Authors: Dodie Hamilton
There was no avoiding telling of Madam’s trip to Cambridge to see the German doctor. Doctor Adelman is of the London circle and servants talk. If this juicy bone is not offered to Milady she’ll know and chew on her former servant. Evelyn Carrington is an uncertain person, one moment kind and the next stopping wages. She’s the same with friends and guests offering the world and then denying a farthing. It’s a sinful house, people drinking into the early hours and bed-hopping. Men in dressing gowns tapping on bedroom doors, Maud has seen them. Milady has a thing for women as well as men. There was trouble a few years back with a French lady. Rumour was Madame Dupres left early on account of illness. The truth is Patty Clarke, the maid, walked in of them one morning and them abed and stark naked. Next thing Patty’s got the sack and Eloise Dupres is on her way back to Paris.
Below stairs lived on that juicy piece of gossip for months. Scandal and Russell Square go hand-in-hand. If it’s not Milady taking chances it’s her brother and his peacock friends. Then there’s Susan, footmen taking bets which of the Honourable Freddie’s gentlemen friends is responsible.
The nasty talk here is of Maggie Jeffers doing. It’s not enough she talks of madam and the German doctor she now aims her poison at Luke Roberts, a nicer gentlemen you couldn’t wish to meet. He might only be a builder but my goodness such grace! He was here in the week with the Sweep, chivvying everyone along and making sure things done right.
Maud used to know another man who was just like Luke Roberts. Tobias Lane was his name. He was tutor at the Blakeleys Maud’s first position. She was nursemaid then to Arabella Blakeley. It was the best of times Maud was young and would sit with Toby at nights talking. It was a happy time but ended when Colonel Blakeley was wounded in a war and died, Toby was first to go and Maud soon after. Gossip! Maud wrote not so long back and told Lady Carrington how Luke Roberts had taken a shine to Madam. Milady thought it amusing. ‘
Poor Ju-ju!
First Stefan and now a country yokel with muscles for brains. Is it any wonder women turn to laudanum for bed-companion.
’
It’s all wrong! Maud tore up her letter. Enough is enough! Madam trusts her. There’ll be no more letters and no more half-crowns, blood money that it is.
Julia woke from a nightmare. She was dreaming she was back on the Cambridge train and sheep were on the line. She was looking out of the window at men carrying the bloodied carcases of sheep. Such a noise, the screams of injured animals and the hissing of a monstrous train! She wanted to close the window to shield her eyes and ears but couldn’t. The noise went on forever. Then in the midst of it all the Lord Jesus appeared carrying a lamb on His shoulder its delicate form slick with blood and foetal tissue.
The lamb was calling for its mother. Julia reached down from the window. ‘Don’t cry, little lamb,’ she whispered. ‘It will soon be over.’
Then she woke to find Matty standing by the bed. He was sleeping walking, his eyes wide open and his face pale with fear. He’s done this before always seeming to be awake when in fact in some hypnotic daze.
‘What is it!’ she asked.
He pointed to the stairs.
Julia ran upstairs and opened the door to a dreadful sight.
‘My God, Susan,’ she whispered. ‘What have you done?’
For the moment she unable to move wondering if she was awake or still locked in the nightmare. All too soon she realised what she was seeing was only too real, Susan cradling her belly and blood seeping through her fingers.
‘Mrs McLaughlin!’ Julia darted along the landing. She threw open the bedroom door. ‘Maud, get up and get dressed! I need you to go for help.’
She ran back. Maggie was hunched up in her bed.
‘What happened here?’
‘It’s not my fault, madam,’ Maggie whined. ‘I didn’t tell her to do it.’
‘Do what?’
Maggie covered her head with the blanket.
Julia snatched the blanket away. ‘What is it she’s done?’
‘She fell down the stairs! She’s been doing it all day and yesterday, climbin’ to the top and leapin’ down to shake the baby out. Nothin’ was happenin’. She did it again and fell from the top to bottom. Now this red stuff is comin’ out!’
Susan was pale and dazed looking. Blood sliding into her palm Julia took her hand. ‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘We’re getting help.’
‘No,’ said Susan her voice slurred, ‘don’t get help. Let it die.’
No point asking how long she’d been like this neither girl sensible enough to answer. Puddles of blood in the bed and Susan gasping for air said it all. Assessing damage Julia lifted the nightgown and as she did Susan screamed, arched her back, and hot blood sprayed the room. ‘Bring me towels Maggie!’
Maggie hid her face. ‘I daresn’t.’
Julia dragged her off the bed. ‘Do as I say, bring towels and boil water.’
Snivelling Maggie ran downstairs,
‘Oh madam!’ Mrs McLaughlin is at the door.
