Chapter 18

18

When Pickering opened the door, he blinked at the radiance of the smile Prudence bestowed on him.

‘Glad someone round here’s in plump currant,’ he remarked, closing the door behind her.

‘Has anything happened while I was out?’ she asked, seeing even through her happy haze that Pickering looked more weary than usual.

‘The master’s in a pucker an’ half. ’Tis to be expected.’

‘Why? What is wrong?’

‘His lawying fella’s coming tomorrow. Now he’s up in the boughs an’ naught will bring him down.’

‘Why should a visit from his lawyer be so unwelcome? He did ask him to call, did he not?’

‘Got this maggoty notion in his noggin, miss, that the day he makes his will is the day he dies.’

‘That is just superstition. But I am sorry he is so fearful. Perhaps I could speak with him.’

Pickering shook his head. ‘Don’t reckon it wise. Wiser to speak to your young miss and her fella yonder.’ He nodded towards the kitchens at the end of the passage. Prudence now heard raised voices. ‘Warned him to be fly with that bold wench casting her lures. Caught right in the middle of it, he is. Landed right and tight, he is.’

Prudence did not waste time enquiring as to what the problem was, but hurried to find out for herself. Pip scampered ahead to add excited barking to the argument in progress.

‘You swore it wouldn’t happen again!’ cried Lizzy’s voice.

‘And I didn’t mean it to!’ shouted Amos. ‘Upon my word, the wench had hold of me afore I could—!’

‘Your word don’t mean a jackstraw! All them pretty words you said, and the minute some trollop throws her cap at you—!’

‘Lizzy! Amos! What in the world is this?’

Lizzy’s anguished face turned to Prudence. On seeing her sweet-tempered mistress, she cried out before she rushed past her, ‘Oh, miss, I caught them kissing !’ and burst into tears.

Prudence looked at Amos who was rubbing his hand over his forehead as though his head hurt. ‘Shall I go after her?’ he said. There was the sound of the bedroom door Lizzy shared with Prudence slamming.

‘I think it would be best to let her calm down first,’ said Prudence, moving to the fire and putting the half-full kettle on its hook. Chamomile tea would be the best thing for calming distressed tempers, she decided.

‘Tell me what happened,’ she said, removing her coat and hat.

‘Oh, miss,’ groaned Amos. ‘I’ve tried my hardest to stay out the way of that… that…’

‘Siren?’ suggested Prudence, thinking of Bessie Mason’s swinging hips as she strode down the street.

‘That’s one word for her.’ Amos sighed. ‘I swear I’ve tried. I don’t even like that kind of girl. Never had. Well, maybe when I was a young cub I would have thought her – never mind what I would have thought then. The truth is, I haven’t looked at any girl since I first saw Lizzy. She’s the kind of girl for me. Straight talking, neat as a pin and smart as a whip. No nonsense about her. And the prettiest shade of eyes and hair as I ever did see.’ His eyes misted over a moment. ‘Just like a spaniel I had when I was a boy. Best dog a fella could wish for. Caught a rabbit as soon as look at one when I took him out.’

‘And have you told Lizzy all this? Perhaps not about your favourite dog, but, about not having eyes for any other girl?’

‘’Course I have. Told her a hundred times.’ He frowned. ‘I think. Even if I ain’t exactly said so, she must know it by now. We’ve been as good as sweethearts these four years. I’ve not looked at another girl in all that time. If that ain’t proof of going on steady, I don’t know what is.’

‘It is not enough to assume she knows how you feel,’ said Prudence, thinking of her bouts of painful confusion over Sir Robert until today, when he finally spoke words of unmistakeable meaning. ‘You must tell her.’

He seemed to consider this.

‘Were you kissing Bessie?’ The kettle began to sing. She got up to attend to it.

‘I swear blind, miss, I weren’t kissing the wench. She grabbed hold of me – you wouldn’t believe how strong she is – upon my word, miss, she’s as strong as an ox! Like one of them women Lizzy said she saw a picture of, them women who fight like men.’

