Fourpenny Flyer (36 page)

He straightened his spine, and sat stiff-necked. She was right. His instincts had recognized that immediately she spoke. But he had no intention of admitting it to her, for this was business. ‘In the matter of selling the news,' he said coldly, ‘you must allow me to know rather more than you do, Harriet.'

She was confused and upset by his coldness and began to stammer apologies, for she knew very well that a wife should never criticize her husband's calling. ‘I am sorry John. I didn't mean … it was not my intention ….'

‘We will say no more of it, he said coldly. ‘I have to return to the office.' And he was gone before she could think of anything to placate him.

How dreadful to have upset him so, she thought. I should have considered before I spoke, that much is very plain. I grow careless because I am so happy, that's what it is. And she bit her bottom lip with agitation. It wasn't as if she didn't know the likely outcome of thoughtless speech. She had been chided about it often enough. And yet, and yet, the death of the Princess was the most heartrending thing she'd ever heard, and she knew that it should never have been used as the subject of an advertisement, business or no.

Oh, how I wish there were someone I could talk to, she sighed to herself. But there was no one except Peg, and you couldn't discuss your husband with a servant. The great Mrs Easter was quite out of the question for she was too much in awe of her, and Annie was too far away.

She put on her thick pelisse and its matching bonnet and set off for Smithfield Market to chose the meat for dinner that night. The walk would clear her head and, besides, the sooner she got on with her household duties this
morning the better. It was a brisk clear morning, spiced with smoke but not overcast, and the streets were full of busy women off to market, baskets swinging. An oddly cheerful day when all flags were flying at half-mast and so many front doors were swathed in black crepe.

In High Holborn there were black ribbons everywhere, tied to door knockers, plaited into horses' tails, trimming hats and fluttering quite gaily at window frames. After a while the sight of so many marks of mourning began to oppress her and she averted her eyes, seeking some other colour that would remind her of something else. And her attention was caught by the display in one of the Easter shops, of all places.

There was a green baize counter in the window and set in the middle of the counter was a pretty fan-shape composed entirely of quill pens and containing within its centre a loyal address of sympathy to the Royal Family, neatly penned on a black-edged card, and quite easily avoided. Six large bottles of ink stood sentinel behind it and to the right and left there were stacks of writing paper tied with purple and white ribbons and piles of account books with red marbled bindings. It was a very pretty display. She was quite charmed by it and resolved to tell John so at dinner that very evening. But then she saw that placed in a neat row in front of the quill fan were half a dozen sturdy books bound in the same marbled red and marked by a plain white card which bore the legend, ‘Suitable for notebooks, recipe books, diaries, etc., etc.'. And she recognized at once that here was the answer to her dilemma. A diary. Of course. It was the very thing. A silent confidante, a listener who could always be depended upon to keep counsel, an ear without a mouth. She went into the shop and bought one at once.

That afternoon, when she had made sure that preparations for dinner were progressing satisfactorily, she went quietly upstairs to her bedroom and took up her pen to write to her diary for the very first time. It was like making a friend.

‘Monday 10th November 1817,' she wrote. ‘Dear Diary, there is so much I want to tell you I hardly know where to
begin. Such a tragedy has occurred. The Princess Charlotte is dead and my husband John has put such a dreadful advertisement in
The Times,
but I must not criticize him. I will tell you all about it….'

She felt so much better when her complaint had been written, and delighted to think that it had all been done while John was out of the house. And of course writing a diary was perfectly proper. Plenty of great ladies did it. There was no question of intending to deceive. Now she could say exactly what she liked and no harm done. It was an admirable solution. Quite admirable. She hid the book under the mattress and rang the bell for Peg to come and help her dress for dinner.

By the time John came back to the house that evening, worrying about how he could mend their quarrel, she was quite herself again. They dined happily, and she encouraged him to talk of the day's affairs, although they were both very careful not to mention the advertisement. When they retired to bed, they walked upstairs arm in arm as if there had never been any argument, as if their customary mode of behaviour had never varied. Which apart from that sudden uncharacteristic row, it never had. And so they made their peace without a word of explanation or apology, and the subject of the Princess Charlotte and her untimely death was never discussed between them again.