‘Go to Greenfields! Raise the alarm. They have a telephone. Ask them to bring a doctor!’
‘What your doctor, madam, Doctor Adelmann?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Maud!’ Julia pushed her out the door. ‘A local doctor! One who lives close by!’
Mrs McLaughlin fled.
The baby was coming. Susan was clawing at her body as though trying to pull the child from her womb. ‘Stop that!’ Julia grabbed her hands. ‘You must not do it! You must try to be still and let me help you.’ Convulsed by pain, an animal seeking deliverance and deaf to all entreaties, Susan screamed again and rolled onto her back pushing upward.
‘Maggie!’ Julia shouted out. ‘Get up here this minute.’
The stupid girl was bottom of the stairs hiding.
‘Maggie Jeffers! If you don’t get up here this minute I shall tell the constable you were of no help and he will send you to prison.’
A galloping carthorse up she came her face blotched and swollen.
‘You are to do as I bid, d’you hear? You are to follow all my commands and not fail me. Now hold onto Susan’s hands and do not let go.’
‘But she’ll bite me, madam! She’s already bit me.’
‘No doubt you deserved it. Now hold onto her hands!’
Shoulder seams ripping Julia tore the sleeves from her nightgown. Quite what she had in mind she didn’t know other than there needed to be binding and this was clean. ‘Where’s Matty?’
‘I don’t know, madam.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘Maybe’s he’s with Mrs Mac.’
Julia could only hope it so. There was no time to look. Weak from loss of blood Susan lay on panting and so very pale. ‘Help me, Susan,’ said Julia. ‘Forget everything now but your little baby. Think of this life as belonging to the nice gentleman the one who played the paper and comb and who sang to you! Think of the baby as part of him, his child and yours to love for evermore.’
‘For evermore?’ Susan’s voice was barely audible.
‘Yes, Susan, yours to love for all time, your baby.’
‘My baby?’
‘Yes! Yours!’
Matty and Kaiser were out of the house and running with only one thought in mind. They knew where to go, a place they both loved that smelt of horses and where stars shone through the roof. Though it’s dark they know the way. In dreams they have run like this lots of times flying over bushes and chasing moonbeams. But it isn’t nice this time. Matty can’t leap as he did before. He runs through rather than over briars and they catch on his nightshirt. I should’ve worn my trousers, he thinks, Mumma will be cross.
Perhaps they should have stayed with Oldie Hubbard but she went to get people from the other side of the Wall and that’s the wrong place to go. The Lady with the Seeds said so, the lady who sits and night and tells of foreign lands and how she once loved a sailor. She came tonight and woke him. ‘Run, Matthew Dryden,’ she’d pulled at the bed-cover. ‘Go get Mister Wolf from the Forge and take your trusty hound with you!’
Matty was late getting to sleep. He’d lit a candle in secret and read. He can read now, Oldie showed him how. It’s good. Now instead of wriggling as they used to the letters behave nicely. His favourite line is ‘Cow Jumped Over the Moon.’ When he reads it Kaiser pretends to jump and they laugh.
Mumma reads
Oliver Twist.
Papa read from a book called the
Iliad
. It was about heroes and villains. Those words had funny shapes. The words in
Oliver Twist
are just right. When Matty gets back he’ll tell Mumma he can read. She will be pleased. He likes pleasing Mumma. He doesn’t like it when she cries.
‘Run,’ said the Seed Lady, ‘and take your Trusty Hound.’
Matty’s trusty hound is Kaiser. He loves Kaiser and Kaiser loves him, a silver rope joins them together, one that will never break. Mumma’s friend, the Big German Bear, says Kaiser means king. Kaiser likes his name and runs faster when called.
It’s taking a long time to get to this place. They have run so far and so fast Matty is weary and Kaiser’s paws are bleeding from thorns. In dreams they are at the Forge in a second. They zoom through the door as they do in daytime and then Kaiser sits by the fire chewing a bone and Matty and Mister Wolf play chequers. The Wolf always wins. Matty moved a chequer once when he wasn’t looking but the Wolf knew. ‘You must never cheat.’
‘Why when I can’t win any other way?’
‘Because it makes the winning not worthwhile.’
Last week Matty cheated on Joe Carmody, swapping bigger plant-pots for smaller. Mister Wolf is right. It’s not worth it. The plants died.
Matty’s legs are hurting and he wishes it wasn’t so dark.
There are shadows everywhere and a big bird sits up in a tree.
It has big yellow eyes and watches them and asks questions.
‘To-wit-to-woo.’ It says. ‘And who are you?’