‘Amazonians?’ suggested Prudence.

He nodded distractedly.

‘So you are saying that Bessie kissed you against your will? ’

‘I swear it, miss. And I won’t repeat what she said.’ He looked so dejected that Prudence felt pity for him.

‘I shall inform Miss Mason that her services are no longer required. I will not have anyone subjected to improper attentions.’

‘Don’t tell a soul, miss,’ begged Amos. ‘None of the fellers at Lindford would believe me if they heard I couldn’t fend off a strammel. I’d be a laughing stock. They wouldn’t believe me if I said it were an Amazon with arms as strong as a man’s.’

‘I shall not speak of it,’ she assured him. ‘Sit and drink this down, and I will see if Lizzy is ready to speak to you.’

Lizzy was not yet calm enough for rational conversation. Prudence comforted her as best she could, giving her a clean handkerchief, dabbing her temples with lavender water, and leaving her with a cup of tea. There was nothing more to be done. Hopefully a good night’s sleep would put things into perspective for Lizzy. The amorous cook would be dismissed, her fretful great-uncle would be calm again when his lawyer had concluded their business, and peace might return to their little family, though she was not looking forward to making endless pots of broth again.

Prudence was not able to sleep herself that night, though she had been in bed for three hours. Lizzy had alternated between bouts of sobbing and pouring out her griefs in the dark, just as her sister Charity had used to do before her marriage. And as soon as Lizzy finally fell asleep, Prudence was roused by a shout from her uncle, and got up to investigate.

‘He’s frettin’ and worritin’ over his lawying fellow,’ said Pickering when Prudence came in wearing her dressing gown and slippers. Uncle Sealy was refusing to lie down, and demanding Pickering bring him his money box so he could count the rent.

‘We must give him the sleeping draught the doctor prescribed,’ said Prudence. ‘I know he despises physic, but he cannot continue in this state.’

‘No more can I,’ said Pickering, with a yawn.

‘Uncle Sealy,’ said Prudence, in her calm voice, but with added firmness, such as she used with feisty children or dogs, ‘you must take this draught like a sensible man, or I will call for Amos to hold you steady. I will not let you make yourself ill by getting yourself in a state. You must not worry about the rent, you have family now who will not see you removed from your home.’

Her uncle called her a string of rude names, some of which she had heard from him before, some of which were new to her, but she looked him in the eye, refusing to take offence, only saying, ‘Come, dear Uncle. You will be calm, and you will rest and sleep soundly.’

Pickering murmured behind her that the old rumbleguts wouldn’t heed nor take physic when he was in one of his takings, but to his surprise Mr Sealy ceased shouting that sleep was too much like death, and seemed to deflate before their eyes. And though he scowled fiercely at his great-niece both before and after her administration, yet he took the draught obediently.

She plumped his bed pillow and bid him lie back, smoothing the covers over him. He watched her movements like a sullen boy. She thought he looked pitifully childlike, his face thin and pinched, making his eyes seem larger, and his bare head as bald as a newborn’s. She put his night cap on, and as she bent over him, tying the strings, she impulsively kissed him on the forehead, as she would do had it been her niece or nephew she was putting to bed. Her uncle flinched at the touch, as though startled. He stared at her. She smiled down. ‘There now, uncle. Be at peace.’

It was her turn to be startled when one gnarled, thin hand lifted to pat hers. ‘You’re a good girl. Even if your name is Prudence,’ he said, and then closed his eyes and went to sleep.

‘Well, blow me down,’ marvelled Pickering. He cast a worried look at his sleeping master. ‘That ain’t like him. He must be growing all dickey.’

‘Do get some much-needed rest yourself, Pickering,’ suggested Prudence. ‘Good night.’

Thankfully Lizzy was still sleep when Prudence tiptoed back to bed. She lay down, wincing at the creak of the bed frame lest she wake her bedfellow. Her time and thoughts had been filled with everyone else’s concerns since she returned home that afternoon. Finally she had some quietude in which to peruse her own thoughts. And they were not disagreeable thoughts, not in the least.