Although Harriet talked about it at length with Annie and Matilda. But that was at Christmas time and for another reason.

The Easter family were celebrating Christmas at Bury that year, so that Annie and James could be together at the Christmas dinner. It was the first time that John and Harriet had been back to the town since the day they were married, and, rather to her surprise, Harriet was actually quite pleased to be there.

It was pleasant to see the pale frontage of the Athenaeum again shining on the north side of the square, and the carved post of the chemist's on the corner, and the long winter shadows darkening the cobbles before the Angel Inn as the coach clanked and clattered into the yard. But it was the smell of the place that made her realize how much she had missed it, the dank familiar earth and the hedgerows full of winter dust and the warm rank reek of stabled horses steaming from behind Mr Kent's long flint wall. Oh it was lovely to be back. And besides, she had something rather important to talk to Annie about.

However it was the sort of Christmas she had come to expect from her new family, being noisy, cheerful, extravagant and very crowded. So it wasn't until the afternoon of the third day that she finally got a chance to talk to Annie alone.

Jimmy and Beau had both had colds and fevers that winter and they were still pale and easily tired, so when dinner was done Annie settled them for a nap on the chaise longue before the parlour fire, and she and Harriet took their sewing into the room and sat with them. Nan and Mr Brougham were out riding, Thiss and John and Mr Teshmaker were busy examining the books in the office, James had driven over to Rattlesden, and Billy and
Matilda were out visiting their friends. Suddenly the house was blessedly quiet.

‘We have so much to talk about,' Annie said, beaming at Harriet as they settled themselves on either side of the fire. ‘I am so glad they have left us alone. I am breeding again, my dear, and I wanted to tell 'ee myself.'

‘Oh Annie!' Harriet said, with transparent delight. ‘When is it to be?'

‘June, I think,' Annie said. ‘I shall know more when I've quickened. 'Tis three months now, if I am any judge. I have seen nothing since before the poor Princess died.'

‘Nor I since the very day,' Harriet confessed, just as she'd planned to. ‘But I do not dare to hope yet.'

‘Oh my dear, whyever not?' Annie said, leaning forward to take her hand. ‘When was the last time? Tell me, do.'

So notes were compared, and symptoms discussed, and after a most informative half-hour, Annie announced herself convinced that she and her sister-in-law were ‘carrying together'.

‘Have you told John?' she asked.

‘I thought I would wait until three months were past.'

‘Uncommon good sense,' Annie approved, ‘and just what I would have expected of 'ee. Won't Matilda be
peeved
. We shall steal her thunder.'

‘But she means to have a boy,' Harriet said wryly. ‘The first of a new line of Easters. Oh Annie, you cannot imagine how glad I am that you will keep me company. I could not face such a trial alone.'

And at that moment Matilda herself strode into the room, bringing a stream of cold air in with her and sharp with curiosity.

‘What trial is this?' she said at once. ‘Do tell, Harriet, for I love a scandal.' And she settled herself beside the fire, her plump face eager.

Annie and Harriet looked at one another quickly, both asking the same question with their eyes. Then Annie decided to answer it.

‘You ain't the only one a-breeding this season,' she said. ‘Harriet and I are both….'

‘But my dears,' Matilda said, clapping her hands. ‘How
thrilling! Three new Easters at once. What could be better?' And to Harriet's surprise, she kissed them both most warmly. ‘Now I know what trial it is you speak of, Harriet. If the heir to the throne can die giving birth, what help is there for such as us? Ain't that so? I read every single word about it, and I tell 'ee I was fairly sick with fear.'

Harriet was most surprised to hear such things, for she'd never imagined that her light-hearted sister-in-law would ever be afraid of anything.

‘We are all in God's hands,' Annie said gently. ‘Remember that. From the highest princess in the land to the poorest beggar at the gate.'

‘But who will He help?' Matilda said. ‘That's the great question. It ain't a bit of use you saying that when the Princess Charlotte was allowed to die.'

