Bitter Herbs Page 3

  Harriet’s mother went humming to her bedroom that night, full of quiet satisfaction at the evening’s conclusion. Her daughter also had a song in her heart and passed the night in very pleasant dreams, with the ginger kitten curled illicitly but snugly on her bed at her feet.

  Chapter 4

  “Miss Bredwardine!” Letitia Fretwood exclaimed, almost sputtering into her coffee as her cousin Mrs Mason handed her more toast at breakfast the next day. “That dowdy spinster! You can’t mean it, Carrie.”

  “Hush, Letty.” Mrs Mason’s pretty forehead creased as she frowned at her cousin’s reaction to the news she had thought would rejoice her. “Miss Bredwardine is a very good woman. She cannot help being a little shabby in her dress. They are very poor but a very good family. It is true, I tell you. Nearly every time John visits us, he calls at the benefice house later. He likes Mr Bredwardine very much, but I think it is his sister who is becoming the stronger attraction for him. I thought you would be delighted as I to hear that John seems to be coming alive again to a woman’s existence as someone other than a sister or a patient since Olivia’s death. It has been six years and Grace sadly lacks a mother’s influence. Miss Bredwardine and her aunt run the Sunday School which everyone speaks highly of. She is ladylike in all that she does. Just think, she would be so kind to Grace, and she would not be extravagant. I would be very pleased to welcome her as my new sister.” Mrs Mason’s eyes sparkled as she said this; Edmund had performed the marriage ceremony for her and her husband just three months ago and she was still getting used to her new and exquisite power to please and be pleased in ways she had never imagined. She would love to see her brother once again as happy as she and Matthew now were, for John’s first marriage had also been a love match, although the pair had been more equal in wealth. Letitia, six years older than the bride of twenty-one and altogether a more cynical personage, brushed this aside.

  “No, no, no, your brother is not to be thrown away on someone who has not money or youth, and who will be as much of a sobersides as he is. He needs shaking out of his melancholy spirits. If he is beginning to look about him and realise at last that other women than poor Olivia exist, then we must put some pretty young things with suitable dowries in his way. In fact I know just the person. Miss Dixon from Wellington is a very good sort of girl, perfect for dear melancholy John, for she is livelier and far wealthier than Harriet Bredwardine. She would cheer him greatly, I daresay. I think I shall invite her to accompany us to the Michaelmas Fair this year.” Letty’s eyes sparkled as much as her cousin’s had done but with rather more mischief and less love in them.

  Just then Mr Mason, a quiet young man who nonetheless commanded attention when he chose to speak and who found Letty a little too flighty to be quite comfortable with her for too long a time, came into the room and wished both ladies ‘good morning’. Letty turned to him.

  “Now Matthew will be on my side, I am sure. Do you not think that John Peplow can do better in the marriage stakes than the curate’s dowdy sister?”

  Mr Mason’s raised his eyebrows in surprise but said mildly: “If John is thinking of marrying, as Carrie hopes, I know, and the lady were agreeable, then I, like Carrie, think that Miss Bredwardine would be a most excellent helpmeet to him. She is quite well-favoured, despite her dowdiness, as you call it, which she cannot help, after all. A curate does not command much wealth.”

  “Exactly what I complain of, and besides, she is too old.” Letty objected further, with a pout. “I know he has one child already but he must long for a son.”

  Mrs Mason blushed at her bold cousin’s indelicacy in front of her husband. She was annoyed too with Letty for raising the subject in front of him when she had meant only to convey to her privately what she thought would be a pleasing secret. She was young enough still as a wife to fret that her husband might think she were addicted to gossip and judge her discretion to be poor.

  “Letty thinks to put some rich young woman in John’s path, Matthew, but I wish you would dissuade her,” she said. Mr Mason looked grave at this. He moderated within himself the astringency of the reply that first occurred to him about Letty’s interference and spoke with the same mildness as before:

  “I should leave John be, Letty. If he likes Miss Bredwardine best, then I would rejoice for him. A man likes to make his own mind up in such matters, you know. Anyway, we must get ready for church. Has Alfred finished his pipe?” Letty’s husband had taken himself outside to enjoy a quiet smoke but entering at that moment, pronounced himself quite ready to accompany them all to service and so, having collected bonnets, hats and coats, they set out.

