Gates of Paradise (22 page)

‘We shall have to walk backwards, tha's all,' Betsy said, laughing his fears away. ‘Then 'twill look as if we come up here an' went away again.' She had an answer for everything.

So the cold nights passed in warm delights and the snow thawed and no footprints had led to discovery. ‘'Twill be spring soon,' Johnnie said one evening as they lay recovering in one another's arms.

‘It don't sound much like spring to me,' she said, as the wind roared in the elm trees. Then her body tensed and her voice changed to whispering alarm. ‘Oh, my God! Oh, my dear good God!'

There was a head protruding through the trap
door, its face creased with malevolent triumph. They could smell the ale on its breath and the grease on its cap, feel the heat of its anger, see the gleam of its eyes in the too-revealing moonlight. The stable lad had come home.

‘Ho,' he said. ‘Oi know'd there was somethin' a-goin' on. Well now, Oi've caught 'ee. Caught 'ee good an' proper. You wait till Oi tell Mrs Beke. She'll have somethin' to say, you see if she don't.'

Johnnie tried to find an excuse. ‘We came in out the cold, Sam,' he said. ‘Tha's all. 'Twas onny for a minute.'

‘Out the cold moi oiye,' Sam said. ‘Oi ent green. Oi got my wits about me. Oi knows what you was a-doin'. You was up to no good. She got her skirt right up round her waist, this minute. An' ho yes, you can pull it down now miss, but Oi seen what Oi seen. You don't fool me. Oi shall tell Mrs Beke, tha's what. See what
she
thinks.'

‘No,' Johnnie said, ‘there's no need for that, Sam. I can explain.'

‘You comes in here,' Sam said, ‘you takes moi job off a' me, drivin' that there carriage, what Oi ent forgot, an' now you thinks you can come in here an' take moi room an' all. Well, 'tis moi room, Oi'll have 'ee know, an' you ent welcome in it.'

Johnnie was in command of himself now, his breeches fastened, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward towards his adversary. He would have stood up if such a thing had been possible but sitting straight was the next best thing. ‘Now look
'ee here,' he said. ‘I haven't took your job. I was asked to drive the carriage, just the once, on account of I knew the horses better than you did. You'd onny just arrived, which you got to admit.'

Sam sneered. ‘If you thinks you can fob me off with a load a' fool talk about hosses,' he said, ‘you got another think comin'. Oi'm off to see Mrs Beke an' then we'll see.'

‘No,' Johnnie said. ‘Wait.'

But it was too late. The stable lad was already running through the stable. They watched through their little window as he sprinted across the black lawn, dark legs scissoring.

Betsy was still lying on the bed, too stunned to move. ‘What are we goin' to do?' she cried. ‘Oh, Johnnie what are we goin' to do? I shall be dismissed sure as eggs is eggs.'

Johnnie was surprised by how calm he felt. ‘We're goin' back to the house an' up to bed, same as usual,' he told her. ‘There's nothin' we can do to stop him now. We'll just have to weather it out.'

They tiptoed back to the house and crept up the main stairs in their stockinged feet, because the servants' stairs led out of the kitchen and it was quite possible that Mrs Beke was in her parlour, listening to the stable lad, and the one thing neither of them wanted at that moment was to have to face her. They knew it was wrong to retire without her permission and wrong to use the main staircase, but they were in so much trouble already, two more, lesser sins were easily committed. But there was a
night to get through, and the night was hag-ridden and full of stinging questions. What would she say? And worse, what would she do? What possible excuse could they offer?

Betsy tossed and turned so often it was a wonder she didn't wake her companions, but no amount of restless movement provided her with any answers. She knew their lovemaking was right and proper and that it was only a sin according to the priests, but she could hardly expect the housekeeper to agree with her, and using Sam's room without telling him was definitely wrong – Johnnie had said so all along only she wouldn't listen. They'd be punished as sure as eggs was eggs. She couldn't see any way to avoid it.

Johnnie had an even worse night than she did. He should never have agreed to use Sam's room. He'd known it was wrong all along. You can't go breaking into someone else's room. He had an unpleasant feeling that using the stable was trespassing and there were laws to cover trespass. He didn't know what they were nor what the penalties would be but if you crossed the law you always suffered for it. By the time the dawn broke he was haggard with anxiety and lack of sleep.