She called to remembrance every word, every look from her time with Sir Robert that day. He had not said he loved her, but she was sure that he did. She was certain that when he returned in a week, he would confess his love. He would ask her to marry him. Perhaps he would choose a ring to offer her while he was away. It seemed like a dream.

She acquitted Mr Shelbourne of all sentimentalism in his love poems. Love did make one feel things that sounded ridiculously sentimental. Odd that it should be so.

When she finally fell asleep, the last soul in the house to do so, she was the only soul to sleep with a smile on her face .

Mr Sealy awoke in a strange humour. He did not touch his breakfast; he did not want Prudence to read the morning papers to him. He was unusually nervous, jumping at every sound and peering fearfully around the wings of his armchair.

‘What is he looking for?’ Prudence asked Pickering as they left Mr Sealy’s room, she carrying the untouched breakfast.

‘The fellow with the black hood.’ Pickering mimed holding up an invisible stick or staff.

‘What fellow?’

‘The one with the scythe.’

‘Scythe?’

‘ Death . That fellow.’

‘The grim reaper? Well, that is nonsense.’

‘I told you, he’s got a maggoty notion about writing up a will.’

‘Yes, so you said. I hope he will feel better when the lawyer finishes his business and goes away again.’

‘Not likely.’

‘Why?’

‘He’ll be expecting to put his spoon in the wall as soon as the cove’s gone.’

Prudence wondered what she could do to ease her uncle’s mind. She found a red-eyed Lizzy washing up the breakfast things. Young Sophy had not yet arrived. She looked about for Amos, wanting him to run an errand, but he was nowhere to be seen. She would have to go herself. But before she had put her bonnet on Amos returned.

‘Morning, miss,’ he said, removing his cap.

Lizzy came in with the clean pans and threw him a reproachful look. ‘I need to talk to you, Lizzy,’ he said.

‘I’m busy with the breakfast things,’ said the aggrieved Lizzy .

‘Before you take your coat off, Amos,’ said Prudence. ‘Will you do something for me?’

‘’Course I will, miss,’ said Amos distractedly, for his eyes were following Lizzy’s movements about the kitchen. From the heightened colour in Lizzy’s cheeks she knew very well she was being watched, but would not acknowledge him.

‘Would you go to Reverend Randolph? I will write down his address. Ask him to call. Today if he can. Tell him it is Miss Grace who asks for him.’ She tore a scrap of blank paper from one of Mr Shelbourne’s pile of poems, jotting down in pencil the address of the kindly minister who presided over Laura Chapel.

Amos took the paper, returning his hat to his head. He backed out of the kitchen, still watching the unresponsive Lizzy. When the door closed, Lizzy looked after him, her proud expression dissolving into misery.

It was a day of door knocking and distraction. Tradesmen called; the laundry was delivered and needed to be checked carefully, for Amos’s newest shirt and Prudence’s best chemise had gone missing in the last delivery. A hawker came to the back door with a pack full of goods. He discerned instantly Prudence’s inability to rudely tell him to go an’ diddle elsewhere, as Lizzy or Bessie would have said, and so she was kept talking for a half hour before Lizzy came and extricated her.

The front door was no less busy. Mr Shelbourne called. He was so regular a caller when in town that he was not announced, but made his way through the house to find Prudence. He peered round the kitchen door, looking relieved when he saw that she was alone.

‘Didn’t want to come in if it was only that new cook of yours in here,’ he said, when Prudence asked him why he looked anxious. ‘She gives me the sensation that she eats men for dinner.’

‘It is her day off, so you are quite safe. I shall be dismissing her tomorrow. You are not the only person to find her a little overwhelming in her attentions.’

‘I came to ask if you would like to drive out this afternoon.’

‘Did your cousin charge you with this duty?’

He admitted it was so. ‘Not that I mind,’ he hastened to add. ‘Happy to do anything in the world for you.’

‘It is very kind of you, but it is rather chilly today, so I will refrain from a drive.’

