9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“ W hat are you doing, Alicia? Why are all your dresses piled up in the hallway?” Alicia’s mother asked, as Alicia and her maid came down the stairs, each carrying another pile of clothes.

Alicia had not realized her mother was in, having hoped to carry out the exercise without being questioned. But now she put down the pile of dresses on the floor and dusted off her hands.

“They’re for charity, Mother. I’m having a clear out. I never wear any of these things. They’re just getting moth eaten at the back of my wardrobes. I’m going to sell them and give the money to the school for blind children,” Alicia replied.

Her mother looked at her and rolled her eyes.

“You and that school, Alicia. Haven’t you anything else to keep you occupied? You’re forever involved with it. I hope Ernest Howard appreciates it,” her mother said.

“I hope it’s the children who appreciate it, Mother. That’s who we’re doing it for. Don’t you realize the terrible poverty so many people live in?” Alicia replied.

She knew she sounded moralistic, but since she had begun to help Ernest in his pursuit of the school, Alicia had come to realize the extent of her own privilege. Amongst the ton, it was easy to believe everyone lived a life of comfort and leisure, flitting between salons and drawing rooms, discussing scandal gossip, whilst dressed in the finest silks and sipping tea from delicate china cups. But the reality of life for the common man was far from what Alicia and her parents enjoyed. She had seen children going hungry, children without proper shoes dressed in nothing but rags, and heard tales of woe enough to bring tears to one’s eyes.

“Well…it’s hardly your duty to resolve it, is it? Look at all these dresses – your father bought you that one for your debut,” Alicia’s mother said.

“Yes, and I haven’t worn it since. We can raise plenty of money for the school. They’re my dresses and I want to get rid of them,” Alicia replied.

Her mother nodded, tutting, as Alicia and her maid now began to sort the dresses into piles.

“I suppose you’re going to run a market stall next,” her mother said, and Alicia smiled.

“Well, actually, Mother, I’m going to make soup,” she said, and her mother looked at her in horror.

Amongst her various ideas for raising money for the school, Alicia had also decided something needed to be done about the obvious poverty in which so many children – not just the blind ones – were living. Whole families were going hungry, and she had felt terribly guilty at the thought of her own excesses in comparison to the frugality so many of their neighbors were forced to endure. Ernest had thought it to be an excellent idea, and through a soup kitchen in the city center, they would raise awareness of the plight of the poor, as well as doing something practical to help them.

“What do you mean? What soup? For whom? Alicia, I can’t allow you to…” her mother began, but Alicia interrupted her.

“Oh, don’t be such a snob, Mother. Didn’t Father grow up with nothing? Didn’t he make his own way in the world? He wasn’t handed his wealth on a silver spoon. And neither were you,” she said.

Her mother was the daughter of a farmer and had grown up in rural Lincolnshire – genteelly poor, as she had once put it. Whilst her father was the son of a cloth maker from Bath, raised in two rooms, with six brothers and never enough money to feed and clothe them all adequately. Alicia felt ashamed to think her mother had forgotten her roots so easily, whilst so many other families struggled to make ends meet.

“That might be so, but your father made his own fortune. He lifted himself – and us – to a higher social class,” her mother retorted.

“Then it’s our duty to help those less fortunate, Mother,” Alicia replied.

She would not be dissuaded. Her mind was already made up, and after sorting out the dresses, she intended to go to the market and buy the things she needed to make the soup.

“I don’t like you getting involved like this, Alicia. Men don’t like women who…busy themselves,” her mother said, and Alicia laughed.

“I wouldn’t like a man who thought that,” she replied.

“But you don’t know anything about making soup, let alone feeding it to a hundred poor families,” her mother retorted, but Alicia already had a plan for that.

“I’ve asked the cook to help me. She’s going to show me how to make a simple vegetable soup, and I’ve already spoken to the baker about providing bread – he’s going to charge it to our account. You wouldn’t begrudge the poor a few loaves of bread, would you Mother? Don’t you remember Sunday’s text?” Alicia said, knowing her words would have the desired effect.