He put on his jacket and his gardening boots and apron and went out into the grounds. If there was a punishment waiting for him, the sooner he faced it the better.

Mr Hosier was up early too and busy in the outhouse, gathering implements. He didn't seem
particularly cross and gave his helper a grin. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

‘So wha's all this I hear ‘bout you bein' up to no good with our Betsy?' he said, but he spoke amiably and didn't wait for Johnnie to answer. ‘Find a better place next time. Tha's my advice to 'ee. Never piss on your own doorstep. Now then, see if you can find the twine. 'Tis about here somewhere onny I'm danged if I can see it. That ol' wind's done a power a' damage last night. All his honeysuckle's throw'd every which way an' what he'll say if he comes down an' sees how 'tis, I dreads to think. Ah! Tha's it! You found it. Good feller.' He picked up a pair of shears, ready to start work. ‘If I was you,' he advised, ‘I'd marry the girl.'

Johnnie swallowed hard. ‘I
have
asked her,' he said.

‘Oh, well, tha's settled then,' Mr Hosier said, smiling at him. ‘Come along. No time to loose.'

Johnnie was weak with relief. It was all right. A storm in a teacup, that's all. No real harm done. Praise be! He'd get the honeysuckle tied up and then he'd find some excuse to go up to the house and tell poor Betsy. He followed Mr Hosier into the garden feeling quite light-hearted.

But he was wrong, of course. Harm was being done at that very moment. Betsy had risen early too and come down to the kitchen to show willing by lighting the fire, fetching the water and setting the table. It didn't do her any good as she could see the minute Mrs Beke walked into the kitchen, for that
lady was wearing her sternest face and her breath streamed before her in the cold air like a dragon breathing smoke.

‘Ah, there you are, Betsy Haynes,' she said, rubbing her hands to warm them. ‘And what have you got to say for yourself, pray?'

Betsy winced. It was no good pretending she didn't understand. ‘We didn't mean no harm, ma'am,' she said.

‘I wonder at you, Betsy,' Mrs Beke said. ‘I truly do. I thought you had more sense. What your mother will say when she hears of it, I cannot imagine.'

Betsy's heart took a palpable lurch downwards. The one person she didn't want to hear of it was her mother. There'd never be any end to the scolding if
she
heard. ‘Please don't tell her, ma'am,' she begged. ‘'Twon't happen again, I give 'ee my word.'

‘No,' Mrs Beke said sternly. ‘It won't. An' I'll tell 'ee for why. It won't on account of I shall make sure it don't. I can't have that sort of carry-on in this house an' there's an end of it. The master won't stand for it. I don't know what you were thinking of, I really don't. You'll get yourself a reputation you go on like this and then what'll happen to you? Have you thought of that?' She was into her stride now, happily unleashing her anger. ‘To say nothing of falling for a baby. If you haven't all-a-ready. Which wouldn't surprise me given what young Sam was telling me last night. 'Tis a scandal and if we're not careful 'twill be all over the village. You should
be ashamed of yourself. You've been acting like a common slut.'

‘I haven't fell for no baby,' Betsy said, trying to defend herself.

Mrs Beke snorted. ‘We all says that and a fat lot of good it does us. You could ha' fell last night. Have you thought a' that? No, course not. You young girls are all the same. You haven't got a happorth a' sense between the lot of you. Bit a' sweet talk and you give in directly. An' don't think he'll marry you, neither, for they never do. If they can get what they want without benefit of clergy, why should they bother making vows? Oh no,
you
won't be walking up no aisle and don't 'ee think it.'

‘You're wrong,' Betsy said stung by so many insults. ‘He'd marry me tomorrow. He said so.'

‘Ho, yes?' the housekeeper mocked. ‘I don't exactly see him a-standing there beside you, though, do I? If he loves you he should be here standing up for you.'

It was true. He should. Oh, why isn't he here?

‘Oh, no,' Mrs Beke went on, ‘you mark my words, you won't see him for dust now 'tis known. You'll be dropped and forgot, same as all the others. You've let yourself down and your mother down and me down and Mr Hayley. You're a bad wicked girl, that's what you are. A bad wicked girl. I don't know what's to become of you.'