Mr Shelbourne looked relieved, agreeing that it was not a day for curricle driving. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ he said. ‘My cousin was very particular about my looking out for you. In fact,’ he admitted with a wry grin, ‘he said he’d wring my neck when he gets back if I haven’t done due diligence.’

‘You are both very good friends to me, and I will tell you if there is anything I need. I will also tell Sir Robert that you showed me every kindness in his absence.’

‘He likes you, doesn’t he?’ said Mr Shelbourne, running his youthful eye over her rather worn gown and the plain apron she wore when she was doing housekeeping duties. Her hair was pulled back and compressed into a knot at her neck. He was clearly wondering what his fastidious cousin saw in Prudence’s unvarnished, servant-like appearance.

‘Is that surprising?’ she couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘I know I am not a beauty or an heiress. Perhaps it is my practicality he likes.’

Mr Shelbourne reddened at unwittingly showing a lack of gallantry. ‘You are as pretty as any girl,’ he said, adding a little awkwardly, ‘You are like… like that girl in the Fr ench fairytale. Fagging away in the kitchen with soot on your chin, when really you are a princess in disguise. Miss Kimpshott was wont to say you had the most beautiful eyes of anyone she knew. Large and kind, with long lashes, she said. And I quite agree.’

Prudence laughed to deflect this flattery, but she was not above being pleased at the compliment. She discreetly pulled out her handkerchief, turning away to rub her chin to see if there was soot on it. There was.

‘Have you heard from her?’ asked Mr Shelbourne, his face full of hope of some scrap of news of Miss Kimpshott.

‘Not this week, but I have not been to the post office for a few days. In fact, that is something you could do for me. I have not had a letter from my sister for some time now, which is most unlike her. If you are in town today would you call at the post office and see if there are any letters for me? I have not had a chance to go this morning, and I am expecting visitors this afternoon.’

‘Certainly I will. I’ll go directly.’ Mr Shelbourne bowed and made his departure. Prudence saw him to the door. She had not returned to the kitchens before the knocker sounded. Probably her young friend had left his gloves behind, but on opening the door she met a short, middle-aged man in a sober black suit peering over a pair of spectacles at her. Behind him hovered a tall, younger man in an almost identical suit.

‘Mr Rowlinson of Rowlinson, Rudd, and Fidler, miss,’ said the man, clearly mistaking her for a servant, for he did not bow or put his hand out.

‘Come in,’ she urged. ‘Mr Sealy is expecting you.’

He handed her his cane and a leather document bag before removing his gloves and dropping them in his hat. He took back his bag, giving Prudence the hat in its place. ‘You may announce me,’ he said grandly. The younger man looked cheerfully about him, smiling at Prudence and announcing himself as Thomas Fidler the Younger, assistant to Mr Rowlinson Senior. He kept hold of his own hat and gloves.

She led them to her uncle’s room. Mr Sealy visibly jumped at the sight of Mr Rowlinson behind her, calling out, ‘Send him away! I won’t see him!’

‘Don’t be a nodkin,’ scolded Pickering, ‘you asked him to come and come he has. You can’t not see him.’

‘I tell you, I won’t see him!’

‘Ahem,’ said Mr Rowlinson from behind Prudence. ‘If this is an inconvenient time…?’

‘You come in and sit yourself here, sir!’ urged Pickering, pulling out the chair that was usually tucked under a writing bureau against the wall. Turning to his master, he said, ‘You wrote for him, an’ you’ll have to pay for his time whether you will nor won’t see him, so you may as well be done with it.’

‘How much am I paying him?’ demanded Mr Sealy.

‘Shall I stay with you, sir?’ said Prudence, bending down by her uncle’s chair. ‘You might feel easier if I sat by.’

Mr Sealy growled out a vehement reply that left her in do doubt of her not being wanted. She stood up, too used to his ways to take offence, but only asking the callers if they would like some refreshment after their journey from London. Mr Rowlinson agreed soberly to a small glass of wine, saying that they had put up at the White Hart for the night on their arrival, and had partaken of a quick bite there before they called. Mr Fidler the Younger said he wasn’t the man to say no to a biscuit and a glass, and laughed heartily.

