Convenient Women Collection Page 5

‘I were ill for weeks after that, couldn’t get the wet off my lungs, like I’d breathed in all that rain.’

  I wished for a drop of rain now to cool the sizzling of my face. Instead, I sat up straight and crawled into the patch of shade thrown by the hedgerow. I muttered to myself as a bramble pinched my shoulder and tugged a hole in my gown, and the crinoline dug into my thighs. Crinolines were not designed for lying in ditches.

  ‘I’ll cut your tongue out.’

  I stopped and glared at Luella, uncertain of what she had just said. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘What my grandmother always said if ever my ma cursed. You was cursing.’

  ‘Was I?’ We were both silent for a moment. ‘Did your mother curse often?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ She seemed to wait, with something on the tip of her tongue, and a frown formed for an instant between her brows before they smoothed. ‘Did you like him? My pa?’

  ‘I thought he was a good man from the little I saw of him.’

  ‘How often did you see him?’

  When would this damned coach come? I squinted into the distance and strained to hear beyond the shouts of farmhands, but there was nothing approaching.

  ‘When he came to the house to do the books.’

  ‘I forget how often he went now?’ She said it as a question, though I chose not to answer. ‘He were gone a lot, in the end, before …’

  ‘Yes, well.’ I would not remind her of how her father had lost his job.

  ‘And Mrs Campbell. What did you think of her?’

  I blew the air out through my nose. So many questions, and I had not the energy nor the patience for them. ‘She was nice.’

  ‘She were.’ Luella raised herself onto her elbows and looked at me. The sun had pinked her cheeks, darkened the freckles across the bridge of her nose. ‘She were kind. She used to feed me sweets and let me see her animals. Do you remember all the animals she had?’

  Too many, and Luella had been like another of Campbell’s strange little pets, running and playing amidst the ramshackle flock. There’d been stray cats in the barns, donkeys which served no use, limping horses which could not pull a carriage, geese which would attack, dozens of ducks on the pond which no one could shoot for dinner, and a dog with three legs which was always by the old woman’s side.

  ‘Patch,’ Luella said, smiling. ‘I miss Patch. He were my favourite.’

  The dog hadn’t liked me, and the feeling had been mutual. It was a gnarly old thing, always licking or scratching some part of itself, and I would forever be picking its greasy hairs off the furniture.

  ‘He died, you know, a week after she did.’

  I had gone by the time Mrs Campbell died. I hadn’t heard about it until years later when I’d been near the area – passing through – and I’d asked after her from someone whom I had not recognised. Her heart had worn out, apparently.

  ‘I never saw her after Pa were arrested,’ Luella said. ‘She had to have a nurse look after her. The shock had done her in, see. And that nurse, well, she were a mean old goat and wouldn’t let me near Mrs Campbell, not even past the gates. I suppose she thought I might have wanted to finish what my father had started.’

  She laughed, the same laugh she’d made in the grocer’s, the crazed kind that started and ended abruptly. She set her eyes on me, and the simpleton glaze of them that had been there at the inn was gone; she was a ferret again. ‘You said Mrs Campbell were nice. She were more than nice. Did you steal off her as well?’

  Who was she? A bloody judge? Looking at me down her nose like she was something more than she was. ‘Yes, Luella. I stole off your dear, sweet Mrs Campbell. Shake your head at me all you like but you know me for a thief, so I doubt the news that I’ve always been one comes as a surprise to you.’

  She smiled and nodded. ‘Nothing about you will ever surprise me, Bonnie Hearn.’

  I was ready to stand, to face her and call her out, for though I’d been a lady for many years, I hadn’t been born one; I knew how to take a girl down. Even with a sore ankle, I could have had her on the floor with a handful of her hair in my fist before she’d have known what was happening, but just then, the wind blew the sound of horses towards us. We turned to the road and waited with bated breath for the coach to breach the horizon.

  We sat in silence inside the coach. Luella was squeezed beside a woman who tried to converse with us, but she gave up after a while. I had one side of the carriage to myself and room to spread my skirts, and I rested my cheek against the door and let the breeze from the open window cool my hot head.