‘And is now in heaven,' Annie said mildly. ‘She and her infant son. And what greater joy could there be for them than that?'

‘Why to be alive and well,' Matilda said, opening her grey eyes wide. ‘And safely delivered. That is the greatest joy I could imagine.'

Harriet tried to think of the compassionate God in the church at Rattlesden, but the image of the God of retribution she'd worshipped for so long in Churchgate Street frowned into her mind too, ugly and unbidden. Oh please, she prayed, whichever God You are, be kind to me and Annie and Matilda. You've had one awful death. Be satisfied with that. ‘Are
you
not afraid?' she said to Annie.

‘I was the first time,' Annie admitted, glancing at the chaise longue to make sure her two boys were still asleep. ‘But not now. Not now I know how 'tis done.'

‘Is there much pain, Annie?' Matilda asked. ‘Tell us true, for we need to know.'

‘Yes,' Annie said honestly. ‘There is. But it soon passes. You forget it the moment you hold your own dear baby in your arms. Think of that. Your own dear baby. That is what makes it all worthwhile.'

‘Oh I do hope so,' Harriet said. But fear was still scratching away inside her.

‘I'll tell 'ee what, my dears,' Matilda said. ‘I mean to enjoy every single day of this pregnancy, just in case. And I'd advise you to do the same.'

So that's why she makes Billy pet her so, Harriet thought, and she suddenly felt quite fond of her. ‘I'm so glad we carry together,' she said.

That night she recorded the entire conversation in her diary, almost word for word. ‘I never thought I should like Matilda so much,' she wrote. ‘She is not at all as I first thought her. Annie is so dear to me, so dear to us both. Better than any sister could ever be, I do believe. Pray God she is proved right in what she says and that we shall all come safely through together. Should I tell John now, I wonder, or wait as I planned?'

She told him two days later, when they were back in their nice red bedroom in Fitzroy Square, and to her delight he began to make preparations for the child as soon as the news was out of her mouth.

‘We must hire another cook,' he said, ‘for you will need special foods now, will you not? And a new carriage with better springing. Our present one is far too uncomfortable for a mother with child. A mother with child, my dearest! Oh how happy you make me! What else will you need? You have only to say the word and you shall have it at once.'

‘With you to love me, I have everything I could possibly need,' she said, kissing him.

‘A nursemaid,' he said. ‘We will need a nursemaid.'

She remembered Rosie who worked in the laundry in Churchgate Street, fat, comfortable, dependable, loving Rosie, who came from the same part of the town as she did, and was as poor as she'd been, and was so easy to get along with. ‘Yes,' she said, ‘and I know just the person, if she'll agree to it.'

If he was surprised by her choice, he didn't say so. ‘I will write to her this very evening,' he said. ‘And at the same time I shall write to Mr Thistlethwaite. His young Tom can run your errands.' Tom and Rosie had worked together once before on the night of the rescue. What could be more appropriate?

*

Young Tom Thistlethwaite said he was ‘chucked all of a heap' to be asked to enter Mr John Easter's service. ‘Who'd ha' thought it? he said over and over again on the day John's letter arrived. ‘Who'd ha' thought it? 'Tis the first step to becomin' a gentleman's gentleman, ain't it, Ma?'

He was still grinning with delight several months later on the morning of his departure. ‘Who'd ha' thought it, Ma?'

‘Never mind “who'd ha' thought it”,' Bessie said, brushing his blue jacket with the stiff clothesbrush, ‘you jest do as you're a-told an' no larkin' about. I know the way you go on.'

‘If'e grins any wider,' Thiss said, grinning himself, ‘'e'll bust 'is chops.'

‘There's yer bag all packed and yer coat all lovely,' Bessie said, putting the clothesbrush back on its rack. ‘All nice time fer the coach. Give yer ol' ma a kiss then.' And was seized in a bear hug and kissed until she protested she couldn't breathe.

‘Onny one thing,' Tom complained. ‘I can't see why they 'ad ter go an' take that ol' Rosie from the laundry an' all.' The two of them were to travel to London together and he felt rather aggrieved to be put in charge of her.