The Circle of Sappho (16 page)

In 1709 she met her future husband, Thomas Rowe, himself a child of a dissenting minister and a scholar in his own right. By now Elizabeth was a published poet, having seen her first collection of poetry in print thirteen years previously. They met in Bath and married the following year, after which they moved to London. Despite the difference in ages – she was thirty-six, he was twenty-three – by all accounts their hearts and minds were equal and they shared a happy and stimulating life together. Tragically their union lasted a mere five years, Thomas dying of consumption in 1715. Elizabeth returned to Frome, naturally heartbroken – ‘since that fatal moment, my soul has never known a joy that has been sincere' she would write – and became somewhat of a recluse.

Following her father's death four years later, in 1719, she became financially independent for the rest of her life and devoted herself to writing prose and poetry that reflected her melancholic existence: ‘I look backward, and recall nothing but tormenting scenes of pleasures that have taken their everlasting flight, and forward, every prospect is wild and gloomy.'

Thus she lived out the remaining eighteen years of her life in this way…'

‘Very good, very good indeed,' remarked Lady Harriet, as she laid her niece's manuscript onto a small table beside which she had been standing. ‘Perhaps a little verbose at times, but that can be edited down. The main thing to remember, however, is that as reclusive as Elizabeth may have been, she enjoyed a voluminous correspondence with friends, including the Countess of Hertford, the daughter of Henry Thynne, the man she learnt French and Italian from when younger. It has a very strong opening though; you take us straight into the heart of the subject.'

‘Thank you, Aunt Harriet,' replied Mary. ‘I am especially satisfied, even if I say it myself, with the opening.'

‘Quite my dear, you should be pleased with it. Have you finished your tea?'

Mary nodded.

‘Then I suggest we head into Frome so we can visit Elizabeth's house.' As they were about to leave, Harriet looked at the handwritten pages again. ‘Yes, this is excellent. I feel you have really captured her personality. It will be a worthy addition to the series.'

The carriage, which had earlier dropped Swann off at Thomas Bunn's house, now conveyed Harriet and Mary along the same route towards the centre of Frome. They had arranged to meet the current resident of Rook Lane House, the property where Elizabeth Singer Rowe had spent the majority of her time in Frome, at midday. They had taken the opportunity of having breakfast together, whence Harriet had read the opening pages of Mary's manuscript. Although she was slightly hurt by the ‘verbose' remark, Mary was nevertheless overjoyed that her aunt seemed pleased with what she had read so far.

Over breakfast Harriet had subtly questioned Mary as to Swann, and whether he had mentioned the case he was working on for her. It seemed that he had kept his word and not said anything to her about it. He also seemed to have no idea that the Scarred Man had been in the city, or at least if he did, had not mentioned this to his sister either. The weekly letters Mary sent were, for the most part, full of interesting observation but no real information Lady Harriet could use in her official capacity, so it was good to be able to question her niece personally.

Mary's love for Lockhart seemed genuine and, from what she had said, she truly believed his was for her as well. Harriet wished she could tell Mary the truth of Lockhart's past, but her hands were tied. There were issues of national security at stake, the very freedom of the country, and although she would do everything in her power to prevent it, she knew what was coming and that it spelt unhappiness for her niece. All she could do was to follow the plan she had devised and be there to pick up the emotional pieces when it came to fruition.

The carriage travelled down North Parade and into the centre of Frome once more. Harriet wanted Mary to gain a perspective on what she was writing; to see the actual places Elizabeth Singer Rowe had experienced while in Frome, as well as visiting the house she had lived in and the chapel where she had worshipped. This would provide a sense of place and perhaps help Mary with any rewriting, if she required stimulation. Harriet had been slightly apprehensive that Mary's prose might be stilted and the chapter stiff, but her niece seemed to have found inspiration from somewhere and had produced a very readable and inspirational piece of work.