  I must remain in control; I must not scare her away. I said this to myself over and over, for what good would it be to lose Luella now and fear her forever?

  At the next stage, Luella and I waited inside the coach as they changed the horses. The woman dismounted, muttering something about a drink and a change of company, but we were not on our own for long. A man boarded. He jumped up the steps, and we appeared to give him a shock, for he yelped when he saw us. He laughed at his outburst, doffed his cap, and then wiggled in beside Luella.

  ‘Paul Meadows.’ He removed his cap and shook out his hair which was the colour of burnt copper and just as wiry. ‘Come far?’

  My glare did not seem to perturb him. He continued to grin and ogle us. He had not the manners to take us in discreetly.

  ‘Stowmouth.’ Luella shifted further into her corner, but the inches she put between herself and the stranger were soon filled as he spread his legs wider.

  He sucked in a breath. ‘Stowmouth. Nice there. Your name?’

  ‘Lucy,’ I said before Luella could speak. ‘My maid.’

  Mr Meadows turned down his lips, raised his eyebrows, then guffawed and fell back against the seat, making the whole coach wobble. I poked my head through the window to see how long it would be before we were moving again and if we should dismount and take a drink at the inn just to be out of this idiot’s company. However, the horses were now ready, and the driver was mounting the steps to his seat. Someone thumped the roof of the carriage, and the horses walked forward.

  ‘Where you heading?’ Mr Meadows had slid down the seat so that he could rest his head against the back of it. His feet were amidst my skirts, his knees were lolling wide, and his eyes were half closed as he gazed down at me over his nose.

  ‘North.’

  ‘North.’ He said it mockingly, then snorted, thinking his imitation of me funny.

  The fifteen miles to the next stage did not seem appealing, but I had little to worry about in the end, for Mr Meadows was sleeping before we had journeyed a mile. Though he was a horrid sight, with drool sliding from his open mouth, at least he was quiet. Luella prodded his leg off her, and he did not even stir. And though we had been sour with each other for so long, Mr Meadows at least gave us both something to laugh about.

  We passed the journey taking it in turns to poke him, to tickle his nose with a piece of ribbon, to pull strands of his hair until he flinched. His grunts made us giggle, and one time, as he turned away from Luella’s finger which had jabbed him in the ribs, he passed wind. The shock on both of our faces made us crease with laughter until tears were streaming down my cheeks, and both of us were shushing each other to little effect for fear that we would wake him.

  It was approaching dinner time when the coach passed under the entrance arch of an inn, and the slowed pace and the sound of hooves echoing over cobblestones in the courtyard woke Mr Meadows with a start. He frowned at his surroundings, winced at some pain in his neck – he had been lying crookedly – and wiped off the spit that had slid down his chin.

  And then he saw us. He scurried upright, drew his knees together, fixed his cap on his head, and blushed.

  ‘My apologies, ladies.’ He looked out of the window in horror, then patted his waistcoat pockets and, to my amazement, pulled out a watch on a chain. I had thought him nothing more than a labourer, but the watch was shiny enough, and now, with his face arranged in a sombre fashion, he did not
seem as crude as he had before. He turned to us timidly.

  ‘Do you happen to know where we are?’

  Chapter 4

  The White Hart Inn was a building pieced together with mismatched stones. Inside, it had an airless, damp feel to it, but the folk were cheerier than at the last inn, and the landlady smiled and nodded when I asked if she had a room for the night.

  Mr Meadows followed us inside, his head bowed low like a scolded child. ‘Please, let me buy you both dinner as an apology for …’ He shook his head. I imagined he could not remember what a fool he had made of himself. Lucky him.

  I accepted his offer, and Luella and I sat near the door so we could appreciate the breeze as people wandered in and out. Mr Meadows brought over wine for the three of us, and though it was bitter and watery, I was glad of the familiar taste. Luella was not so impressed, wrinkled her nose at the first sip, and did not drink again from her glass.

  ‘May I?’ Mr Meadows gestured at the seat, and I nodded. He scratched his cheek and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself.’