Her mother was a pious woman who never missed church. On Sunday, the rector of Saint James’ – the estate church for Burnley Abbey, where Alicia’s mother liked to attend to be seen by the family – had preached on the text “when I was hungry, you gave me food,” from Saint Matthew’s gospel, and had exhorted the congregation to do the same. Her mother nodded.

“Yes… I remember it, Alicia. Very well, have your bread, and if you must serve the poor with soup, so be it. But be careful, and please…don’t neglect the possibility of finding a husband,” she said.

Alicia smiled. Her mother’s bark was always worse than her bite. She was a good woman, with a kind heart, but she was forever worrying about Alicia, and desperate for her to make a match as Lily had done the previous season. But Alicia’s thoughts were turned to more practical matters, and, like Ernest, she, too, had come to see the school as her first priority – a way of making a difference and doing something other than attending tea parties and wearing pretty dresses in the company of dull women.

“Come along, Hilda, let’s finish sorting these clothes out,” Alicia said, turning to her maid, who nodded.

They spent the rest of the morning clearing out Alicia’s wardrobes. She had dozens of dresses, and having paired them down to just ten – still an excess in her opinion – it was decided to hold a sale and see the dresses sold to the highest bidder. Alicia was excited at the prospect of raising money for the school, but now her thoughts were turned to the soup, and she and her maid set off on foot for the market to buy the vegetables.

“I think it’s admirable, miss – what you’re doing, I mean. I had a cousin who was blind. He was a dear little thing. We all doted on him, but when he grew up, he had no way of taking care of himself. He lived with my aunt until she died, then his sister took him in. I remember he used to sing songs – he’d learn them by listening to others sing. He had a lovely voice,” the maid said, as they made their way through the streets towards the market square.

Market day was always busy in Lancaster, and they passed herders with their auction cattle, and traders leading horses with carts laden with produce. The square itself was busy, and the clock on the town hall was chiming eleven o’clock as they reached the first of the vegetable stalls, where boxes were piled high with potatoes, onion, carrots, parsnips, turnips, and all manner of different vegetables, perfect for making soup.

“Good morning, I’m going to need several pounds of vegetables – something of everything,” Alicia said, addressing the stallholder, who looked at her skeptically.

“For yourself is it, miss?” he asked, for Alicia knew she was not his typical customer.

She was about to reply when a shrill voice called out excitedly behind her.

“Oh, Alicia, you’re here – how wonderful,” Caroline Pickering said, and Alicia turned to find her rival looming over her, smiling, though with that same disdainful look in her eyes.

“Caroline… I wasn’t expecting to see you,” Alicia said, forcing a similar smile.

Alicia had not wanted Caroline to know about the soup kitchen. She knew the viscount’s daughter would only want to take over, even as she knew her own motivations were not entirely selfless. Ernest had been keen on the idea of doing something to help the wider community of poor families in Lancaster. The school for the blind children was of the greatest importance, but anything they could do to improve the lives of the poor was to be welcomed. Alicia had felt pleased to think Ernest approved of her idea, and glad to think it had been hers and not Caroline’s.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, either. I’ve come to buy some lace. My maid doesn’t know what I like – not really. It’s far easier to choose it myself. Are you shopping for yourself?” Caroline asked, glancing at the vegetable stall, the proprietor of which was looking impatiently at Alicia, who blushed.

“No… I’m going to make soup,” Alicia said.

There was no point in lying. Caroline would discover the truth soon enough, even as Alicia would have preferred her to have nothing to do with it.

“Soup? Are times so hard the Saunders are resorting to making their own soup. I suppose that’s the problem with new money. It can go as easily as it comes,” Caroline said.

Alicia did not rise to her taunt, though she might have pointed out to Caroline just what had happened to the aristocrats on the other side of the channel, many of whom now found themselves exiled in England, where the threat of the guillotine was, for now, less…

“It’s not for us, Caroline. It’s for the poor families. I’m going to make soup and run a kitchen to distribute it – here in the market square,” she said.

