The Hungry Tide (42 page)

‘Miss Pardoe says I may visit her in London.’ Lucy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Oh, Papa, may I, please? Do say I can.’

Isaac looked anxiously across at Isobel. ‘Well, I’m not sure, you are a trifle young.’

‘But of course I intended to include Mrs Masterson in the invitation.’ Miss Pardoe inclined her head towards Isobel and graciously smiled her request.

‘That is most generous of you, Miss Pardoe, but as Mr Masterson says, Lucy is a little young to savour the delights of the city just yet.’

Lucy’s face puckered and she looked as if she was going to cry, but her mother’s eyebrows rose appeasingly as she spoke again. ‘But if the offer could be kindly extended to next autumn when Lucy will be almost sixteen, then we should be delighted to accept.’

Mrs Masterson and Miss Pardoe both smiled. They understood each other perfectly. Lucy nearing sixteen could attend balls and parties and be seen as an eligible contender for the marriage stakes, and her mother had a year in which to prepare her.

‘Sarah, what fun it will be! Dances to go to, and grand parties, and lots of young men who will all fall in love with me!’ Lucy picked up her skirts and whirled around the schoolroom the next morning. ‘Oh, how I wish that I could go now.’ She sat down on the floor and put her arms around her knees, closing her eyes dreamily. ‘Don’t you think that Matilda Pardoe is absolutely beautiful, and that her brother is the most handsome man you have ever seen?’

‘Yes,’ said Sarah, ‘and no.’

‘What do you mean, yes and no?’ Lucy frowned.

‘I mean, yes, Miss Pardoe is very beautiful, and no, Mr Pardoe is not the most handsome man I have ever seen.’ Sarah concentrated hard on threading sweet-scented myrtle and sprigs of rosemary together to make a posy.

Lucy got up and stood over her watching as she entwined small pink late rosebuds and pale green ivy with a length of vine, interweaving it with leaves of lady’s mantle. ‘You are clever, Sarah. Will you show me how to do that?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘No, you are going to be far too busy learning how to be a lady, and besides you haven’t the patience for it.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘No, I expect you’re right. I would get bored.’ Idly she picked up some sprigs of dried lavender and pressed them to her nose. ‘I’m bored now. There’s nothing to do out here. I wish I could have gone out visiting with Cousin John and the Pardoes. I consider that it was very unkind of them not to have asked me.’

She sat down at the table opposite Sarah. ‘Who do you think is the most handsome man you have ever seen, if it isn’t Stephen Pardoe?’

Sarah looked down at her flowers. ‘Well, my brother Tom is very fine looking, don’t you think?’

Lucy pouted her lips. ‘Oh, yes, I agree, he is, in a robust sort of way. But I favour Grecian features myself. You know, a noble brow, a classical nose.’ She gazed pensively into space. ‘Like Mr Pardoe in fact. But anyway,’ she added emphatically, ‘you can’t include brothers. You have to choose someone else. For instance, who was that village boy who was staring at you the other day when we were out walking?’

‘Joe Reedbarrow? Is that who you mean?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t remember seeing him before.’

Sarah smiled. It was hardly likely that Lucy would notice the local village boys who hung around when they had no work to do, for she never looked at them but kept her eyes averted. But Joe Reedbarrow had doffed his cap as they went by that day and had moved aside to let them pass.

‘He’s just come back to Monkston to live with his father. His mother died giving birth to him and he’s lived in Tillington with the woman who nursed him. But now his father needs him back to help on the farm.’ She frowned. ‘His brother Paul is a ne’er do well and does nothing to help his father, and his grandfather, old Dick Reedbarrow, is failing badly.’

Lucy shuddered. ‘How dreadful. How perfectly horrid to die like that. Mama almost died, you know, giving birth to me. But your mother helped her.’ Her face was a picture of frightened innocence. ‘Oh, Sarah, I hope it doesn’t happen to me. I declare I shan’t have any babies if I can help it.’

Sarah stared into the distance, her thoughts vague and undefined, and her eyes clouded. ‘I’d help you if I could,’ she whispered vacantly. ‘Only, I’ll be too far away.’

‘What do you mean, Sarah? Where will you be?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said remotely, ‘I don’t know.’

Lucy jumped up, ‘Oh, come on, do. Don’t let us get melancholy and think on sad things. Choose who is the most handsome man in your opinion and let’s pretend.’

