Bitter Herbs Read online

  “I beg pardon, ma’am. I know I should not be so truculent but it’s rather hard upon a man to be upbraided for neglect when I was about business that will bring us closer to our heart’s desire, to be wed. Forgive me, won’t you, mother dear?” He went down on one knee as he spoke and reached for her hand in a supplicating pose. He looked so comical that she had to give in to laughter and tap him with her fan in mock reproof. She would not let him gain all the victory however.

  “Get up, you wretch. Go and reclaim her quickly, before Mr Bredwardine can ask her for another dance. She has danced twice with him already, and it is only his clerical garb that stops the gossips’ tongues clacking. Be off now.” She meant it as a hint, which Jack was quick to pick up and bridle at.

  As soon as the dancers reached them, Jack took Sarah’s hand proprietorially and led her away for a private conference, unable to hide something of a scowl in his hurried greeting to Edmund, who understood and forgave, because the last hour had been rich to him indeed.

  He did not want to stand and watch Sarah and Jack dance, nor did he choose to solicit another lady’s hand at that moment, since the need for polite small talk would have grated on him just then, while his heart was overflowing; his mother and aunt were well amused and intent on their cards and Harri, he was overjoyed to see, was most satisfactorily engaged in talking to Dr. Peplow. He would not intrude on that conversation for the world and decided instead to go out of the inn for a while to seek some fresher air and to cool his cheeks.

  On the stairs he met Mr and Mrs Charles Wood coming up, arriving a little late. Mrs. Wood leaned heavily on her husband’s arm and he seemed by no means steady. They stopped in their uncertain progress to acknowledge Edmund. Charles was rather red in the face and blear-eyed while his wife was calmer in countenance but still undeniably exhilarated, perhaps by the prospect of an evening’s entertainment free from the disapproving eye of her mother-in-law, or perhaps because she had already imbibed a little fortification against the night air.

  “Good evening to you both,” said Edmund.

  “Good evening, Mr Bredwardine,” said Charles, making a somewhat exaggerated bow in an effort to regain his balance on the stair against the banisters, “delighted to see you, sir. I trust we find you well.”

  “Very well, I thank you. I was sorry to have missed Mrs Wood when I called recently. How are you settling into your new life here at Wenlock?

  “Oh, well enough, eh my dear?” Charles patted his wife’s arm.

  “I won’t pretend I don’t miss the bustle of London, sir,” said she to Edmund. “I find it so very quiet here.”

  “So you must. I found London exceedingly lively when I went there last December; some attraction or diversion was available every day. It was very stimulating. It must be difficult to adjust to life in our quiet little town, but in time you will come to appreciate its virtues, I trust. Of course you have also had to deal with the unsettling matter of your little maid’s passing. I hope your household has returned to calm?”

  Mrs Wood shivered and drew her wrap about her. Charles showed embarrassment. Edmund observed them keenly. Was there some trace of guilt in their faces, or simply honest distress?

  “Forgive me. I should not have reminded you of such a distressing topic.”

  “We don’t forget poor Dilly, sir, but we are striving to knit the strands of our lives together. It hit my mother particularly hard.”

  “Indeed it must have done. I trust the elder Mrs Wood is well?

  “Quite well, sir, thank you.” Another shadow crossed Evie’s face as she spoke, and again she looked wary and unhappy.

  “She is at home in bed, sir, for she has a cold. We agreed that it would be best for her to rest, rather than come out in the winter weather,” Charles hastily interjected. All three could not help but think too how much happier all the company would be, free of her dour presence and waspish tongue.

  “She’s well asleep, sir. I made sure of that,” Evie suddenly laughed. She started to wink at Edmund but recollected herself a little too late and hastily brushed her eyelid with her fingers as though to remove a speck of dirt. “Yes, a little drop of something in her tea to do her good. She will sleep very well tonight, won’t she, my love?” Mrs Wood giggled a little and her husband began to usher her further up the stairs.

