Fourpenny Flyer (23 page)

She tied her protective mop cap more tightly under her chin, checked to see that all her hair was safely tucked away
inside it, and went into the room.

‘I am leaving this house in five minutes, Mr Abbott,' she said, glaring down at the five verminous heads that now lay tangle to tangle on her old mattress cover, ‘being I've to go to Bury to buy fresh clothes for 'ee, and soap and turpentine and camphor and a deal else besides. 'Twould be much appreciated if you could all be up and washed before I return. I daresay you would like to shave your heads for greater cleanliness, so I have set a jug and razor by the pump. Our gardener has a good bonfire going.'

Mr Abbott got out of the bed at once and wrapped his feet and put on his collection of coats, which were the only articles he'd taken off the night before, and went humbly out of the door. ‘'Twill all be done as you say, ma'am,' he promised. ‘Thank 'ee kindly.'

But Mrs Abbott stayed where she was. ‘I en't a-shavin' my head, ma'am,' she said, when her husband was out of earshot. ‘No not for you nor for the Reverend nor for anyone. Tha's my crowning glory that is, an' a pleasure to my Jack, an' tha's a-stayin' where 'tis.'

‘'Twould be a deal more glorious if 'twere clean,' Annie observed drily. ‘Howsomever, I cannot force you. On your own head be it.' And she went off downstairs considerably annoyed.

‘The woman is a slut,' she said angrily to Harriet, ‘and means to infect the house. Well, we shall see about that. I am off to Bury now, but I promise you I shall be there and back as quick as a wink. I ain't having my dear boys made lousy, and there's an end on't.'

And even though Harriet felt extremely sorry for the Abbotts and especially the children, poor little things, she had to admit that Annie was right to protect her own.

By the end of the day Mr Abbott and his three children had been transformed. Scrubbed under the pump until their skin was bright pink, their heads shaven as close as sheep, adequately shod, and dressed in quite presentable clothes, they looked like different people as they sat down to their second dinner in the kitchen. But Mrs Abbott was still belligerently dirty.

‘Tomorrow morning,' Annie said, when she and Harriet
and Pollyanna were escorting the boys up the west stairs to their nursery, ‘we will scrub the study and make all clean, ready for James to write his sermon.'

‘Why Mrs Hopkins, ma'am,' Pollyanna said, settling little Beau more comfortably on her hip as she climbed, ‘it ain't Saturday come round again already, surely to goodness.'

Saturday, Harriet thought. I have been here nearly a week. And then she remembered other things too. ‘Your brother comes here tomorrow,' she said.

‘Aye, so he does,' Annie said. ‘But the work must go on notwithstanding.'

In fact he paid no attention to all the cleaning and scrubbing the following afternoon, beyond sniffing the air vaguely when he first stepped inside the house. He was far more concerned to see how Harriet was, and to give her the latest news of her parents. And when she came quietly out of the kitchen door he was so pleased at the sight of her that Annie could have scrubbed him down as well as the study and he wouldn't have noticed. How very much better she looked! Why, her bruises were almost gone and the cut on her lip was quite healed.

‘I am glad to see you well,' he said.

‘There is a basket of washing to be taken down to Mrs Barley in the six cottages,' Annie said to Harriet.

‘We will carry it between us,' John offered at once. It was just the right sort of opportunity for them to talk alone. As Annie knew very well.

So the basket was fetched and he and Harriet walked out of the garden, carrying it between them like a chaperone, past the holm oak that marked the entrance to the rectory and the massive yew that stood sentinel beside the church. They left the churchyard by the lower church gate, which pleased him because it meant he could take the basket and hold her arm as he helped her through. There was an ancient timbered house beside the lower gate, tall as a man o' war and full of chattering children who tumbled out of the door and sat on the steps and tottered about the vegetable garden, and on the other side of the street a crowd of listless farmhands stood about in front of the smithy. Too public yet, John thought, as they set off downhill.

They walked in companionable silence past Bruges Cottage, where the smith lived, and Willow Cottage, where the wise woman sat knitting in the sun. They followed the path that led out of the village, and presently they found themselves at the meeting of the four footpaths which led to Woolpit, Stowmarket and Felsham.