‘I’m Matthew Dryden,’ Matty started to cry. ‘I live in the Nen and Nen with my Mumma and Kaiser and the kittens. Please don’t let Susan die.’
Maggie Jeffers says if you see a black crow a person you love will die. Matty saw two yesterday eating bread crusts. Does that mean two people will die?
It is so dark and so black Matty is no longer sure he knows the way. He thinks he is lost. And oh dear, something is coming!
‘Mumma!’
A big animal, a Hippopotamus or Lion is crashing through the forest!
‘Mumma!’
It’s going to eat him and Kaiser up!
Matty stood still, opened his eyes, awoke and screamed. ‘Mumma!’
Luke swept him up in his arms. ‘It’s alright! I’m here.’
Damn Bakers End and its mean spirited residents!
Julia loathes the place. Left to her she’d be gone, the cottage sold to the first buyer. North, South, East or West, she would be anywhere but here! Lip curled in disgust she glanced about the empty church. No one with the grace to mourn? Shame on them! What did Susan Dudley do that they shun her so?
Events of the last few days have changed Julia forever. She can never be the same, naivety died with Susan and her baby. She so wanted them to live and for a time Susan wanted the same. ‘I’m trying, madam,’ she’d whispered her lips pallid petals, ‘but I don’t seem able.’ Even at the end, bed awash with blood and the baby sliding into desperate hands, even then there was hope. Clearing the mouth of muck Julia had tried breathing life into the tiny rag. She tried and tried until a stranger, Callie Greville Masson, the woman sitting here beside her in the church held her back. ‘Let it go,’ she’d said. ‘You can do no more. Mammy and baby are safe now in the arms of Jesus.’
The coffin rests on a trestle before the altar. It was earlier in the parlour an altar of innocence among bone china and the fragrant Hebe Joe Carmody had gathered his seamed face grimy with tears. ‘It ain’t right,’ he’d said. ‘She was only a kid herself.’ She rests now in a small bed hardly room for one sleeper. White cotton-lawn with a lace collar, she wears Julia’s best nightgown. Her hair is braided and tied with blue ribbon. Maggie brought it. ‘I was savin’ it for when I get wed but thought she might like it.’ Eyes red with weeping she’d lingered. ‘It weren’t my fault, madam. I didn’t make her fall did I?’
‘You didn’t.’ Julia couldn’t have hung that sin on anyone. ‘It was just one of those things.’ Maggie had wept. ‘That’s right, madam, one of those things.’
They are gone now, the two Ms, but not unfortunately not forever, Maggie to her mother’s and Mrs Mac to a friend in Dorset. Julia gave them time off. So much anger in her heart, and they easy targets, it was best to do. Maggie is not innocent of Susan’s death, no one is. She is as much to do with it as she is to do with Matty’s fear of crows and of stepping on cracks. A modern day oracle spinning ancient wives’ tales she should hang a sign about her neck, ‘
Beware the black and midnight hag
.’
As for dear Maud she’s a snitch. It makes sense now the letters, the coins, and the ink-carrying pen. She offers a diary of events to Evie Carrington? How very tedious for them both! If the snitch is to continue earning her pound of flesh Julia had better spice up her life although surely this chapter in the
Adventures
of Ju-ju Dryden
will keep the animals fed for years.
Of course she should’ve sent them both packing but Mrs Mac ever attuned to shifting currents had tapped on the bedroom door. ‘I am sorry about Susan. She was happy here as are we all.’ Maud’s missed her vocation. A born politician she should offer her services to Emmeline Pankhurst and campaign for Votes for Women! Even with leaky drawers her gift for diplomacy cannot fail!
The vicar is late and there’s twittering at the West Door. The Good Wives enter, genuflect, and then skirts lifted to avoid contamination sweep a wide circle round the far aisle. Good wives! Every church has such a group of women. They are the gossip-mongers and the harmonium players, the ones the vicar ‘
could never do without
!’ Fragile and invincible they rule the land, the quilt-covered cross and nails that bind the Lord Jesus Christ. Hedgehogs Father called them. ‘Charlotte, May, Anna! Take a back seat at meetings and let a hedgehog field the day. You know how prickly they can be.’ They’ll be in the vestry now checking the vicar’s cassocks for love notes and the curate’s for cigarette ends. No one will mention today, none rail against the vicar officiating. Complaints will be muttered in the heart and head, the piffling reasons why these sinners ‘
should never have been brought to St Bedes.
’
The baby, the tiny sinner, is clothed in silk.
This morning at eight Mrs Mac came with a parcel in her hand.
‘I can’t do it, madam! It’s quite beyond me.’
There was a Christening robe in the parcel. Julia was appalled. ‘She wants the baby wrapped in this?’