  “Yes, yes, my dear. We had better go on up, my dove, or Miss Ashfield will think us lacking in courtesy by arriving so late. We will see you later, Reverend?

  “Yes, surely,” said Edmund, with a bow. He stood aside and watched the Woods ascend the stairs before continuing slowly to walk down himself, and was soon lost in thought.

  Chapter 23

  He heard later that night from Harri that while he had been outside talking to some of the coachmen, Mrs Wood had made a fool of herself, drinking too much punch and causing tongues to wag. She had accidentally barged into Mrs Edwards and spilt punch on that lady’s best shawl, a very severe offence. The townsfolk were scandalised and titillated in equal measure. Charles too had seemed inebriated, though there was some sympathy for him, always under the thumb of such a hard mother. It seemed only natural that he should kick over the traces when she was out of earshot, but his lack of control over his wife was disdained. Edmund was more than ever convinced that he might uncover the truth of Dilly’s death by talking to the family members of the unhappy household, and he accordingly made time during his parish round the next morning to do so.

  Annie let him in and presently Mrs Charles Wood entered the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, though whether with tears or the effects of drink, Edmund could not judge.

  She smiled uncertainly at him and almost tottered to a seat, in a way which would have been comical had it not been so pitiable. She asked Edmund to sit, motioning toward a chair to one side of her, so that he would not be looking at her face on. He enquired gravely after her health and offered to return at a more convenient time.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but the truth is I have been very unwell this morning. I never knew aught like it. It must have been the heat at the ball last night, or perhaps I ate summat that disagreed with me, or perhaps I took a little too much punch. She did indeed look pale and hollow-eyed.

  “Let me get you some water, Mrs Wood,” said Edmund, getting up to reach for a carafe of clear liquid he saw on a nearby table. Edmund was surprised however to smell spirits as he removed the glass over the neck and started to pour the fluid into it.

  “Lumme, sir, not that one, bless you. ‘Tis full of gin,” she warned, “and I couldn’t face a single drop just now, though they do say a hair of the dog‘s the thing, but not today. I’ll ring.” Edmund had much ado to conceal his own shock at the nature of the ‘water’ and the casual manner in which Mrs Wood spoke of it.

  Annie came in response to the bell and soon provided Mrs Wood with water, which she took up with a shaky hand. Annie glanced at Edmund, embarrassed that he should see her mistress in this condition.

  “Ahh, that’s better. Now then, Reverend, how can I help you?” Mrs Charles dabbed at her mouth with her handkerchief and put on a brave smile, although her eyes still seemed a little unfocused.

  “I am sorry to impose on you while you are feeling under the weather, Mrs Wood, but this unhappy business of poor Dilly Jones has been preying on my mind for a long time and I would like to ask you some questions.” Once again a spasm of fear and unhappiness passed across the young woman’s face as he spoke, and she hastily gulped down some more water.

  “Oh, sir, pray don’t bring that up again, I beg you, “ she murmured. “We never seem to be free of it. My mother-in-law never ceases to complain about the poor girl’s absence and how unlike her poor Mary is. My husband frets when anyone mentions it. He saw the body, you know. I kept to my room throughout. The servants still cry over her. It’s a sad, sad business.”

  “I am sorry that this has overshadowed your early married days; but what are your own thoughts, madam? Dilly informed me that you were fond
of her and I know from what she told me about herself that she admired you.”

  At this the woman’s face crumpled completely and the tears fell freely.

  “Oh don’t, sir, don’t, I pray you. It seems now like that little girl was my only friend in this foul old town – the only one apart from my husband who ever gave me a smile and cared for me in her feeble little way, and now she’s gone and in such a sad way too.” She wiped her face ineffectually, her small stained cambric handkerchief inadequate to the task, and looked up at Edmund.