Caroline looked at her in surprise.

“Does Ernest know about this?” she asked, and Alicia nodded.

“He knows I want to do something to help the poor families in the district. It’s all very well educating the blind children, but we’ve got to do more. It’s our responsibility to help them,” Alicia replied.

She knew Caroline would not like the fact it had been Alicia’s idea and not hers. There was no doubting the rivalry between them, even as it simmered beneath a veneer of friendliness. Caroline’s look of surprise now turned into a smile.

“But that’s wonderful, Alicia. I’m sure we can work together. We’ll take two pounds of all these vegetables, no…four pounds of each. Have them bagged up and delivered to…” Caroline said, glancing at Alicia, who sighed.

“Longmarton House,” she said, giving her address, and knowing there was little point in resisting Caroline’s interference.

The stall holder nodded, shouting at a young boy he had with him to bring sacks for the vegetables.

“We’ll let them deal with it – leave your maid here. Come and walk with me, Alicia,” Caroline said, offering Alicia her arm.

Alicia could not very well refuse Caroline’s offer, and the two of them walked arm in arm through the market towards Caroline’s favored lace stall.

“I should be getting back soon. Our cook’s promised to help me with the soup,” Alicia said, not wishing to remain in Caroline’s company any longer than necessary.

“Oh, let the cook make it herself, Alicia. I’m sure she’ll do a better job of it than either of us could. What time shall I be there tomorrow?” Caroline asked.

Alicia had to try hard to disguise her annoyance, even as she knew there could be no dissuading Caroline in her obvious attempts to make the soup kitchen her own.

“I’ve asked the baker to provide the bread at ten o’clock, then we’ll start serving the soup at eleven o’clock. Some of the laborers from the Burnley Abbey estate are going to light and stoke the fires, and I’ve asked Lily and some of the other women – Isobel and Anne – to help serve the soup to the poor,” Alicia said, for she had been busy with her preparations, hoping Caroline would not get wind of what was happening until it was too late.

“Then I’ll be here for ten o’clock. I’ll bring my maid, and a few of the other servants, too. Many hands make light work. I’m sure Ernest will be there, won’t he?” Caroline asked, turning to Alicia, who nodded.

Ernest had promised to be there, and Alicia had been looking forward to having his attentions to herself. She had imagined his words of thanks and praise, and his gratitude to her for all she was doing to further the cause of the school. But Caroline’s interference had changed all that, and she was certain to try to take credit for Alicia’s work, all the while hiding behind the veneer of their all being friends together…

“He will, yes. I know he’s busy with the plans for the building, but he’ll be there,” she said, and Caroline smiled.

“Then he can see the lengths we’re going to,” she replied.

They had arrived at the lace stall, and Alicia took this as her cue to leave. Caroline had been friendly – as usual – but beneath her facade lay a calculating woman, whose every move was designed to make Ernest her own. Alicia knew what Caroline wanted, even as she herself was uncertain of where her own heart’s desire lay. She liked Ernest. She liked him a great deal. But she felt certain Caroline would only cause trouble if there was to be anything more than friendship between her and the duke’s son.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Caroline,” Alicia said, as Caroline now turned her attentions to the lace stall.

Caroline looked up and nodded.

“You will,” she replied, smiling, as the audience came to an end.

Alicia made her way dejectedly back through the market, though she reminded herself she should be grateful for the opportunity of helping others, rather than disappointed in her own failure to secure Ernest’s attentions for herself.

“We’ve got a lot of soup to make, miss,” her maid said, as Alicia arrived back at the stall, where the sacks of vegetables were being loaded onto the back of the stall-holder’s cart.

“Yes…it’s going to be a long day tomorrow,” Alicia replied, wondering what the day would bring, and feeling certain Caroline would try to use the occasion to her own advantage.