‘We could sit here for a while,' he said hopefully, ‘could we not? It is a warm afternoon and there is no need for us to hurry.'

So they put their basket down beside the signpost and sat on the grass at the top of the little mound, both intensely aware of one another.

‘You are well?' he said, admiring that apricot blush. Why, she was quite herself again!

‘Quite well, thank 'ee kindly. Have you news of my parents, Mr Easter?' How very handsome he looked in the sunshine and how very brown his eyes were. Like pansies.

‘Mr Teshmaker has written to suggest that they come up to London at the end of the month for a meeting with me and my mother and our lawyers.' If only we were engaged I could lean forward and kiss her. There being no one here to see us.

‘Have they agreed to it?' How kind he is to take such pains. And so gentle. Look how he helped to carry the basket.

‘We await their letter. In the meantime the lawyers have asked me to ask you …' Would it seem impertinent to be asking her age? Oh, he mustn't upset her. Not now when she was recovering so well.

‘To ask me what, Mr Easter?' How dear he is to be so worried about me. I know how worried he is, for he squints with worry. Oh I love him when he squints with worry.

‘How old you are, Miss Sowerby.' Please don't take offence, dear Harriet. I have to ask you.

‘I was sixteen in January.' Is that the right answer? Oh yes, it must be, for the squint is going.'

‘Thank 'ee kindly.' Sixteen! Sixteen! What good fortune. Too old for child-stealing and just right for marriage. He was smiling at her rapturously. He couldn't help it.

‘Should we deliver the washing now, Mr Easter? Or is there anything else you have to ask me?'

Oh there was. There was. So much. But it could wait. There would be a time for it, when the Sowerbys were settled.

He stood up and offered her his hand to help her to her feet. ‘Tell me what has been happening in Rattlesden,' he said. ‘Who were those bald-headed children in the garden?'

‘They are Mr Abbott's children,' she told him, adding with some pride, ‘he has no work and nowhere to live and we are looking after them all.'

Matilda Honeywood was dressing for a very important occasion. Her mother and father were under the impression that they were hosting a rather ordinary supper party with dancing afterwards, but Matilda knew better. For this was going to be the evening when Billy Easter would propose to her for the very first time.

She didn't particularly want to marry him, or at least she didn't think she did. She didn't particularly want to marry anybody really. She wanted to be loved because she knew from her friend Tabby, who had tried it, that it was the most exquisite pleasure in the world. But apart from that she didn't really know what she wanted. Her moods changed from day to day. And sometimes from minute to minute.

She knew it was her business in life to catch a suitable husband. Both her parents had made that perfectly clear to her, warning her away from young men who ‘wouldn't suit' and singing the praises of those who would, like Billy, and Jeremiah Ottenshaw, who was actually in love with her cousin, and a truly awful man called Scatchard, whom no girl in her right mind would even want to speak to, leave alone marry. Billy was certainly the best of the bunch so far, and very good-looking. She would probably marry him in the end, so it wouldn't hurt him to propose. She would tease him into several more declarations before she finally agreed to accept him, but this was going to be the first. So naturally she was taking great care to be as beautiful as possible.

The hairdresser had spent a miserable afternoon, trying to arrange her hair in exactly the way she wanted it, and
having hot curling tongs flung at him for his pains, and now Lizzie Moffat and her cousins were being abused for being clumsy as they hooked her into her new gown.

‘Now look what you've made me do!' she shrieked at Sophie. ‘If that hem gets trod I shall never forgive you.'

‘It ain't trod, Tilda,' Sophie said, wincing. ‘I held it up most particular, didn't I, Lizzie?'

‘Weally high,' Lizzie said, nodding her head so violently that her lank curls swayed before her eyes.

‘Which you could see for yourself if you spent less time shouting,' Maria said tartly.

‘Oh, Maria,' Matilda said, smoothing her new skirt and instantly remorseful, ‘I don't mean to shout, truly I don't. But if I ain't at my very very best and he don't propose I truly think my heart will break.'

‘You look lovely,' Sophie said earnestly. ‘I don't see how he could help but propose.'