The driver made his way up from the marketplace, but instead of turning right into Cork Street this time continued up Stony Street. Reflecting its name, the journey up was bumpy and uncomfortable for the passengers, who were rocked around inside the interior of the coach as they made their way up the steep incline. The roads had been widened and improved but Frome remained a narrow lane-strewn conurbation. As if reinforcing this point, literally, the carriage hit a large stone and the occupants were thrown against their respective sides of the carriage.

‘Are you hurt, my dear?' asked the older woman as they righted themselves.

‘I am fine, thank you Aunt Harriet.'

‘Sorry, Lady Harriet,' shouted the driver from his position up front. ‘I care there has been no damage to your persons?'

‘We are both fine, thank you Johnson, but we would be most grateful if further altercations with stones could be avoided.'

‘Very good, Lady Harriet,' the driver replied.

If North Parade was a relatively straight and smooth ride, the journey out of the town southward was a different matter. There were two routes leading up out of the marketplace, each with their advantages and disadvantages. Whichever course one chose, however, a short but uneven journey up Stony Street was required. From here, Catherine Hill branched off to the right and took travellers westward, whilst those desiring to carry their journey on southwards, turned left, briefly east, and then along Palmer Street towards St John's Church. Once here, there were two options available; both upwards and equally hazardous for pedestrians and carriages alike. The first of these, Gentle Street, was the route Thomas Bunn had travelled with Swann earlier that morning. Knowing the topography, Bunn had wisely decided they should ascend on foot. The second way, and the one the carriage driver had been directed to take by Lady Harriet, was Rook Lane. They climbed out of the valley and up a steep hill to an area known as Behind Town. It was here that Rook Lane House, the one-time residence of Elizabeth Singer Rowe, was located. The carriage halted outside the building and Mary and Harriett then alighted.

‘Mr Leach, this is Mr Swann,' said Thomas Bunn.

Standing in the doorway of the cottage was a big, burly-looking man: brother-in-law of Miss Leigh, the deceased teacher. He acknowledged Swann and then stood aside to let them in.

‘My wife is expecting you, Mr Bunn.'

‘Thank you,' said Bunn, as he and Swann made their way inside.

The cottage interior was cramped and immediately Swann felt an atmosphere of oppression. Although the husband's welcome had been cordial enough, it had lacked warmth and Swann sensed the man possessed a cold nature.

‘I understand you are to begin your employ at the Asylum soon, Mr Leach,' asked Mr Bunn.

‘My wife says it was you we have to thank for securing it. We are in your debt once more,' said Leach in somewhat of a begrudging tone. Bunn seemed not to notice though and merely raised his hand in a dismissive gesture.

‘It was nothing, Mr Leach, given I am a trustee of the place. Wherever I can help families rise above their situation I am more than happy to oblige.'

As Leach went off to see if his wife was ready to receive them, Bunn turned to Swann.

‘The Asylum is nearby, here in Keyford. It was completed last year and is soon to have its first intake of young girls destined for service. I have had the task of selecting them myself. There will also be several elderly men accommodated there as well, all of whom are, how is one to put this, past their labour. They will be given bed and board.'

‘That sounds an unusual combination, if I may so,' replied Swann. ‘Young girls and old men?'

Bunn smiled. ‘Yes, the town is unique in that way, I believe,' he said, fondly. ‘We also have a place in the town centre housing young boys and old women.'

Mr Leach returned and then led them into the back room of the dimly lit house. His wife had been in the process of breastfeeding their first child, but had now put the baby in a small basket beside her. As the men entered the room she went to stand, but Bunn gestured for her to remain seated.

‘Please do not get up on our account, Mrs Leach. This is Mr Swann, the man who I mentioned yesterday. He is here to ask some questions about your sister.'

Mrs Leach nodded respectfully towards Swann.

‘First, let me say how sorry I am about your sister's death,' said Swann.

‘I will be out back, I have wood to chop,' said her husband and he left abruptly.

Swann looked across at Bunn. ‘I would prefer it if Mrs Leach's husband remained,' he said.

Bunn looked across at Mrs Leach, who nodded. She stood up and went outside. There was a brief exchange and a moment later they both returned. Leach sat down on a chair beside his wife.