  The day was quite fine and the paths dry, so Holy Communion was well-attended. Low, middle and high ranks were all represented. The squire was there with his lady and his sister who was visiting him. It was noted with excitement among the gossips that the latter chose a rather masculine coat and skirt, with a cravat affair at her throat, not unlike a man’s. She was rumoured to be independently very wealthy as the sole legatee of a rich and eccentric godmother and therefore used to having her own way. The squire’s land agent, Mr Madeley and his wife, with their daughter Sarah, the secret love of Edmund’s heart, were there, as was Sarah’s acknowledged swain, Jack Corfield, and his family. Other townsfolk, Mr Simmonds and his daughter Sukey Carter, the Marstons, Betty Owen with her little girl Mary, Mr and Mrs Benbow and some of their family, as well as Gwen, Deborah and Daniel, were all present, as was Mrs Bytheway, the Masons and many other parishioners. The younger Mrs Wood, so newly arrived in the town, and already reputed to be excessively fond of finery, was another source of fascination to the town gossips and heads turned as she made her way to her pew just behind her husband and mother-in-law. Her gaily flaunted hat caused whispering to break out amongst some of the middle-ranking matrons:

  “From London, my dear! The latest style, they say!”

  “Rather vulgar, though, do you not think?” said one lady, feeling her own new hat had been quite put in the shade.

  “What is the fashion in sleeves, can you see? Dear Miss Fewtrell’s hat is in the way.”

  “Loose with three gathers, my dear, not counting the cuff.”

  “Oh my word. The hat is quite daring, is it not?”

  “Yes, two more bows than Lady Ashfield’s!” Shocked silence at this revelation followed the raising of eyebrows but they were deprived of further discourse by the start of the service.

  Afterwards groups of natural affinities lingered to chat. The squire’s party were monopolising the curate and his family.

  “Excellent sermon, Bredwardine.”

  “Thank you, Lord Ashfield.”

  “How do ye do, Mrs Bredwardine? Miss Morrall? Miss Bredwardine?” The ladies curtseyed and Mrs Bredwardine replied for them all, to assert they were in good health.

  “Good, good. Bredwardine, I trust you will bring all of your ladies to dine with us very soon. I wish to toast you in particular, Miss Morrall. You have shown such courage in defence of your nephew in that affair of Will Harborough (*2) that I would drink your health.”

  Miss Morrall blushed and looked affrighted, trying vainly to hide behind her niece and her sister. She was very shy in company outside her family circle, unless it was that of children. Edmund was torn between his sensibility of the great honour paid to his little maiden aunt and an acute sense of the equally great agonies that she might suffer on such an occasion.

  “We are deeply honoured, sir, though my aunt is so very modest,” (bowing towards her) “that she may feel overawed in such eminent company.”

  “Nonsense, Bredwardine.” The squire turned towards her. “My dear lady, we shall be a family party only and you shall have your family about you also. Do add your persuasion, my dear.” The squire sought his wife’s aid.

  “Ay, pray come, Miss Morrall,” Lady Ashfield drawled languidly, making it clear from her indifferent tone that it was no matter to her if Miss Morrall attended or not.

  “Well!” thought Mr
s Bredwardine in high dudgeon on behalf of her sister. “Now we know why no earlier invitation has been forthcoming!”

  The squire was momentarily embarrassed by his lady’s lack of warmth. His sister saw his look and came to his rescue at once. She stepped forward and clasped Cecily’s hand warmly between her own.

  “My dear Miss Morrall, I do beg that you will grant me the very great pleasure of making your acquaintance. I have heard the story from Horatio but it would be delightful to hear it from your own lips. Please allow me to second my brother and sister-in-law’s plea for your company at dinner. I would so like to know all your family better.” She smiled winningly at Edmund and his mother and sister as she said this.