Pickering met her at the door when she returned with the refreshments. She glimpsed Mr Rowlinson seated at Mr Sealy’s rarely used writing table, and was surprised by the large pile of papers he was sifting through, while Mr Fidler the Younger was cheerfully looking through a second sheaf. But there was no chance to ask any questions, for Pickering took the tray with a nod, and shut the door firmly in her face with his foot. She was definitely excluded from this meeting.

The meeting went on for some time, which surprised Prudence, for how much time could be needed to settle her uncle’s impoverished affairs? Their voices could be heard as an indistinct murmur, punctuated by Mr Fidler the Younger’s high-pitched laugh. They could not continue much longer, she thought, for Mr Sealy’s strength would not endure it. He would be ready for his nap about this time.

Amos returned from his errand, assuring Prudence that the vicar would call as soon as he could; he was now upstairs moving bedsteads and mattresses in the unused bedrooms, so Lizzy and Sophy could finish cleaning the third floor. Once those rooms were cleaned, there were only the attics to tidy, and then the whole house had been turned out.

It was a pity that no one would benefit from their labours, thought Prudence regretfully. But to live in a neglected, mouldering abode was unthinkable, no matter who reaped the reward of their hard work.

It was an instinct at the core of her being that she should leave behind an environment or atmosphere that was better than when she found it. Constance called it her ‘helper’ instinct; Finn said she was like one of those fairytale elves who went round magically putting things right, like the story of the shoemaker. Charity said she was an angel in the guise of a mere mortal, to which Prudence reminded her that Charity’s habit of putting her sister into the way of trouble by roping her into larks, did not reflect well if she had the power to cause even an angel to stray into scrapes.

When the door knocker sounded again she answered it herself. The man she opened the door to did not look at her as though she were a ministering spirit. ‘Mr Crofter,’ she said coolly, eyeing the rent collector as unfavourably as he did her. ‘If you have come to see Mr Sealy, he is engaged at present.’

‘He’ll want to see me,’ said Crofter, moving to step past her.

‘You cannot force your way—’ began Prudence, but the man was in the hallway just as the door to Mr Sealy’s room opened and Pickering stepped out. He looked startled to see Crofter coming down the hall.

‘You can’t see the master now,’ said Pickering. Behind him the two lawyers emerged, Mr Rowlinson pushing his spectacles up his nose and looking about for his hat and gloves, Mr Fidler the Younger grinning at nobody in particular, his arms full of papers.

‘Who’s this?’ Crofter demanded, glaring at the strangers.

‘That’s the Nib’s business,’ said Pickering. ‘You can’t see him now, he’s done up and lying down. Come back in the morning.’

‘I don’t answer to you, you little—!’

‘That will do!’ interjected Prudence, moving in front of her uncle’s room. ‘Mr Sealy is not a well man and you are not to trouble him.’

‘Is there a problem here?’ said Mr Rowlinson, lowering his spectacles again that he might look at Crofter who was putting Pickering forcibly aside, and looked ready to do the same to Prudence.

‘Mr—whatever your name may be,’ said Mr Rowlinson, ‘—this is no way to behave. You cannot push bodies around, not even servants!’

Mr Fidler the Younger was very obliging in darting back to the door that he might stand in front of Prudence. ‘You cannot push young ladies about, sir,’ he said, with a nervous laugh. ‘Not the done thing at all!’

Crofter snarled out something, but Amos, hearing raised voices, now appeared, bounding down the stairs three at a time, calling out, ‘What’s going on?’ Taking in the scene in a glance, he demanded, ‘Is this fellow being a nuisance, miss?’ He squared himself, looking very intimidating. Lizzy, who had come to see what was happening, looked impressed. Sophy followed behind, peering out from behind Lizzy’s back.

Crofter could see he was outnumbered. He glared at Amos, and said he’d be back in the morning, and pushed past Mr Rowlinson on his way out, knocking his spectacles almost off his nose.