‘I appreciate your return Mr Leach,' said Swann. ‘I hope this will not take too long, but it is essential I learn everything I can. As you may or may not know, it is not only your sister-in-law's death I am investigating, but that of a pupil from the school as well.'

Swann turned to Mrs Leach.

‘Did your sister have any enemies that you know of, Mrs Leach, anyone who might wish to cause her harm?'

‘Her sort always attracted trouble and rightly so,' interjected Mr Leach. ‘It was disgusting the way she behaved.'

‘Frank, please,' said Mrs Leach.

‘Well, it's selfish what she did. We have no money to bury her.'

‘Do not worry yourself about that, Mr Leach,' said Bunn. ‘I am certain it is something which can be arranged'.

‘Mrs Leach, were you close to your sister?' continued Swann.

‘Not really, I'm afraid to say. We never had been, even when we were growing up. She was always closer to our brother, although he died several years ago. She then moved away and I lost contact. Any news about her usually came to us from people in the area. She worked away for a while, I believe, looking after the children of a well-to-do family.'

‘Do you know where this was?' asked Swann.

‘No, only that it was abroad. She came back to live in this country and visited us once, but …' she paused.

‘Please go on, Mrs Leach,' said Swann. ‘You said she came here.'

‘Yes,' said Mrs Leach, hesitantly.

‘When was this, Mrs Leach?'

‘At New Year, she'd heard I'd given birth and wanted to see her nephew.'

‘And this was the last time you saw her?'

The woman nodded.

‘How did she seem to you when she visited?'

‘Well, it is hard to say; she did not stay long.'

‘Oh, and why was that?' asked Swann.

Mrs Leach was silent.

‘Because I told her to go,' said Mr Leach. ‘I didn't want her kind in this house.'

‘Frank!'

‘Her kind, Mr Leach?' said Swann. ‘What do you mean?'

‘It was shameful how she behaved and I told her so.'

Mr Leach now looked at Bunn.

‘Mr Bunn, I'm grateful to you for my employ, but I'll not sit here a minute longer to discuss that wretched woman. She's already brought enough shame on my wife and this family. If it means the loss of my job, then so be it!'

With that he stood and left the room, this time going out the front door.

‘Frank! Come back!'

The door slammed shut and he was gone.

The baby had woken from the noise and begun to cry. Mrs Leach picked it up and rocked it in her arms.

‘I am sorry for my husband's behaviour sirs, but he has been under a lot of stress lately. His sister has not been well and until Mr Bunn kindly secured this job, Frank has not been employed for a good eighteen months. Please don't tell him, Mr Bunn, but if the truth is known, he is scared of going back to work.'

This was acknowledged by both men.

‘So, these “rumours” your husband mentioned, what exactly were they about?'

Mrs Leach hesitated. ‘From what I understand, the rumours were that my sister preferred women to men.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Leach. One last question, if I may,' said Swann. ‘Does the name “Sappho” mean anything to you?'

Mrs Leach shook her head.

‘Thank you for your time Mrs Leach,' said Swann. ‘We will let ourselves out.'

‘Do not worry about your husband, Mrs Leach,' added Bunn. ‘I will make sure he settles in with his job. I will call on you both again soon.'

‘Thank you Mr Bunn,' replied Mrs Leach, ‘and I hope I have been of some help, Mr Swann.'

‘You have indeed, and once again I am sorry about your sister's death.'

The two men left the cottage and retraced their steps towards Gore Hedge, so-called, according to tradition, because during the English Civil War several heads had been put on spikes there.

‘I am sorry about Mr Leach,' said Bunn, ‘most regrettable. They are both good people.'

‘Do not concern yourself, Mr Bunn. I believe I have all the information I was seeking.'

‘I was intrigued to hear you mention the name Sappho, Mr Swann.'

‘Oh, you have heard of her?'

‘Indeed, and I have read a few of her poems, or at least what fragments remain of them. May I enquire as to her connection with Miss Leigh's death?'

‘I believe Miss Leigh was connected with a group who has that name in its title.'

‘That would make sense,' said Bunn.

‘How so?' asked Swann.