‘Do you truly think so?' Matilda said, gazing at her reflection in the long mirror. Oh yes, yes, she did look lovely, with her skin powdered so white and smooth, and her lips so pink, and her grey eyes so big and innocent, and her hair in such nice thick bunches of glossy ringlets dangling on either side of her face, no thanks to that fool hairdresser. Her gown was exquisite, too, with all those little pink rosebuds embroidered all over it and those three deep flounces making the hem froth like a tumbling wave and the décolletage cut so very low that if she leant forward she could see her pretty pink nipples. How could he resist her? He couldn't, surely!

‘You are the dearest cousins anyone could ever have,' she said to Sophie and Maria, and feeling she ought to make amends for her ill-humour, ‘and I love you dearly so I do, and if you like I will hide you where you can actually hear him propose. How would that be?'

‘What sport!' Sophie said. ‘Do you think he really will?'

‘Thwilling,' Lizzie agreed. ‘Shall you get him to say widiculous things, Tilda dear? I should like to hear a man say widiculous things.'

‘Personally,' Maria said, ‘I shall be surprised if he says anything at all. But I will hide with the others if you wish it.'

‘The carriages have started to arrive,' Claude said, putting his head round the door, without knocking. ‘Ain't you ready yet Sis?'

The sight of him brought back his sister's irritation in such a rush that her cheeks burned scarlet with it. Little brother Claude who could do no wrong, who was spoilt and pampered and treated like a god, who didn't bother to knock, who would inherit all Papa's land and most of Papa's money without having to do anything to earn it, while she would only get her dowry if she caught a suitable husband. She fanned her hot cheeks furiously, pouting at her reflection. Life was quite horribly unfair. Oh, why couldn't she have been born a boy? Boys had all the fun. Well, Billy Easter had better look out, that was all. She would tease him ragged.

‘I will coax him into the green parlour,' she said to Lizzie as they walked downstairs side by side. ‘Nobody ever goes in there and you can hide quite easily behind the curtains.'

But first there were arrivals for her to greet, standing prettily beside her parents and remembering to say the right things, and plenty of partners to tease and Billy to bewitch, before there was supper to eat, which seemed to take for ever because the servants were being really beastly slow.

But at last the long boring meal was done and the guests had left the supper room and were drifting back to the drawing room to dance, or to the card room to gamble, and Matilda was able to signal to Lizzie and her cousins that it was time for them to slip away to the green parlour while she went in search of Billy. She felt like a cat flexing her claws, full of power and ready for the hunt. Watch out Mr Billy Easter, she said to herself, for I mean to have your heart before the evening is out, so I do. Oh 'twould be fine sport to see a man propose.

She found him in the drawing room standing beside the punch table talking to Jeremiah Ottenshaw, who was looking for her cousin Maria, and that long-legged idiot Ebenezer Millhouse who was looking drunk.

‘La, Mr Billy Easter,' she said, giving him the full force of her grey eyes and attacking at once, ‘if you ain't the most
provoking creature.'

‘Why, Miss Honeywood, what have I done?' Billy said, feigning alarm. ‘I'm sure it ain't intentional. Never provoke a lady, would I, Jerry?' He'd learnt the rules of her teasing game now and could play it to perfection.

‘Never,' Jerry agreed easily. He was far too full of supper to argue.

‘Where have you been?' she asked, catching Billy by the arm because she simply had to touch him. ‘You promised to escort me in to supper and you did no such thing, you bad boy. I declare I feel quite neglected.'

It was a little hard, since she'd deliberately walked in to supper with her father and Billy had seen her do it, but although he blushed he was too gentlemanly to argue. And besides you never knew with Matilda. Sometimes she was teasing and sometimes she seemed to mean things, so he often found it difficult to know how to answer her. If only she'd be serious.

‘Ain't a feller to spend any time with his friends, damnit?' Eb Millhouse protested. ‘Deuce take it, Miss Honeywood, you do rag a feller.'

‘Oh well,' Matilda said, pouting with mock resignation, ‘if I'm to compete with your friends …' And she started to drift away, but slowly, of course, so that he could catch at her hand and pull her back.