‘I say!’ protested Mr Rowlinson. ‘What an unpleasant fellow. I should not allow such a fellow in the house, if I were you,’ he advised Prudence.

‘That’s Crofter,’ said Pickering darkly, as the front door slammed.

‘Oho, is it now?’ said Mr Rowlinson. ‘Well. That does elucidate my client’s wishes, to be sure.’ Mr Fidler the Younger laughed at this, and agreed that it did. Mr Rowlinson was looking about for his hat again, and Prudence produced it from the table in the front sitting room, where she had placed it for safety.

‘We shall be at the White Hart until after breakfast tomorrow,’ Mr Rowlinson informed Pickering, ‘should my client wish to change his mind on anything.’

‘He won’t change his mind,’ said Pickering grimly.

‘Lock that door, Pickering!’ advised Amos. ‘Lest that weasel come barging in again. Who does he think he is? Acts like he owns the place.’

‘Indeed,’ muttered Pickering. ‘An’ well he might.’ He locked the door, bidding Prudence not to answer it.

An hour later the door knocker sounded briskly again. Pickering cautiously opened the door while Amos hovered behind him, in case it was the unwelcome Crofter. Prudence left her sewing and moved to stand where she could see the front door, likewise concerned that there should be no unpleasantness.

But in answer to Pickering’s, ‘I think you’ve got the wrong house, sir,’ came a pleasant and familiar voice saying, ‘This is Miss Grace’s address, is it not? I have it written down.’

‘Mr Randolph!’ Prudence called, hurrying into the hall. ‘Thank you for coming. I know how busy you are. All is well, Pickering. You may let him in. I asked him to call.’ She ushered the reverend in. ‘Is my uncle awake?’ she asked Pickering who was shuffling away.

‘Just about,’ said Pickering, over his shoulder.

‘I will show Mr Randolph in to him.’

Pickering’s eyes widened. ‘Send a church man in? He won’t like that, miss!’

But Prudence was leading the way. She hesitated at the doorway, saying quietly to the reverend, ‘My uncle never looks pleased to see one, even when he is, so, pray, do not be offended if he seems gruff. Very gruff.’

‘I make it a point not to take offence, Miss Grace.’

‘I know you do, sir. That is why I knew you would be just the man to speak to him.’ She took a breath as if readying herself for something difficult, and opened the door.

‘Dear uncle, I have brought someone to see you for a few minutes, whom I hope will bring you some comfort after your difficult day.’

Mr Sealy certainly looked like a man in need of comfort; he was very pale and seemed shrunken in his chair. He jumped palpably when Prudence came in, his nerves as jarred as they had been yesterday. At the sight of a strange man all in black he cowered back, making a little gurgle of fear. ‘Who are you?’ he gasped. ‘What do you want?’

‘Mr Randolph is the minister at Laura Chapel, Uncle. He has always been very kind to myself and my sister.’

‘What’s he doing here? What does he want with me?’

‘He has come as a physician to your spirit man, uncle.’

‘My what? I’m no spirit man. Have you lost your senses?’

‘We are all spiritual beings, Uncle. These bodies are but a temporal tent to house us. A tent that wears out over time, like a suit of clothes. We all leave our old clothes to put on new ones, dear uncle. We all leave our tents. And if we know where we are going, it need not be something to fear.’

‘What are you talking about?’ gasped Mr Sealy. ‘Tents. Suits. You’ve run pudding brained.’ His bleary eyes darted round fearfully as he spoke, looking for the dark figure that haunted him.

‘Reverend Randolph will explain better than I,’ said Prudence, patting her uncle’s hand. ‘Give him just a few minutes of your time, I beg you.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Reverend Randolph gently, ‘you might bring a small cup of wine and a piece of bread for us, Miss Grace. ’

‘I will.’ She left the room, relieved that her uncle, though shaky and confused, was not demanding that the clergyman leave.

When Reverend Randolph did leave half an hour later, Mr Sealy was calmer, and no longer haunted by shadows.