Bitter Herbs Page 12

  “Is that what they say, Sarah, that she killed herself?” Edmund asked her gravely, and she cursed afresh that she had not had the gumption at least to pull on a fresh cap before going to the door, where she had expected to encounter only the butcher’s boy, a pock-marked juvenile of uncouth wit.

  “Well, some do, sir, but others do say she was unlucky and took something amiss to get rid of the babby, never meaning to hurt herself. I dunna why she would, though. I reckon Frank was willing enough to marry her. A lot of the women was after ‘im and he knew it, but he liked her well, I’m sure. Any road, ‘e mopes about like a broody hen now where he was always cock of the walk afore.”

  “May I come in, Sarah, and talk of this with you?” Edmund felt that it would be useful to hear what one of Frank’s fellow servants thought of him before meeting the man himself.

  Sarah blushed deeply and opened the door to admit him. The other servants happened to be about their duties all about the house and she was alone in the kitchen, with a small mountain of vegetables which she had been peeling and was now ready to chop up. She offered him some bread and cheese and small beer, which he accepted readily and seated himself at the kitchen table opposite her and invited her to talk to him while she went on with her chopping. “I will not interfere with your duties for I would not give your mistress cause to reprimand you, my dear. In fact, if you care to pass me another knife, I could chop some of those carrots for you.” He smiled at her warmly and waived aside her hasty refusal. His conquest was thus completed, unknown to him.

  “Pray tell me more about Frank, Sarah. I wish to speak to him myself about the matter, for the sake of her mother and my own good servants, her cousins, for they are still uneasy about the whole affair. Is he a good man, would you say?”

  Sarah had never been in such an enviable position, sitting across from a courteous and fine-looking young gentleman, and she could hardly wait to tell her fellow kitchen maids, engaged at that moment in the loft with their missus, looking over the apples. She felt very proud that the curate should thus seek her opinion as though he valued it. Conscious of her duty to him and to her fellow servant, she considered carefully before she replied.

  “Well, sir. He thinks overmuch of ‘imself; he is well-looking and strong, a big handsome chap, but he does know it too. Allus strutting about and showing off his broad chest and the muscles in his arms. A lot of the girls like it well enough but I don’t. A man should not always be boasting so - but that is the worst I know of him, sir. A bit empty in the yead but not a bad heart. Lazy too, though, not in his body, oh no – only too glad to show off his brawn by lifting water from the well for a maid and move a beast into a pen quicker than a weaker man, but ‘e dunna ever think how small ‘e might make that mon feel in front of the maids, or how the maid might not want to kiss ‘im in return for the water.’ She tossed her head at a memory when he had sought a kiss from her in that unthinking way, just after chaffing poor Tim, whom her own heart fancied. “No” she continued, “his own pleasure always comes first with ‘im. But I think the little maid got under ‘is skin. He blew hot and cold over Kitty but he did seem to feel a bit ashamed about hiding his goings -on with Dilly. He was at a loss when he heard she was dead – as though he could not believe that she would ever want to leave such a prize as him. My ‘eart did feel sore for ‘im then.”

  “So he has been chastened by the death, you would say –that is to say, somewhat reduced and humbled ?”

  “Ay, sir, and thinks a bit more before he speaks these days- he crows less, that’s for sure.”

  “Thank you for your observations. You are a kind and thoughtful girl, Sarah. ” Edmund wiped his hands on the cloth Sarah offered him and prepared to take his leave. He proffered his hand to her. Sarah blushed afresh for her own hands now reeked of onions. She started to wipe them as thoroughly as she could but her courage failed her and she waved them despairingly.

  “I wunna, sir, I don’t want to taint your hands. My fingers are all over onion.”

  “Then I will take leave without that ceremony, Sarah. Thank you again.” His broad smile and brief nod relieved her embarrassment at once and she waved him away quite gaily from the door.

  Chapter 19

  The next day, Edmund decided to call on Mrs Bytheway on his parish round to see how she fared. He was concerned to find her much perturbed, though relieved and glad to see him.