‘I can’t think of anyone just at the moment.’ Sarah’s face was inscrutable though her lips trembled, ‘and in any case, I’m too busy making a love posy for someone else to think about myself.’

Lucy’s attention was caught instantly. ‘Oh, who is it for? Sarah, do say.’

‘Only if you promise not to say a word to a soul.’ Sarah looked up at Lucy. ‘I mean it. It’s to be a secret.’

Lucy promised, hand on heart, but was none the less disappointed when she was told that it was for Lizzie, who she considered was very plain and shy, although she thought her kind and accommodating. ‘I never thought of Lizzie being in love. I didn’t think of servants in that way.’

‘There is no reason why not, Miss Lucy,’ said Sarah reprovingly. ‘We do have feelings just the same as everyone else.’

Lucy was contrite. ‘I didn’t mean
you
, Sarah. I’m sorry. I didn’t think what I was saying. Please say you forgive me.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘What a beast I am; of course lizzie should be in love, she’s a dear, sweet creature and deserves the best.’ She patted Sarah’s arm earnestly. ‘Tell me who it is, do.’

Sarah sighed. She couldn’t be cross with Lucy for long. She always made the most outrageous remarks without thinking of the effect they might have on other people’s feelings, and then was devastated when she realized they were hurt.

‘Why, Tom, of course. Couldn’t you guess? And he doesn’t even notice.’ She sat back to admire the effect of her arrangement. ‘But he will when I have finished with him.’ She threw back her head and laughed, her humour restored and the unaccountable thoughts which flitted through her mind melting away. ‘I shall give him a magic drink, Lucy, spiced with love potions, and hide fragrant herbs beneath his mattress to enchant him.’

Lucy stared wide-eyed at Sarah. For once she was tongue-tied. After a pause she gulped and whispered, ‘Can you really do that?’

Sarah drew close to her and grasped her by the shoulders, staring deep into her blue eyes. ‘Of course,’ she whispered. ‘Shall I make one for Mr Pardoe, so that he falls madly in love with you?’ Her eyes gleamed mischievously, ‘And shall I turn you into a mouse, and set the cat on you?’

‘Oh – oh, Sarah, what a clown you are! I really believed you for a moment. You are too bad, teasing like that.’ Lucy gave a deep sigh of relief. ‘I really did believe you.’

She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘But just in case the love posies
do
work, could you make one for Miss Pardoe, so that she will think of John, and one for him so that he will think of her?’

Sarah flushed and started to clear the debris of flower stalks from the table. ‘Not now, Lucy, I haven’t got the right herbs or flowers. Perhaps later.’

‘Oh, but we must, Sarah. I insist, and I will help you.’

Whether the posies which they placed at the bedsides worked their spell, they could only guess. Lucy declared it to be an old wives’ tale, for Miss Pardoe announced that she had never slept so well, a sound dreamless sleep as soon as she had drawn her bedcurtains, though John came down to breakfast looking tired and drawn and said he hadn’t had a wink of sleep all night, and was touchy and irritable and barely ate a morsel of food. He apologized to the Pardoes for his ill-humour and Matilda had looked at him rather coldly.

They departed on the fourth day, renewing their promise of a meeting soon, and as soon as their carriage had left John announced that he would go back to town the next day, instead of staying on as planned.

‘Miss Pardoe is very charming, John!’ Isobel threw in the remark in as casual a manner as her directness would allow.

‘Indeed. Most agreeable.’ He had a dull headache that wouldn’t go away. Too much brandy after supper had obviously not agreed with his digestion.

‘Will you meet them again when you next visit London?’ she probed anxiously.

‘I shall see Stephen in the course of business, I expect, but it’s doubtful if I will meet Miss Pardoe. She has a very busy social calendar, I believe.’

Isobel jumped in with both feet. ‘You could do worse than look in that direction for many advantages, John. She has great charm, perfect breeding and, as I understand it, a considerable fortune.’

‘In that order, Aunt?’ John allowed himself a smile.

‘You may laugh, but the matter requires consideration. You will soon be thirty, just the right age for a man to wed, and Miss Pardoe is just past twenty-one. She surely won’t wish to wait much longer to be married.’

‘I understand that she has had several offers already, Aunt,’ he said stiffly, ‘but has turned them all down. Miss Pardoe seemingly isn’t willing to tie herself to some scheming young buck, or a gouty rich old man, just for the sake of conforming to society’s whims.’ He bowed, excused himself and headed for the door.