‘She does, madam but I can’t do it! She’s asking too much.’
‘Yes she is. Leave it with me. The undertaker’s not due until eleven.’
Lace over silk and scented with lavender the robe is clearly a family heirloom. Instructions were precise, the baby wrapped in the robe Maud was then to consider
‘all duty to the House of Carrington fulfilled. In token of this and other commissions please accept the enclosed purse
.’
Julia had to ask. ‘How much was in the purse?’
Mrs Mac dropped her head. ‘Thirty-shillings.’
Julia undertook to dress both mother and baby. It was the hardest thing she’s ever done. When it was finished and the babe in the crook of his mother’s arm and the book-mark entwined in her marble fingers Julia knelt at the coffin. Such a scene! Porcelain glittered in the candlelight, the Hebe sweeter and more profound than church candles, and in the coffin a Madonna and Child remote and rare as any Renaissance icon. The little infant came through the fight unmarked his face pure and white. It was as though God was saying I brought this masterpiece through fire and clay. I breathed life into the tiny nostrils but finding this world unworthy I called the life away.
Thinking about it sends Julia to her knees! She begged baptism for the boy but none would consider it, not even Callie Masson who with Daniel appeared as rescuers out of the night. ‘It can’t be done,’ Callie had said, her ancient eyes filled with compassion. ‘I have none of the Cloth staying and if I had I doubt they’d officiate. We can’t in good conscience go beyond a blessing.’
That night when all had gone Julia remembered the dream, the train from Cambridge, the slaughtered sheep, and Jesus with newborn lamb on His shoulder. She knew then they needed no blessing, the Lord had already taken mother and child into His care.
Mrs Greville Masson adjusted her fur tippet. ‘Sure is cold in here.’
‘Churches are always cold.’
‘Not back home in Philly they aren’t. My church there is built of wood, cool in summer and warm in winter. These stone walls chill my bones. It makes me wonder why I bought Greenfields. I’m creaking enough without adding to it.’
Such a surprise seeing Daniel that night, why was he there and with his mother? No time for explanations the old lady, a velvet clad frontierswoman, had swept in. ‘I am Callie Greville Masson. Greenfields is my house and the man hovering on the landing is my son who I believe you know. I bring a doctor and my maid, Dulce, who alas is no stranger to such tragedy.’
Face of polished bronze the maid, Dulce, had sunk down on her knees. ‘La, Mesdames, we are too late! Nothing can be done.’
They were indeed too late, Julia and her pitiful endeavours and the doctor who, handkerchief to his nose, refused to go near Susan. ‘Work house girls!’ he’d sniffed. ‘What was it this time a knitting needle or bottle of gin?’
Julia was outraged. Susan had suffered enough. There would be a Christian grave for her and her child. They would not be buried unsanctified.
‘How dare you speak so and her lying here?’ she’d snapped. ‘Susan miscarried but not through gin or any other foul object. Have a little respect for the dead.’ Callie Greville Masson had nodded. ‘Mother and child need a blessing not calumny to send them on their way. Do your office as doctor, sir, not a judge.’
It was then in the general move downstairs that Julia saw Luke Roberts on the landing with Matty asleep in his arms. A strange moment, unearthly, she had looked into a source of light that quivered and shone. He was known and identified, mouth and eyes, the body, all seen through a million mirrors life-after-life. ‘What?’ her lips had formed a question. A finger to his lips he passed along the landing into Matty’s bedroom and there he’d stayed throughout that night, a watcher by the bed, boots pushed out and face in shadow.
Around five Julia closed her eyes. When she opened them he was gone and Matty sleeping peacefully, the house again quiet.
‘Chi-chirrup!’ A bird in the roof sang.
Matty looked up from his book. ‘A blackbird!’
‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Masson. ‘Do you like birds, Matthew?’
He put his fingers to his lips, whistled, and returned to his book.
Callie leaned close. ‘He is bright and reads well for a three year-old.’
‘He is almost four.’
‘Even so, he is clever child and sensitive. When you said you were bringing him today I worried how he’d take such an occasion.’
‘With the maids away I couldn’t leave him alone.’
‘He wouldn’t have been alone, no sir!’ Callie Masson hugged Matty. ‘I would’ve come. We’d have gone bird hunting.’ She looked at Julia. ‘I know a little about you, Mrs Dryden. Daniel told me how you met. I was due to come and make myself known, and then your maid came a-knocking.’
‘Thank God she did. You have been a great comfort to us all.’
Mrs Masson shook her head. ‘It’s nothing anyone else wouldn’t have done. We are neighbours. We should take care of one another.’