  “Oh, sir, such a strange thing happened last night. It has moithered me until I scarcely know whether I’m coming or going.” The old lady fanned herself with a cambric handkerchief whiter than snow against cheeks that glowed very red. Edmund begged her to sit down and compose herself to tell him the whole story.

  “Well, sir. I dunna sleep so well now poor old Sam no longer sleeps beside me. I miss the warmth and the breathing of him, you see. Forty five years ‘e were there and I canna get used to ‘im not being there still. So I woke, about midnight, because I heard the church bell sound many times and I had not blown out my candle by eleven, I know, by dear Sam’s old watch. There was a clear moon and it was frosty, as you know, sir. I thought I heard a noise in the garden and I peeped out of the curtains. Well, sir, my heart near failed me when I saw a ghostly figure in white out there, I swear to you. I started back quite terrified. A dreadful thought crossed my mind that poor old Sam was walking, sir, though I know it be not true to scripture, and had come back as a frittening, unable to rest because his garden is tended less often, I thought. Please forgive me the notion, sir. I do appreciate your kindness in letting me have young Daniel. He is a fine young man and works very hard when he comes here, but you know what pride Sam took in it all. He was hardly ever out of it. I gave myself a shake and told myself not to be so soft and I took another peep, but the figure was still there. I canna see well at a distance, sir, things are too fuzzy around the edges, like, but It seemed to be casting about, as though in search of something lost on the ground, and I opened the latch of the window as quietly as I could to see better without the lattice in the way. I heard a moaning, sir, the thing was groaning and muttering to itself, so I thinks ‘it is a ghost, for sure,’ and I starts to shake but then I saw it had a shuttered lantern and I thought to myself, ‘when did a frittenin’ ever need to see by any mortal light?’ and I gathered my wits together better. I thought to call out but I misliked the thought of what I might see, if it turned its face to me, even though I told myself it was a human, not anything untoward. It had a shawl over its head. While I was fretting about what to do, Mr Nash’s dog two doors down started to bark and the creature ducked down and hid behind the holly bush, then it seemed to melt away, to my puzzlement. I was getting right cold by then so I shut the window and went back to bed as fast as ever I could. I tossed and turned for a long time, sir, you may well imagine, but I was so weary I did fall asleep in time, for it was striking eight when I awoke and Bessie was calling me through the door with my tea. I never was so ashamed of myself for being such a slug-a-bed.”

  Edmund shook his head. “It was no great wonder, Mrs Bytheway, that you needed to recoup your rest after such a strange and unsettling event. Who on earth could have it have been, and what was their purpose, I wonder?”

  “I canna say, sir. I have not stirred out all morning - the frost affects my bones- but perhaps you would take a look around, sir. It was just beyond the gooseberry bushes that I saw the creature. I have told no other living soul. I was afraid Bessie might not come again if she thought the place was haunted.”

  “I shall look very willingly, Mrs Bytheway.” Edmund made his way out of the back door and approached the spot pointed out by the old lady, but the frost hardened gravel path showed no clue as to the nature of the apparition. He was intrigued however to see what might be the ring marks left by a pair of pattens across the border, disappearing under a small gap in the thick hedge that separated the garden from the Woods’ property next door. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully and went back indoors to ask Bessie, Mrs Bytheway’s young daily servant
, if she had been out into the garden that morning.

  “Only to empty the necessary, sir,” she said, blushing, “and to throw out a few crumbs and hang up a bit of bacon rind, for the birds. I went round to the water butt lid because it stays clear of snow and rain longer, and the little robin that comes every day can find it more easily.”

  “And did you wear pattens, my dear?”

  “Oh yes, sir. I allus wears ‘em to the garden to stop the mulluck comin’ back in with me on my shoes”.

  “Did you go as far as the gooseberry beds at the back for any reason?”

  “Oh no, sir, in and out I was, as fast as may be – it is too cold a day to linger.”

  Mindful of Mrs Bytheway’s fear of frightening Bessie, he forbore to ask if she had seen any intruders outright but tried another tack.

  “Do the servants next door ever come through the hedge as a short cut to bring a message to your mistress?”