  “I cannot bear it much longer,” she said, fiercely, “the sly looks and the catty tongues. I cannot so much as go to church or even the drapers’ without them all judging me and turning their backs. I thought the ball would be a bit of fun at last and Miss Aurelia was very kind, I must own, but the rest of the wives and old maids was all the same, clacking hard-hearted witches (just like her upstairs),” muttering this last sotto voce. She started and then continued. “Begging your pardon sir, I didn’t mean none of your family, o’ course, they are always genteel, but some of the rest! They would laugh the other side of their faces if they saw the way one or two of their husbands wink at me, the rogues. What’s more the behaviour of some of the old cats have turned my Charles against me, sir, I know they have. He is so morose these days, not like our courting days. He used to laugh then and never care about tomorrow but now, he leaves me alone so much, it’s as though he is ashamed of me. No wonder I take a little secret solace, sir,” she said, nodding her head towards the carafe of gin. “I do wonder if he wants rid of me now? Perhaps he seeks to drive me to an early grave or even the lunatic asylum. I’ve been that sick lately, I shouldn’t wonder if he hasn’t tried to poison me.” Edmund looked very grave at this. Evie looked into the bottom of her glass with disgust, perhaps at the weakness of its contests, and pushed it aside wearily.

  “These are very alarming fears, Mrs Wood, “said Edmund. “How long have you been feeling unwell like this?”

  “About six weeks, or more,” she replied, listlessly.

  “Have you consulted a doctor?”

  “No, thank you.” She spoke vehemently. “I never did trust them, sir. Bring the doctor in? Send for the undertaker straight after. No, sir, a good drop of summat usually sets me right but not this time, I must confess. I shall be better by and by, I daresay.”

  “Forgive me, Mrs Wood, but do you get restless when this illness is upon you? Do you often seek fresh air, for instance, perhaps early in the morning?” She looked surprised at the question but answered readily enough. “Sometimes, sir, yes. I will put my head out of the back door.”

  “Did you do so on early in the morning of the fourteenth, or even late on the Wednesday night, by any chance? I have a particular reason to ask.” She shrugged.

  “I might have done, sir, but I don’t remember precisely.” She cast a look of longing at the carafe. “Is it important?”

  “I am not sure,” he replied. “Is it possible that you were seeking for something you might have dropped in the garden?”

  “That ain’t likely, sir. I don’t set foot out there much, especially in this weather. The town’s muddy enough, without going into the garden as well.”

  At that moment, they were interrupted by the return to the house of Charles, who looked somewhat alarmed at the sight of his wife and Edmund in conference. He looked warily at the level of liquid in the guilty carafe and surreptitiously sniffed at the glass of water his wife asked him to replenish for her. He turned to greet his guest.

  “Good morning, Mr Bredwardine. You are well, I hope.”

  “I am in good health, thank you. I am sorry to find that is not the case with your wife.”

  “The after effects of our dissipation at the ball, I fear. I have been out for a ride to work off the stuffiness in my head, but Evie does not ride, alas.”

  “Not I! It would suit you to see me take a tumble from a great beast of a horse and break my neck, I suppose?” Maudlin tears followed this outburst, and Edmund shifted in his seat, embarrassed to witness the disagreement between husband and wife.

  “Hush, my dear,” said Charles, not unkindly. “You must not trouble our visitor with such nonsense. For shame, my love, for you know it is nonsense.” Charles frowned, debating within himself whether to get his wife away to her room as soon as may be, or whether this would only be likely to drive her into making more of a scene. Edmund observed him closely. Was Charles, perhaps not unnaturally, regretting his marriage? Edmund knew of the deception Evie had practised upon the young man. How had she passed it off to him? Did he know the truth and grow bitter at his entrapment? Or did he still think that it had been simply an act of nature that his non-existent baby had never lived? Did he fully share Evie’s tendency to inebriation, or was he beginning to feel ashamed of her behaviour in public? Was he hypocritical enough to see the mote in her eye while ignoring the beam in his own? The town gossips, as Mrs Charles had already found, showed no mercy to a woman who was intemperate.