  ‘You already did.’

  He blushed again. ‘Well, then. I am sorry, but I cannot seem to recall –’

  ‘Miss Dayton, and my maid, Lucy.’ Luella glanced at me but said nothing. I winked at her.

  ‘Ah, yes, I remember.’ He sipped some wine. ‘And you are from …’

  ‘Stowmouth.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He pulled off his cap and ran his hand over his hair, smoothing it this time. ‘Going north.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He sighed as if he’d just passed an examination and gulped his drink. ‘I beg you excuse my behaviour. I have been … well, I have been away from home for a few nights at a friend’s wedding in Cornwall and …’ He held up his glass of wine and laughed unsteadily.

  ‘You are returning home?’ I said. All this time, Luella said nothing. He nodded.

  ‘And where is home?’

  ‘Bath. I am a tailor.’ He gestured at his suit, as if to prove his point, though I did not think it was something he should be all too proud about. He glanced down and saw the state of himself. He rubbed the muck off his jacket and gasped at the tear in the arm; I wondered how he would curse himself later when he noticed his trousers.

  ‘I must apologise,’ he said. ‘I shall know for next time.’

  He did not know for next time. As the hours passed, we ate our dinners and drank wine together – beer for Luella – and ended up outside The White Hart, lounging on the grass near a footbridge as the stars twinkled in the sky. Mr Meadows held on to the bottle and swigged from it every few seconds as Luella took the branches of a weeping willow, which trailed over the little stream, and plaited them.

  ‘I shall make you a dress of emerald green,’ Mr Meadows said, his words slurring, pointing the bottle into my face. ‘You shall look divine in green.’ He reached for a strand of my hair but missed and fell forward onto the grass. ‘Arsenic green, I think, would make you shine.’

  Luella paused for a moment; both of us stilled and held our breath, then he snorted at himself.

  ‘North. Where is north? Are you off to Scotland?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps … what a mysterious woman you are, Miss Dayton.’ He rolled towards me. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks ruddy; he drank again. ‘Miss.’ He hissed the word, and spit flew from his lips. ‘Miss. No husband, Miss Dayton?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘A single woman, travelling all alone.’ He tutted in mock disapproval.

  ‘I am not alone. I have my maid.’

  For a moment, it was as if he had forgotten all about Luella, so quiet at the edge of the group. He turned to her in surprise, then nodded and crawled towards her. Luella moved away, but he was already too close to her, and when he spoke, she turned her face from the stench of his breath.

  ‘Lucy. Little Lucy. What a pretty little thing you are, Lucy. How old are you, Lucy?’

  Luella did not answer, but glared at him.

  ‘Come, little Lucy, smile for me. I bet you are pretty when you smile.’ He touched her cheek, and she struck his hand away.

  ‘Mr Meadows,’ I said, drawing his attention away from Luella, and again he looked startled that somebody else was there with him.

  ‘Miss Dayton! Your maid is quite a misery, isn’t she? Is she ever any fun?’

  I thought she would be fun when she was strangling him, for there was such a look of fierceness in her then that I had no doubt she would have killed him if he had touched her again. And that made me think of Frank and why I had ever doubted she would have had the nerve to murder him when the time came. The thought sobered me, and I got to my feet.

  ‘I am tired, Mr Meadows. Lucy and I are going to bed.’

  He clutched at my skirt and gripped my twisted ankle. ‘Do not leave me, Miss Dayton, I beg you.’

  His hold was tight for a man so lost in alcohol. I kicked my feet, trying to dislodge him, but he would not loosen himself. The more I struggled, the more I hurt myself. ‘Let go of me, Mr Meadows. Let go this instant.’

  ‘Miss Dayton, you are a beautiful woman. Let me make you a green dress, hmm? Come here.’ His hands slid up my calves and grasped at my stockings. I kicked him again, panicking. His hands were hot and sticky. His body was lying on the hem of my skirts so that I could not pull myself free of him. His fingers crawled higher, tickling my thigh, and his face was buried in my gown.