  “From the Woods’ side, sir? The other side is planted with holly and no one could get through. Sometimes, but not at this time of year, sir, because of the dirt and wet.”

  “Of course. It was just that your mistress thought she saw someone looking about early this morning.” Edmund did not add some of the more lurid details of Mrs Bytheway’s story.

  “I suppose it might have been Annie or Jessie shooing our cat back; Mrs Wood dunna like the animals, sir.”

  “Very likely. Well, thank you, my dear.”

  Edmund went back to report to Mrs Bytheway. “Well, it still seems odd, sir. Why would any one of the maids be up so late? I suppose they might have chased my Sukey out but the way the creature moved, it didn’t look anything like that to me. The patten marks are certainly not mine. I never venture out so far down the garden at this time of year.”

  “It is very strange, Mrs Bytheway. I may make some discreet enquiries on your behalf.” It did not escape Edmund that it would be useful also to talk to the inhabitants of the house where the death had taken place, since his questioning of the other people connected to Dilly had shed but little light on the mystery. First however, he must see the last person most closely involved with poor Dilly who still eluded him: Frank Marsh. It seemed likely that Frank was avoiding him. He resolved to pursue him as a matter of urgency.

  * * *

  His chance came sooner than expected. As he made his way back to Holy Trinity church, he saw Frank in the churchyard, stooping over Dilly’s grave, the soil mound not yet fully weathered. Frank took something from inside his jacket, and scraping some earth aside with a trowel which he produced from a pocket, he planted some small greenery. Then he stood, his head bared for a moment before moving off. Edmund did not want to intrude while Frank was paying this reverence, but he was anxious to accost him. He decided to change his own course to follow Frank, but first he walked past the grave to see what Frank had planted. He could not immediately make out what Frank had brought, for Daniel had recently planted several large bunches of snowdrops on the grave, some from his mother’s garden and some begged from Mrs Bytheway, who had a large drift of them. All of them were ‘in the green’ and nothing seemed to be different but then Edmund spied one small bunch, taller than the others and clumsily inserted compared to Daniel’s neat work. Touched by this gesture coming from such an unexpected source, he turned after Frank, who had gone back along Queen Street, where he was heading for Mr Edwards’ farm in the middle of the town.

  He was shovelling manure when Edmund caught up with him, having seized the chance of a temporary break to visit the graveyard. Edmund greeted the man, who barely broke his rhythm to acknowledge him, but pulled his cap further over his brow as if to conceal his eyes from Edmund’s keen glance.

  “How are you, Frank? I have been looking for you.” Edmund sat down on a large chopping block nearby.

  “Ay reverend. What for were you seeking me?” Frank did not pause in his work.

  “It was about Dilly Jones.” Frank’s face tensed but he still did not slacken his digging.

  “What about ‘er?” he asked aggressively, glancing with a frown at Edmund. “What business is of yours, any road? The coroner was satisfied, wun’t ‘e?” He took a vicious lunge at another heap of the muck.

  “Dilly was my parishioner, Frank,” Edmund replied mildly, “and first cousin to my good servants, who were much distressed by her passing. They feel there is something more to discover.”

  “So what are you saying?” Frank’s tone grew more belligerent. “I did her no harm and you needn’t think it!”

  Edmund would not let this pass. “No harm, Frank?” he said sternly. “You debauched her. You made her drunk and you seduced her on the evening of the Michaelmas fair. She was an innocent until she had the ill luck to meet you that night.”

  “It’s a pack of lies. Whoever told you that? Was it Kitty?” Frank looked Edmund full in the face now, his countenance red with anger. He flung the spade from him as if he might offer Edmund violence, but Edmund did not stir.

  “No, Frank. It was Dilly herself. She sent for me one night and sought my help.” Edmund forbore to tell of the strange form her plea had taken. Frank was visibly surprised.

  “She told you that..? What else did ‘er say? Did she tell you about the babby then?” Frank’s jaw jutted out belligerently.

  “She did. She did not seem to feel the gravity of her situation at all. I can scarcely believe that she would have deliberately harmed herself or the child.”