‘In that case, she should view you very favourably,’ was her parting rejoinder, ‘as you are in neither of those categories.’

He wished that he hadn’t invited the Pardoes. Although he had been charmed by Matilda and had entertained vague, romantic ideas concerning her, he was adamant that his aunt would not be allowed to matchmake. He had seen the light in her eye the moment he had introduced his guests and knew instantly that she would start to scheme.

‘Well, I won’t allow it,’ he muttered testily as he hurried briskly across the hall. ‘I’ll make my own decisions.’ His head still ached, he had had the most abominable night’s sleep again. The flowers by his bed had pervaded the room with their sweet, heavy perfume, and instead of soothing, it induced in him wild, restless dreams which caused him to cry out, waking him up, so that sleep evaded him and he had lain awake gazing into the grey of the morning, hearing the breathing of the sea and seeing a gentle smiling face beneath a cloud of hair, not black as night, but shining bright as the sun.

He knocked on the door leading to the kitchen and heard the scurry of those inside. Mrs Scryven opened the door and beamed at him, her round face more wrinkled and brown than he remembered.

‘Mr John! How pleased I am to see thee.’ She bobbed a crooked curtsey and invited him in to the warm kitchen, the mouthwatering smells there whetting his taste buds.

He smiled at Lizzie, who he thought looked brighter and prettier and not so pale and wan as formerly.

‘Mrs Scryven, I have the devil of a headache. Have you something hidden away in those cupboards that would clear it?’

She peered up at him, her eyes narrowing to slits. ‘I have something to take away an ordinary pain in thy head,’ she said, her voice low, ‘but I can’t take away ’cause. Only tha can do that, sir.’

He stared back at her. What on earth was she talking about? ‘It’s just a headache, Mrs Scryven, nothing more.’

She nodded her head. ‘Well, we can soon fix it if that’s ’case, sir. Just one moment, please.’

She pulled out a drawer in a large oak dresser and took out a pale, faded green leaf, its texture crisp and crumbling. ‘Try this, Mr John, ’flavour is bitter, but tha’ll find it works.’

He chewed it as she directed and pulled a face. ‘It’s vile! I shall forget the headache now that I have that revolting taste in my mouth!’

She nodded, her mouth twitching, and bade him sit down whilst she poured him a small glass of her own ale. He drank thirstily, it was cool and aromatic and he hoped that she would offer another, but she didn’t; she stood politely waiting for him to finish and then took the glass from him, waiting for him to leave.

‘Good day, sir.’

He heard the crisp rustle of Sarah’s gown as she crossed the hall towards the stairs and he swung round to return the greeting. She smelt of summer, an essence of roses and sweet woodbine, and for a moment he was filled with a longing to bury his face in her hair and breathe in the fragrance.

He realized that he was staring as she gazed hesitatingly down at him from the foot of the stairs, a look of puzzlement on her face.

‘Is there something wrong, Mr John?’

‘Sorry, er, no, not at all. Good day, Sarah.’

He was confused. This young woman standing before him was his cousin’s companion, a child almost, a servant. No – no, not a servant! He couldn’t think of her as a servant, no more than he could think of Maria and Will as servants. Mrs Scryven and the others, yes, they were there to serve, that was their function. They expected their master’s patronage as their right, just as they expected to be fed and clothed as their right. But Will and Maria were his friends, and this was their daughter, who in her innocence was setting his thoughts in turmoil and turning his world and his plans upside down.

She smiled and turned to leave, one hand holding a book, the other clasping the bannister rail.

‘Sarah?’

She turned back, her eyebrows raised in query.

He couldn’t remember what he was going to say, though he felt that it was important; his wits had wandered away like his elusive dreams, leaving him abstracted.

‘Oh, hmm, I was just going to tell you – that I once slid down that bannister rail!’

She laughed suddenly, her face childlike, expectant and surprised. ‘Did you? What fun!’

‘Yes. On the day you were born, in fact.’ He smiled back at her. His headache had lifted and he felt a sudden elation and an alarming desire to do it again. ‘You won’t tell my aunt, will you?’

He watched the pleasure on her face at the anticipation of a shared secret, and saw streaks of gold gleaming in her brown eyes as she laughed.

‘I won’t tell,’ she answered and impulsively put out her hand. ‘I promise.’

He took it and held it for a moment, abstractedly stroking the soft young skin with his thumb.

Gently she withdrew her hand from his. ‘Was there something more, sir?’