Endure My Heart (6 page)

The rabbit teeth jutted forth in pleasure. I am convinced men are conceited enough to believe anything. He actually believed he was feared by the smugglers, and admired by me. I hardly knew which joke was funnier. “They’ll not be using your school if they know what’s good for them,” he boasted.

Andrew came down with a bad cold, which troubled his sleep. I expect it was the hours spent in that drafty gallery playing the organ that caused it. The result was that he complained one Monday morning of hearing noises at his back window, which is, unfortunately, above the crypt. It was necessary to use the school again for a spell after this. I wanted to have a key made up for Jemmie, and it was this that led to my trip to London, for I would not have it made locally. This was not the only reason, of course, nor even the main one. The piles of gold heaping under my petticoats had something to do with it. I wanted a chance to spend some of it, and put some in the bank.

I don’t mean to say I never spent a shilling previous to this. I gave some to charity in nefarious ways. Sukey Millar, whose mama is a grass widow with three children, went home more days than one with a guinea hidden in her coat pocket, and never suspected its source, nor ever questioned it either. Its final use was visible in a better coat on the children’s backs, and better lunch in their baskets. I was practically the sole support of Mrs. Kiley (mother to a parcel of red-haired adulterine children, you may recall). As the sister of the rector it was not unexpected I should befriend her. It was a thankless task, for she had no management, but as often as I could attend to it, she had food in her cupboards at least. Indigent callers to the rectory were given a couple of shillings by Andrew, and a couple of pounds, “saved from the household money” I told them, from myself.

This may be an ineffective way of performing charity, but it is a highly satisfying one. Money put into an institution will be dissipated in no visible way, but to give cash to a poor man and see him walk down the street and turn into a shop gives a warm feeling in the heart. With a job myself now and Andrew’s position, that we had a little money to spare was not remarkable. I also fixed up the rectory in a way to please me. Andrew did not have to be accounted to for anything, as he never noticed if a new chair was in the saloon or a new lamp on the table. He was perfectly oblivious to his surSroundings, which was very convenient.

But of course if I were to vanish for two days, he would notice it, so I had to invent a pretext for a trip to London.

“I am going to pay Cousin Dora a short visit,” I told him.

“Dora, which one is she?” he asked. Mama’s sister in Devonshire had three married  daughters, one of them living in some unfashionable suburb of London.

“The one married to a solicitor,” I answered quite at random.

“That’s nice. Don’t invite her here,” he replied.

“No, I shan’t, Andrew. Can I get you anything in London?”

He could think of nothing in all of London to tempt him. I had a great deal of business to attend to. Getting the key made was only a trifling part of it. I wished to meet our agents firsthand and try to get a higher price from them for our brandy. The price had not been raised in three years, I had noticed from Miss Thyme’s records, and prices were rising everywhere else.

It was a Mr. Pettigrew I first locked horns with. A very genteel establishment he had, right on Bond Street amid the fine shops serving the gentry. Edna would have it I was come to the wrong address, for what Mr. Pettigrew purported to sell was snuff and all the paraphernalia that goes with it, but then he could hardly have contraband goods sitting on his shelves, and with such a shop as this, he would be in touch with all sorts of gentlemen.

In fact, Edna and myself were the only ladies in his shop, but we were not long in the shop proper once my name was mentioned. We were whisked off into a private office at the back where we got down to hard bargaining. The man took the misguided notion that as I was a female, he could bullock me into a lower price. I arose at once from my chair. “I have come to negotiate a higher price, sir. If you are unable to pay it, I shall not waste your time and my own, but go to my other agents.”

The upshot of the meeting was that I got the price I wanted under the condition that I sell my total haul to Mr. Pettigrew. This was agreeable to me, and joyful news to Will Phillips, who would now have to make only one stop to deliver. In a fit of gallantry, he gave me a sweet little box which he said was a lady’s snuff box. I had no idea of ramming snuff up my nose, but used it for holding face powder. The ladies in London were using something called “pearl powder” which lent a delicate luminous glow to the cheeks.