  “Why the ‘ell would she tell you all that? She never told me, you know, about the babby, I mean. I never knew ‘til after, when it came out at the inquest. I ‘ud have married ‘er, I would. It was my little un too. ‘Er had no right to try to make off with ‘im. No right. ‘E were mine too.” Frank had no doubt that the baby Dilly had been carrying would have been a fine boy, the image of his father. He picked up his shovel and resumed his task.

  “It was your belief then that she died after trying to rid herself of the child?” Edmund asked.

  “Aah, I reckon. What else could it be? She wanna tired of me, that much I know. She come willing enough when I whistled, I warrant you. I would have provided for ‘em both. I’m strong and could have worked for all of us, but she had to meddle with nature, the soft wench.” He sounded fatigued and dispirited now.

  “I saw you put the snowdrops in, Frank, for Dilly and the babe. It was a kindly act. But women and girls are not there merely to give you pleasure. You must amend your ways or you will only find more misery in the future.”

  Frank made no answer but gave him an angry look and Edmund walked out of the cowshed and made his way home. There he was approached by an excited Daniel.

  “Sir, sir. See here.” He held out a small glass vial on his palm for Edmund’s inspection. “I was splitting up some of Mrs Bytheway’s snowdrops at the back by her hedge, sir, for she had let me have some for Dilly’s grave and I wanted to re-arrange the drift so no gaps were showing. I found this half-buried right by them, sir. Someone must have dropped it or perhaps thrown it from a window next door? It is odd, sir, is it not? It is not like the ones the gipsy was selling, like Deborah saw. Is it at all like the one Dilly had in her hand?”

  Edmund took the object from him and inspected it closely, sniffing at it carefully. He spoke slowly.

  “Yes. Yes, it is, Daniel.”

  Chapter 20

  Edmund took the phial to his study to examine it more carefully. While he was thus absorbed, his womenfolk had an important visitor.

  Miss Ashfield was announced by Deborah and she bustled in, her masculine features flushed from walking in the cold air and with the consciousness of the pleasure her errand would spread amongst so many of the people of the town.

  She sat down, at Mrs Bredwardine’s invitation, next to Harri and took her hand companionably. “You are chilled to the bone, Miss Ashfield”, the younger woman cried at the touch. “Pray, draw nearer the fire.”

  “Nay, my dear, I cannot stop for I have other visits to make, and if
I get too cosy by your good fire, I shall not wish to stir again until it is too late to make them. Forgive me for chilling your hand, it was thoughtless of me. However, I wanted your family to be the first to hear of my plans. It is my birthday next month. I always felt the dull time after Christmas and the New Year festivities hang rather heavily upon me and I used to wish that I had been born at a prettier and sunnier time of year. Indeed I used regularly to castigate my poor dear Mama on the subject very often, as a child.” She chuckled at the memory. “One could always find enough to amuse one in London, of course, but now I have moved back here, I find that there is a danger of my old ennui returning at this time. However, I also find that I have the means and the will to transform this dreary time into a perfect ferment of anticipation; I mean to hold a ball for the neighbourhood, at the Fox. I have reached half a century and never will again, after all.” She sat back, eyes sparkling and watched the earliest progress of her spell over some of the Much Wenlockians with much satisfaction. All three ladies were enchanted with the idea: cards, music, chat with old friends, all on a much larger scale than was normally attainable, appealed at once to the older ladies, and the prospect of a buffet of treats was an additional enticement to Miss Morrall’s sweet tooth, but for Harri the possibility of a dance was best of all. For Mr and Mrs Mason would surely be invited and there was a strong likelihood that Mrs Mason’s brother too might ride over from Shifnal. She might dare to hope that she would not be obliged to sit down for the whole of the dance on this occasion.

  Miss Ashfield went on: “My sister-in-law is concerned that it will be too out of the way for the townsfolk to attend Tickwood Hall, although my brother would be happy to see some of his tenants and neighbours there to do me honour, but I fear the rooms may not be as suitable for dancing as I am sure the young people may wish.” Miss Ashfield thus glided tactfully over Lady Ashfield’s evident reluctance to allow the hoi polloi to have a rout in her exquisite rooms when Aurelia had first mooted the idea of a birthday ball.