  It was then that I screamed. I did not know I was making such a noise until Luella was beating him off me and I came back to myself. It was like everything was a dream, a nightmare, one of those nightmares where the harder you try to run, the slower you become. I stared down at Paul Meadows, who was cowering by my feet as Luella slapped and punched him into a tight ball.

  Then there were other sounds: men’s voices, doors opening, dogs barking. A woman ran to us and wrapped her arms around Luella to stop the violence. Mr Meadows was sobbing. My hands were shaking.

  ‘What’s going on?’ It was the landlady, the kind woman who had smiled at me before about a room, who held Luella. Luella was taking deep breaths, though she looked wild. Her hair had fallen around her face, and her skin was flushed.

  ‘This man was attacking me.’ My voice came out as nothing more than a whisper. ‘My maid was protecting me.’

  The landlady dropped Luella and came to me, checking me over with her eyes and her hands. ‘You’re so cold, miss. Come and let’s get you inside.’

  She led me, limping, through the crowd of men who had come out to see the commotion and told them what I had told her. They let Luella through, nodding at her respectfully and fearfully, then made for Mr Meadows.

  I don’t know what happened to Paul Meadows once we were inside the inn. Perhaps they beat him too; perhaps they chased him off. Either way, he did not return to the inn, and I never saw him again, but we did not know that at the time.

  The landlady led me upstairs to the best room they had (so she said), sat me on the bed, lit the fire in the grate, and told Luella to bring up a bottle of wine from downstairs which I could have for free.

  ‘Did you know him?’

  I shook my head. ‘We met on the coach. He wanted to apologise for his drunken behaviour by buying us dinner.’

  The landlady laughed. ‘Nothing worse than a drunk, and I should know. I’ll give him a hiding ever I see him here again. Shall I find your nightgown for you?’

  ‘No!’

  She was opening my case, and I slammed it shut on her. She jumped away, cautious now of me. ‘Sorry, I am still a little on edge. My maid will help me when she returns.’

  ‘Of course.’ She brushed off her skirts, then set the key on the table beside the bed.

  It was all I could do to stop myself from throwing her out and locking the door behind her.

  I waited beside the open door, key in hand, for Luella to return. She was slow coming up the stairs, and I almost caught her sleeve
as I pushed the door shut once she had stepped into the room. Locked in, I felt I could breathe again and went to the bed to sit.

  Luella put the bottle of wine on the table next to the candle and then, after hesitating, perched beside me. Below us came the muffled noise of men and women talking and drinking, and through the thin glass of the window, the sound of night in the countryside: the bubble of the stream, rustles in the hedgerows, a horse braying in the stable, a fox barking. And above it all, the throbbing of my pulse.

  ‘Are you –’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. After a moment, Luella reached for the bottle, bit off the stopper, and drank. I felt her shiver before she held it out to me.

  I raised the bottle to my lips and tipped it up, but my hand trembled so much that I was scared I would spill the wine. I took only one small sip, but it was enough, and the heat of the alcohol laced through me and warmed my blood.

  ‘Thank you’ – I returned the bottle to her – ‘for your help.’

  ‘Did he … Did he get to you? Properly?’

  I shook my head and kept my gaze trained on the sputtering little fire. ‘Quite the fighter, aren’t you?’

  She sniffed and swigged the wine again.

  ‘I think we should sleep. Be ready to get off early.’

  Sighing, she made her way round to me and started to take the pins out of my hair. For a moment, I was stiff; I imagined one of those pins stabbing into my neck, but she placed each one of them gently on the windowsill until my hair fell about my shoulders. Taking my hand, she helped me stand, unfastened the ties of my gown, and eased it away from me. She knelt at my feet and let me lean on her shoulder as I stepped out of my crinoline and petticoats, and then, her fingers like feathers, she rolled down my stockings, taking care over my aching ankle.

  She did all this in silence whilst I remained as pliable as a doll, watching her work. Her face passed through different states, like the passing of the seasons, but I could not understand what the expressions meant, only how, at times, she reminded me so much of her father that I felt as if I had known her for years, and at other times she was the stranger whom I had only met several days ago.