.

‘I could not help but notice you are in mourning and you did say something about having been recently bereaved,’ said Mr Fletcher. ‘When did your husband … er … pass on?’

‘Eight months ago,’ said Lizzie. ‘I miss him sore.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He was a lawyer.’

‘Indeed!’ Mr Fletcher furrowed his brow. Bisley. Then his face cleared. ‘Not John Bisley of Bisley, Rochester & Bisley.’

‘The same,’ said Lizzie, turning her back on the sink and leaning against it.

‘He was a very successful lawyer,’ said Mr Fletcher wistfully. ‘I, too, am a lawyer, Mrs Bisley, but have not had any success at all. That is why I am going to Exeter, to try my luck there.’