Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The marketplace was teeming with people and among carts and stalls. It was a hive of activity, a bustle of people, animals, sounds, and smells that were overwhelming.

Robert drove his cart into the middle of the square at a walking pace, and then got off the cart and led the donkey on foot.

"Make way!" he commanded in a loud voice. "Stand aside." He stopped the cart between two stalls. "This will do," he said and immediately began shouting at the top of his voice: "Fine cabbages, fresh cabbages! New potatoes, rhubarb, radishes, peas, and turnips galore!"

Louisa watched him for a while, almost admiring him, thinking he was doing a rather good job at selling his goods. Almost as if he were a real costermonger. He must have had some practice earlier. She was wearing the clothes Mrs Gary had given her, with a cap on her head and a linen apron tied around her waist. She looked just like one of them .

"How much for this?" A woman had approached, holding up a cabbage head.

Louisa had no idea. She'd never sold anything in her entire life. How on earth would she know how much to charge for a head of cabbage?

"Well?" The woman shifted a heavy bundle from one arm to the other. She had a burlap sack in one hand and a crying child clinging to her skirt. "I ain't got all day, missus."

Louisa looked over at Robert, who was busy haggling with a burly looking man who wanted to buy a sack of potatoes.

"Er. A shilling."

The woman stared at her with eyes so wide they looked like they might pop out of her face. Was that too much? Too little?

"A shilling?" the woman shrieked. "Are ye out of yer bleedin' mind?"

It was obviously too much.

"Is the cabbage studded with gold? Is it stuffed with diamonds? Has our king, Farmer George, harvested the bloody cabbage himself? Is it not enough that they have raised the prices of flour and bread? Are they now raising the price of ordinary vegetables as well? What do they expect us to eat? Dirt? They want us to starve, they do! Yer nothing but a highway woman in market clothes!" The woman spat on the ground in front of her.

Louisa pulled herself up proudly. "I beg your pardon. What did you say I am?"

Several people stopped to stare .

"Look at her puttin' on airs when she's nothing but a daylight robber. A shilling indeed!"

Louisa's temper flared. "I'm a what ? And who do you think you are?—"

A pair of iron hands clasped her shoulders. "Our valued customer, of course." Robert lifted the cabbage. "It's a mere penny a pound, ma'am."

The woman sniffed. "That's more like it. She said a shilling for one cabbage." She jerked her chin at Louisa.

"A misunderstanding." Robert smiled charmingly at her. "She meant a penny, didn't you, darling?" He leaned over to the woman and whispered conspiratorially with a wink. "It's her first day here. She's out of her depth."

"Oh. Aye." The woman shot her a mistrustful look. "Be more careful who you employ, mister." She fished a penny out of her pocket and handed it to him. "She'll ruin yer business."

Robert handed her the cabbage and offered the child a handful of cherries. "No harm done, eh? Here's some for you, too. They're fresh and sweet. Good day to you, ma'am."

When the woman had gone, Louisa dropped on a box to sit, exhausted from the interchange.

Robert crossed his arms. "Careful, wife. You nearly started a riot here. Don't trifle with food prices. These are hard times, and people here can barely afford the basic cost of their daily bread. They depend on our vegetables to remain cheap."

"I-I … How should I know how much cabbage costs? I've never sold any in my entire life. Our cook usually go es to the market for us. I've never set foot in a place like this before."

He looked at her with a stern, brooding gaze. "Indeed. How is a drawing room princess to know how much cabbage costs? Here is your assignment: reconnoitre the marketplace. Your objectives are threefold: first, how do the merchants behave? Second, what do they say when they sell their goods? Third, how do they price their goods? You will report back in an hour with your findings. Forward, march."

He gave her a gentle shove to send her on her way.

It wasn't the worst idea, Louisa thought. Now she could try to see if she could find Will. Where would he be? There were endless stalls and carts selling produce, dairy, meat, and poultry. Other stalls sold pottery, baskets, glassware, brooms, and tools.

The sweet smell of lavender filled her nostrils. One stall was selling small bags of it. Louisa picked up one. They were delicately embroidered with dainty flowers and butterflies, not unlike the ones she used to embroider in the drawing room, and easily of the same quality. A wave of homesickness swept over her.

"What beautiful embroidery." Louisa ran a finger over the delicate stitches.

"Only a penny a bag," said a girl, who looked less than ten years old.

"Only a penny!" That was as much as the cabbage head cost. Surely it was worth more.

"Yes, ma'am. These are the last ones. My mum made them but she ain't making more. Her eyes are too weak. I've been trying to embroider myself, but mine aren't as nice, and no one wants them." She sniffed. "We need the money to buy her medicine."