This trip was a pleasure jaunt to reward myself for all my work and worry, as well as a business one. I cannot think of any pastime more enjoyable than spending money on items one does not actually need. It was sheer luxury to roam the shops, picking up silk stockings, fancy feathers, scented soaps—all the delicacies a woman desires but can neither afford nor find in a small town like Salford. I felt quite a pampered pet when I unwrapped my treasures back at our hotel. We stayed at the Reddelstone. A good, respectable spot, but I think I would aim higher next time.

With a little judicious arm-twisting, I got Edna to accept material for a new gown and bought her a very pretty fringed shawl. I treated myself to similar items. In the evening, we hired a carriage and went to an opera at the Haymarket, where we were the recipients of a good number of stares from the gentlemen, which we were obliged to pretend we did not see, of course. One wayward male accosted us at the intermission to let on he mistook me for his cousin, while at least a half dozen of his cohorts stood off in a corner laughing, to see how he would be received. I told him that to my knowledge, I did not number any popinjays among my relations, after which he did not pester us again.

I was very sorry we had to leave so soon. We were glancing at the newspapers as we had breakfast on the day of our departure, to kill time till the coach left. What I read there nearly made me choke on my coffee. “Edna—look!” I shrieked, pushing the paper under her nose.

“A new officer appointed to the Board of Trade—what is that to us?” she asked.

“Read the rest. Read what he says.”

She read, and I shall tell you what it was that caused me to shriek in horror. The new officer appointed was a Colonel Sir Stamford Wicklow, retired from the Army since Waterloo, with a leg wound sustained while in active duty under Wellington. Nothing to cause a shriek there, but an interview with the president of the Board of Trade went on to state Wicklow had been appointed to look into a loss of revenue due to smuggling. He went on to pinpoint the east coast as the prime spot for this smuggling, and further to finger Salford as the one spot where the stuff was flowing in as regularly as the tide. So it was too, since Miss Sage had taken over. There was a long threnody on the many thousands of pounds lost yearly due to this business, and a statement that it would be brought to a stop.

“Isn’t that all we need, and I have just made a very good contract with Mr. Pettigrew,” I lamented.

“You know how these commissions work,” Edna assured me. “He’ll send Crites a letter, Crites will send back a report and that will be an end to it.”

“I hope you may be right. All the same, I shall keep a sharp eye out for a stranger in town, especially a stranger who strikes up a friendship with Officer Crites.”

“He’ll never come to town himself,” she thought. “An officer and a gentleman—devil a bit of it. At best he’ll send some petty clerk down with a pen and pad to try for a few names.”

“They mean to put a stop to us. Hundreds of thousands of pounds—what our Prince Regent couldn’t do with the money. Build another onion dome on his pavilion, or throw up another row of porphyry columns at Carlton House.”

“What do you know about Carlton House?” she asked me. About the latest renovations to the ever-changing pavilion she knew as much as myself, as we had read an article on it together recently.

“I overheard some ladies talking about it last night at the opera. They say it is a party every night he is in residence, with music and feasting and dancing. Wouldn’t it be lovely to go, just once?”

She regarded me severely. “Never you mind about such carrying-on. Carlton House indeed!”

It was time to go. I thought of the article as we jostled home on the coach, and thought there was much to be said for Edna’s view of the matter. It was hardly likely we would have an officer from the Board of Trade take up residence in Salford. My mind wandered off to other matters. Next time we came up to London, we would take the mail. It was more expensive, but a much faster, more comfortable conveyance. It was always tended first at any coaching house it stopped at, and the passengers looked more respectable than the crew we shared our carriage with. I doubted the odor of onions and unwashed bodies would be as high on the mail either.

It seems nothing ever happens in town for years on end, then as soon as you leave for a day or two, great events occur. The big news when we got home was that Mrs. Owens from the local drapery store had suddenly taken ill. Her husband had spirited her off to Bath to recuperate, but of more interest than this, her cousin was coming to take over the store during their absence. Lest this not strike you as world-shaking information, let me go on to state he was a young bachelor. You must surely agree that the introduction into our limited society of an unattached male of marriageable age is worth noting. In common with all the other women in town, I made an excuse to get a look at Mr. Williams. I had to wait till after school to do it, as it was now September, and the doors of the dame school were open once more. I had a good excuse into the shop. Andrew was a member of the Parish Council, and had been assigned the duty of purchasing calico for the charity cases. Any duty of this practical nature was promptly dumped into my lap—a point considered when they stuck Andrew with these jobs, of course.