There were feet approaching on the servants' stairs, a murmur of girls' voices. The rest of the household was arriving. The sound of them
panicked Betsy into instant and active alarm. ‘I'll tell 'ee what's to become of me,' she said wildly, striding to the coat cupboard to find her cloak. ‘I'm a-leavin' this house. Now, this minute. Tha's what I'm a-doin'. I ent staying here to be insulted. I'm off.'

‘Go then,' Mrs Beke said. ‘Best thing.' But she was talking to the air. Betsy had already flounced out of the door.

By the time Johnnie Boniface walked into the kitchen with three cabbages and a string of onions as peace offering and excuse, Betsy's departure had been discussed at length and with great excitement for the last two hours. Most of the kitchen staff had heard the row on their way downstairs and the boot boy had run over to the stables to see if Sam knew anything about it and had heard the whole story. There hadn't been such excitement in Turret House since the master cracked his head open the last time he fell off his horse and came home streaming blood.

Johnnie was embarrassed by all the knowing glances he was given but he tried to appear unconcerned. There was bound to be a bit of teasing, that was only to be expected. But when Susie looked up at him, she had such a scurrilous expression on her face that he blushed furiously before he could stop himself.

‘Ho-ho,' she said. ‘You're a dark horse an' no mistake, Johnnie Boniface. We all knows what you was up to last night.'

‘What's no concern a' yours,' he said, trying to speak lightly. ‘Where's Mrs Beke?'

‘Upstairs with Mr Hayley, takin' instructions for dinner,' Susie told him. ‘Oi'd ha' thought you'd've been asking where Betsy is.'

'Well, she aren't here,' he said. ‘I can see that.'

‘Run off,' Susie told him.

His heart contracted with alarm. ‘What d'you mean run off?'

‘Took her cloak an' gone,' Nan told him. ‘We don't know no more of it than that. Took her cloak an' rushed off.'

He stood before them, one earth-stained hand on the cabbages, thinking hard. Off in a temper, that much was obvious, so she must have been scolded. Oh, my poor dear darling, he thought, knowing how she must have felt, imagining her running from the room, tears streaming from those dear blue eyes. She could never stand a scolding. I should have been here to protect you and tell them 'twas all my fault. I should have come straight here the minute I finished talking to Mr Hosier and stood up for you. Too late now. The damage was done. But where would she go? Not to her mother's. That'ud be the last place. Nor to the mill neither. If her father knew he'd tell her mother, sure as fate, for he wasn't a man to keep secrets. The Blake's maybe. That was likely. I'll get through my work as quick as I can and go down and see.

Catherine Blake was pleased to see him because she thought he'd come with a message from Mr Hayley but as he stood before her, awkwardly shy in his muddy boots and his stained apron, she realised that there was no message and that something was amiss and invited him in. ‘We must be quiet,' she
warned, ‘for William is at work.'

They sat by the fire in the kitchen and he told her what had happened, speaking frankly but as quietly as he could. ‘I'd ha' married her long since,' he said, ‘onny she wouldn't agree to it. An' now she's gone, an' I don't know where she is, an' I don't know what to do, an' that's the honest truth.'

Her advice was quiet and practical. She hadn't been out of the house since yesterday afternoon, so she hadn't heard anything about anybody, but she promised to see what she could find out. ‘Someone's certain to know something in a place this size,' she said, ‘and if she's still here, which I'm sure she is, she'll come to church on Sunday, now won't she? Bound to. Everyone goes to church of a Sunday except us and Mr Hayley. So you'll see her then if not before.'

‘But that's four days away,' he protested. How could he wait for four days when anything could have happened to her?

His distress was endearing. ‘You could be back together long before then,' she reassured. ‘Meantime I shall listen to the gossip and if I hear anything, I'll come straight up to Turret House and let you know. Take heart, she'll not have gone far.'

‘I will find her,' he said, as they parted on the doorstep. ‘Never fear.' But he was comforting himself, not reassuring her, and they both knew it.

The next three days were the most miserable he had ever spent. In what little spare time he had, he walked about the village in a harsh rain, seeking out
old friends and neighbours and talking nonsense to them until he could find the right moment to wonder if they'd seen Betsy about. None of them had and most were surprised to be asked.