Louisa pulled out a coin, hesitated, then pressed it into the girl's hand.

"But, ma'am, I have no change," the girl cried.

"It's what I'm paying you. Keep it. It's worth it."

She'd given her a shilling.

"Thank you, ma'am. You're too generous, ma'am!" the girl stammered, unable to believe her fortune.

"Do you know where I could buy some soap?"

"Yes, ma'am. Over there." She pointed with her finger to the end of the row.

The stall did sell soap, but it looked like brown jelly stored in barrels that was scooped into smaller containers with a ladle. It smelled pungent and unpleasant. Next to the soft soap were coarse blocks of lye soap. These were cut into smaller bars before they were sold and did not look at all like the kind she was used to, which smelled of roses, lavender, violets, and myrtle.

"Don't you sell any Pears soap?" she asked the merchant.

"Pears soap? Are ye the Prince Regent to be able to spend such a fortune?" he scoffed. "That soap is a luxury item found only on Bond Street, not in this here market."

He cut a slab of soap off the longer block. "This is the best we have here. Solid, good soap." He slapped it down on the table in front of her. "Cleans as well as any Pears soap, if not better."

Louisa sighed. She had learned her lesson for the day and would not argue back. "Very well. I'll take it." Any soap was better than no soap at all.

"Where would I find the baker's stalls?" she asked the man after she'd paid for it.

He jerked his head to the right. "Over there."

Indeed, there were stalls selling bread, rolls, pastries, pies, and biscuits.

"Fresh bread! Rolls, loaves, and sweet buns, all ready for your table! This is pure, good bread of the finest quality!" a hoarse voice shouted.

Louisa's heart thumped so loudly it drowned out all the noise from the market.

She drew closer and stopped, her hands clasped over her chest as if in prayer.

There he stood.

He'd grown, of course. He was much taller, and much wider, and his belly had grown into a round paunch. He wore a long white apron and a wine-red waistcoat with his shirt sleeves rolled up. His dark hair was long. He'd really turned into a burly baker.

"Fresh bread, pure, good bread!" He caught Louisa staring at him. "Good day, ma'am. Care for some bread?" He lifted a loaf.

"Will," she whispered. Her voice cracked.

He lowered the loaf. "Ma'am?"

"Don't you know me, Will?"

He stared at her uneasily. "Have we met before, ma'am?"

He didn't recognise her. Of course. So much time had passed. Eleven years? She'd barely recognised him. How much had she herself changed ?

His stare intensified and something in his gaze shifted as recognition set in. "Miss—Miss Louisa?"

She smiled. Tears shot into her eyes. "Will."

"Louisa." His mouth fell open. "Zounds. I hardly recognised you. It's been so long. Is it indeed you?"

"Yes. How are you, Will?"

"I am well. Thank you, miss. And yourself?"

He stared at her.

"I am fine, too." She twisted the corner of her shawl around her hands.

A customer interrupted, wanting to buy a loaf of bread. Will turned to him, collected the payment, and handed him the loaf before turning back to her.

"Look at you. All grown up. You've become a lady." He looked at her reverently.

"Yes, well. And look at you. You're a baker now. You always wanted to be a baker."

"Yes, indeed I did."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them.

Don't you remember? Have you forgotten? The summer days we spent together in the forest and by the lake. I taught you to swim and you taught me how to accept myself …

"But … why are you here? Aren't you in London?" He waved his hand. "In some ballroom. Or at the manor house?"

"I live here now. At Piddleton." She took a big breath. "I'm married."

He smiled at her politely. "Congratulations. That's wonderful news. "

She let go of her shawl and fiddled with the string of the pouch bag that was attached to her apron. "Yes."

"So am I."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Married. To my Mary. Expecting our first child in the spring." He beamed at her proudly.

Louisa's mouth suddenly went dry, and she ran her tongue over her lips. "This is wonderful. It really is. Felicitations." Why did it feel as if all the noise of the marketplace had fallen away? And why did she suddenly feel so wretchedly hollow inside?

Do you remember the kiss you gave me when I turned fifteen? It was my first and only real kiss … you asked me to wait for you … no, you didn't ask, you demanded …

Will was speaking and she had trouble focusing on what he was saying.

"Of course, times could be better, especially for us bakers. It's not a good time for our trade." Will nodded at another customer, collected a coin, and handed over another loaf of bread.

"Horrendous price for a loaf," the man growled. "Where will it end?"