Julia’s tone was bitter. ‘I’ve heard that said before but it wasn’t meant.’
The blackbird flew singing out of the door.
‘Lots of things are said but not meant,’ said Callie. ‘They say in the midst of life there is death. A blackbird sings and in midst of death there is life. It’s a way of looking at things.’ She twitched her hat. ‘This darn hat is killing me.’
Julia glanced at the hat overtopping the wrinkled face. ‘It is a notable hat.’
‘It is a foolish hat. I bought it in Paris with such an occasion in mind and having outlived all my friends fetched it out today. Foolish!’ She nodded toward the coffin, ‘almost as foolish as that wreath.’
A huge wreath of roses it had to be removed to allow bearers through the lych-gate and then again to navigate the nave. Now like Mrs Masson’s hat it hangs askew, green fern dripping like mildewed tears. Aware of the crest on the card accompanying the wreath Julia was silent.
Mrs Masson snorted. ‘What was she thinking? Flowers to a maid she not so many weeks before threw to the wolves? Who in their right mind draws attention to such bad behaviour? One might as well have it printed front page of the Times.’
Julia flinched.
Thrown to the wolves
! She felt so bad. It shouldn’t have happened. Tied up with her own life she hadn’t looked to Susan’s needs.
Sensing discomfort Callie Masson reviewed her comment. ‘When I said wolves I wasn’t referring to you. I was speaking of the world at large.’
It was Daniel Masson who told his mother of Susan’s mistreatment. The day after the tragedy he called at the cottage apologising, he said, for ‘springing out of the blue.’ He’d wanted to tell of his mother buying Greenfields but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. ‘You left London all of a sudden.’
‘I had no choice.’
‘Indeed you did not! I remember that evening. I was there and witnessed Freddie Carrington’s bad behaviour. As for this unfortunate girl I’ve heard various stories from various lips and know what I believe. You did your best for her, Julianna. You were the only one who did. I hope you’ll rest easy on that.’
Julia unable to talk about it he’d switched to John Sargent and the Art Exhibition. ‘You know he’s showing soon hereabouts?’
‘He sent an invitation. I did think to take Matty but now I’m not sure.’
‘Oh do go! I hear tell there’s to be a cinematic show and Ferris wheels and all kind of fun things for children. Matthew wouldn’t want to miss it.’
Daniel had then offered a car should Julia decide to go to the exhibition. ‘We are neighbours now. I’d like to think you regard me as a friend.’
Today her new friend sits with Stefan Adelmann and behind them Mrs Joan Taft, sister to Susan, to whom Julia sent news of the tragedy and a train ticket. Apart from the vicar there is only one other villager in attendance, Luke Roberts, sober in a dark jacket and stiff collar.
The night of the tragedy Matty in the throes of sleep ran to fetch that man, an act of trust that both touched and alarmed Julia. ‘I don’t know why he came,’ Luke had said the following day. ‘I was shaken out of bed knowing he was coming. I dreamt it I suppose. I saw him and the dog and went to meet them.’
That there is more to the event was evident in his frown and the way he worked his fist as though trying to keep a grip on mystery. Julia didn’t enquire. No one can ever question her of this man, not now and not ever. That her little boy trusted enough to run through darkness to find him, and that he loved enough to catch is enough. If there is more one day one of them will tell.
‘
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the Lord bless and keep her, the Lord make His face to Shine upon her and be Gracious unto her and give her peace
.’
The service over Julia dropped lily-of-the-valley onto the coffin.
‘Those lilies were one of my little japes,’ muttered Callie Masson.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m your plant thief, Julianna. I am the one who’s been driving your good gardener crazy. I put baskets and other stuff over the wall by way of compensation for odds and ends stolen from you, and I took other plants to repay those stolen from me.’
‘Have I stolen from you?’
‘Not you, Julianna, some other person a long time ago.’ When Julia stared uncomprehending Callie grimaced. ‘I know. It hardly makes sense to me. I can only say at the time taking from your side of the wall felt like retribution.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Why would you? It’s a long and involved story. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘But you did mention it! What does it mean?’
‘It means I knew the people who lived in your house.’
‘The Newman sisters?’
‘Uh-huh. Justine Newman was a friend. When I stole from you I was stealing from her. At the time it amused me to sneak out the house and creep about like a crazy person. Meeting you now I see it for what it is, stupid. Anyway, that’s enough of that old nonsense.’ She sniffed. ‘Me and Matthew are gonna look at the baby cyclamen over yonder. One day when you’ve time and interest I’ll fill you in on the details but for now let me bite my tongue. At my age it doesn’t do to stare into open graves and speak of ancient rivalry.’