My first impression of Mr. Williams was good. He stood alone in the store, the women having all come and gone long before I entered at four-thirty, after school. He stood leaning his hands on the counter, with his eyes riveted on a book. I could see he was young, good-looking, with wide shoulders, unfortunately covered in a blue coat that pretended to fashion, but was of a poor cut and quality. With it he wore a very gaudy waistcoat and shirt points too high for true elegance. Many such dandies were to be seen on the streets of London, clerks and merchants who spent their wages on their backs, to try to impress the girls. The whole getup was garish, in poor taste, but the head on top of all this tawdry clothing was well shaped. The hair too, wheat-colored hair, was nicely barbered, not curling in cunning disarray like the dandies, but neatly brushed back. Looking at the profile, I could not but admire the straight nose and strong chin. Really he looked a remarkably handsome fellow. He would provide one of the merchant’s girls a beau before many days were out. He looked up as I approached, a questioning look. His face was alert, intelligent, the eyes a deep, stormy gray.

“Can I be of help to ye, ma’am?” he asked, surveying me with polite deference. What a pity it was to hear common speech utter from that face. Peacocks enchant better with their mouths closed.

“I would like to see your calico, sir.”

“I’ve a very fine white calico in. Is it for sheets you’re wanting it, miss?”

I had sunk from ma’am to miss in two speeches, and wondered why this change had occurred. If the ma’am had been a mark of respect for his betters, it was odd he had changed it so quickly, so I took it as a compliment to my youth, caused by his ill breeding. “No, sir, I want your cheapest quality, the brown calico.”

“Ah, it’s dust rags you’re after. There’s a bit of unbleached out back that’s got summat soiled…”

“I require fifty yards,” I told him.

“What on earth for?” he asked, staring rudely.

“That is hardly your concern, but as you ask, it is for distribution to the parish poor.”

“Ah, ye’d be Miss Anderson then,” he informed me, walking toward me at a halting gait. He seemed to have twisted his ankle. I concluded that even if his speech were common, his mind was uncommonly sharp, to have discovered my name and business within the space of one day in the shop.

“That’s right.”

“I’m Williams,” he told me, smiling. A greasy smile it was, which did not match his face. “Here’s what ye’d be after,” he said, pointing to the brown calico.

It distressed me to have to buy that horrid cheap stuff for the poor. I would have liked to get a better quality, or even let them have a voucher equal in value to the price to buy what they wished. But the rules were strict—not without reason. Mrs. Kiley, for instance, would buy ribbon if she had a choice. The rules stated one sheet length of unbleached calico for a small family, two if the family were large. “It’s two shillings and sixpence an ell,” he said.

“Mr. Owens always gave us a discount; he left off the odd pence, as we buy in quantity.”

“Did he then? I didn’t notice it in the books,” he replied, regarding me with the innately suspicious eye of the shopkeeper, convinced you are out to gyp him. Pettigrew had the same look. The book he had been perusing with such interest when I entered was the bookkeeping ledger, and here I had taken him for a reading man.

“If you look under the record of the Parish Council, I believe you will find the price always paid to be two shillings,” I replied haughtily.

“I’ll just have a look,” he answered, and limped back to the counter. He was as well as telling me he didn’t believe me. “Aye, so it is, two shillings the ell,” he said, nodding his head judiciously.

“You
may deliver it to the rectory, and bill the Parish Council,” I said, still on my high ropes. So much so, in fact, that I had given him the wrong spot for delivery. It would be more convenient to have it taken directly to the church.

“I certainly will do that, ma’am,” he answered, “as soon as ye’ve signed for it.” I was back to ma’am, in deference to my fit of pique. I stood by to sign the voucher he was scribbling up. I rather expected to see him surreptitiously counting up the price on his fingers as Mrs. Owens does, but he jotted down the right sum pretty quickly. Two times fifty is hardly an impossible sum, however. “It’s a grand little place, Salford,” he said, looking up between strokes of the pen.