  He rose from his seat. “I had better leave you in peace, but I would appreciate a word with you, Wood, if not now, then at some future time. I shall see you both in church this Sunday, I hope?”

  “Yes, yes, of course, Reverend. Goodbye. Wait, let me show you out.” Charles left his wife disconsolately pulling at the fringe of a cushion as she wished Edmund a feeble ‘good day’, and accompanied him to the door.

  “I apologise on behalf of my wife, Mr Bredwardine. She is not at all herself right now. She has found our move here a great disappointment, alas. She and my mother are not good friends. Their temperaments do not suit each other, I fear.”

  “It must be difficult for you, caught between your love for them both.”

  “You no doubt think me naive in expecting that they might ever get on, as their characters are so different, but we hoped that my mother would be so interested in her expected grandchild that it would smooth the way, but it was not the case, for my wife was mistaken and disappointed in her hopes.” He shook his head sadly. So that was the way of it; Charles, it seemed, remained deceived on this topic. Edmund would certainly not contribute further to his evident misery.

  He only murmured sympathetically: “A great pity.”

  “Yes, but there it is, said Charles, in a philosophic spirit. “I begin to think that our move back to Wenlock was a grave mistake. The town is altogether too small for Evie’s lively spirits and my mother is too absorbed in her grief at my father’s passing, I think, to be cheered by our company.” Edmund could not help raising an eyebrow. Charles must have been naïve indeed to imagine that a person of his mother’s determined character could have been on good terms with any daughter-in-law other than an exceptionally strong individual whom she might respect, or an exceptionally mild-mannered person who would give her respect and deference. In either instance this was as far as possible from the pretty Cockney barmaid Charles had dared to bring home. Perhaps that was why little Dilly had suited her so as her own servant.

  “Will you consider removing back to London, then?” he asked. The young man’s face flushed. “Well, to tell you the truth, sir, mother keeps a tight hand on the purse- strings, as she was always wont to do. I am not sure the legacy my father left to me will take Evie and me very far in London, unless I could win some commissions for my art, but canvases and paint don’t come cheap, you know, and I think it might be better to seek some other place, for harmony’s sake. Poor Evie – she had so hoped to make a success of entering our small town’s society, in her London finery, but I am well aware that she has failed. Poor chick! Her fine feathers droop just now. But then, my mother’s health is less robust than you might think, you know, and I would feel that I was abandoning her altogether while she is at a low ebb if we were to leave just now.” He rubbed his hand across his brow in perplexity.

  “It is difficult,” he said, raising his eyes diffidently to Edmund’s face, as if seeking advice, “to know what course to pursue, to suit all parties.”
/>   “I am very sorry to hear your mother is also unwell.”

  “Yes, she keeps to her room a good deal. She boils up all kinds of concoctions and tonics for herself over her own grate. She seems to have got it into her head that we are trying to poison her.” Poison again mentioned! What a cloud of suspicion lowers over this house, thought Edmund. Charles had clearly decided to disburden himself fully of his woes to the priest who had not upbraided him with harsh words but listened calmly and compassionately. “Truth be told, it makes us all rather miserable. It is only that Evie thought to try to get her to show a friendlier demeanour and to relax her stiff manners a little by putting a spot of brandy into her tea from time to time, nothing more. She meant no harm. She did not conceal it from me. We did it on the night of the ball, in fact. You remember Evie was a little careless that night, as was I, in all honesty, and we thought it would do her no harm but give her a good night’s sleep. However she has been in a great taking the next morning, and accused us of trying to murder her, and stealing from her, God knows what. I am at a loss to know what to do. I would not disclose the unhappy state of our affairs to anyone else, sir, but it is such a relief to talk to someone dispassionate but kindly. I know you will honour my confidences.” Charles raked his hair with his hands. Edmund patted his shoulder in sympathy.