"Yes, I know, the price of a good loaf of bread is dear. But my bread is good and pure and unadulterated. I do not add any chalk or alum to my bread, if you please. You have my word of honour. Here, try some, sir." He held out a plate with bread pieces. "Louisa, you too. Try my bread."

She took a piece and chewed on it. "It's wonderful." She barely registered the taste .

"I bake the best bread in all of England, I do," he boasted.

"That you do." She smiled. "You always said you would."

"What with the Corn Laws driving up the price of flour, we've had to raise our prices as well. It led to the recent riots in Bridport when they broke into the bakeries." He shook his head. "I feel sorry for the people, but what can I do when wheat is so dear? I also need to make some profit. I also need to feed my family. They say we bakers are greedy and dishonest, but we're just trying to make a living ourselves. We're doing the best we can."

She nodded but hadn't understood a word he'd said. "I've always loved your bread."

I've always loved you, Will.

"I should be returning to my husband."

He looked up quickly. "He is here?"

"Yes. My husband is a costermonger and he's selling his produce here."

Will tilted his head aside and furrowed his brows. "You married a costermonger?"

She nodded.

"Why?" Then he flushed. "I beg your pardon. You need not answer that. It is, of course, none of my business whatsoever who you decide to marry."

In an attempt to change the topic, Will started talking about his job, about working in the bakery, about Mary, about the plans they had to extend the back part of the bakery and add on several more rooms. "For the little ones," he added with a smirk .

Louisa felt a pang of jealousy but kept on smiling and nodding as she listened to him.

Then he asked her how much they charged for a loaf of bread in London (she had no idea); whether the bakers in London were as affected by the Corn Laws as they were here (she supposed they were but couldn't say for sure), and whether there had been riots in London as well (if there were, she hadn't heard of it).

After that, an awkward silence fell between them.

"Will," Louisa started up after a while, whisking the breadcrumbs from her shawl. "I went to Glubbdubdrib the other day. It hasn't changed at all; it still has the same magic. But it was odd to see it all through different eyes, the eyes of an adult. It's so full of memories there it's almost unbearable. Have you gone to the island lately?"

He stared at her.

"Have you?" she repeated.

He shook his head slowly. "Louisa—" He looked at a loss at what to say. Then he shrugged. "I wouldn't have time for that."

"O-of course not." Something pressed down on her chest again; a familiar old, heavy feeling. She jumped up. "Never mind. It was silly of me to bring up our old childhood silliness. There are more important things to think about. Like customers who are waiting for you. I shan't keep you any longer."

Will nodded. "Mary would be happy to have you for tea. That is, if you would like."

"Of course. Nothing would be more delightful." She smiled at him brightly. "I'd better return to my husband. He's waiting for me. "

"Aye. You'll drop by our shop soon, yes? I'd like you to meet my Mary."

She nodded. She'd already met Mary at the bakery, big with Will's child.

Lucky Mary.

"I will come."

"Splendid. Fresh bread! Rolls, loaves, sweet buns …"

Good-bye, Will.

She made her way back between the stalls, her vision blurred with tears.

He'd forgotten.

Will had forgotten the magic of Glubbdubdrib.

Louisa walked through the stalls, barely hearing the clamour of the market as it receded to the background. She really ought to let go of it all. Let go of Will. He was married. As was she. Let go of her childhood. It was long over.

Let go of Glubbdubdrib.

She stopped between the stalls and rubbed her eyebrow. Why was a childhood dream so difficult to let go of? Of course, they'd only been children then.

It had only been puppy love. First love always was puppy love, was it not? As painful and soul-crushing as it had been, it had consumed her completely, and she'd been convinced she'd never love anyone as she'd loved Will, before or after.

Or ever again.

Cheeky, cheerful, Will; pudgy and clumsy but endearingly sweet, full of dreams and mischief and endlessly loyal to those he loved. He'd grown into a big, burly bear of a man, firmly rooted in reality.

Memories fade, of course, and it was clear that he barely remembered their time together. Life had run roughshod over it. He was married and about to be a father soon. What a lucky woman his wife was.

Of course, the promises one made to each other then had little meaning now. They were promises made by children. She could hardly hold him to them now.

He'd broken his promise to her.

And she'd broken hers too, hadn't she? She'd stopped waiting for him long, long ago. Louisa shivered. In fact, she'd probably broken her promise long before he had.

Then, in a fit of anger, she'd married the first man off the street that came along. A complete stranger: hard, rugged, and the opposite of Will in every respect.

Theirs had been a childhood romance, nothing more. A fairytale love as magical and ephemeral as the mists of Glubbdubdrib.