  She put her arm through Cecily’s and drew her aside a little, speaking confidentially, close to the older lady’s ear. “I am visiting until at least after the New Year, you know, Miss Morrall, because I think to make my home in Wenlock in due course and I am looking about for a suitable property. It is a pretty spot and near my old haunts. At my age I find the pleasures of London pall, though even as I say it I defy Dr Johnson, for I am certainly not tired of life! It would be most agreeable to come back already knowing some pleasant society beyond my own family circle. Your sister is such a dignified-looking lady and your nephew such a fine young man. He spoke so well in church today. As for your niece, she looks utterly charming.” This warm speech, after the light frost imparted by Lady Ashfield’s indifference, acted like sunshine on a daisy, as the speaker had intended, and Miss Morrall began to unfurl from her shyness, smiling and bowing to Miss Ashfield.

  The latter spoke more loudly again: “Now pray do not deprive us of your company; I feel certain we can become friends. Do you not agree, Miss Morrall?” Then, more softly, she added: “We spinster sisters should band together, you know.”

  The squire quickly took his cue from his sister. “So you see, Miss Morrall, you would assuredly be doing my sister a great kindness in accepting and I should therefore be much obliged to you.”

  Once she believed that she would be helping to entertain another spinster lady, Miss Morrall hesitated no longer and accepted with grace. A date two weeks hence was agreed upon. With this end achieved, the Ashfields took their leave, with two of the party at least well pleased with their success, although the curate’s ladies were instantly beset by cares about their best clothes.

  As soon as the squire’s party had left, Mrs Bredwardine led her family home while Edmund went back inside the church to disrobe. There he saw chatting together another family party, consisting of Deborah and Daniel Morgan, with their mother Margery, as well as Daniel’s sweetheart Peggy and little Dilly Jones, maidservant to Mrs Wood senior, with her mother Emma Jones, who was Mrs Morgan’s sister.

  As soon as they saw Edmund come in, Peggy detached herself from the party and came up to him, and dropped a respectful curtsey.

  “Begging your pardon, Mr Bredwardine, but you mentioned in your notices about a ginger kitten being lost.”

  “Yes, Peggy, do you know who owns him?” Despite his smile, Edmund’s heart sunk a little. At breakfast that morning, the little cat had amused them all by attacking some wool dangled in front of it by Harriet. Though Aunt Cecily and Harriet had both looked a little guilty when Mrs Bredwardine had entered, the latter had made no remark on the invasion of the breakfast room by the animal that she had previously decreed should remain in the kitchen. None of the family wanted to part with him.

  “Well, sir it sounds like it might be one of the litter our kitchen cat ‘ad about two months since; she had seven and one of ‘em was a big ginger tom, but the poor mum was poisoned, sir, three days back. The ginger was a bold un, being the boy, and ‘e must have wandered off before he could take poison too. I did think ‘e must have taken it too and had crawled away somewhere to die but I was pleased to hear he’s safe. It was such a shame – ‘is mother was a pretty cat and all her other little kitties too. ‘Er was a good mouser as well. Missus was very upset, sir. She might ‘ave mentioned herself, sir, if she ‘ad bin ‘ere, but she’s visiting her aunt in Wellington. If you dunna mind, sir, I think it might be best you keep the kitten; Missus swore to Cook that she wouldn’t have another if there was a poisoner about. There are some folks who can’t abide the cats getting the birds and that. It should be out of ‘arm’s way up the other end of town with you.”

  “Thank you, Peggy. We are all already fond of the little animal. Perhaps Providence sent him to us. We will keep him safe.”

  Peggy smiled at him and bobbed another pretty curtsey before making her way back to the group who were waiting for her. As they trooped out of the church together, Dilly sighed and said “you are lucky, Peggy, getting to speak to ‘im like that. I wonder if ‘e has a sweetheart?”

  “Shush, you little goose!” replied her friend, “You could speak to ‘im any time you liked. ‘E doesn’t stand on ceremony. He’s very polite to all the folks, high and low. Mind you, you munna think ‘e would look at you that way, you know, Dill, though you are pretty enough to please ‘is eye, I should think. Mr Bredwardine is gentry. He’s too poor to wed, Deb says. It is a shame. But if ever ‘e does marry, he will marry a lady.”

  “I knows that.” Dilly said ruefully, then bit her lip, wanting to say more; she knew she could not, but she knew too that love could cross social divisions, for had not her own mistress’s daughter-in-law told her so? Dilly was amazed at the story Mrs Charles Wood had told. Evie had taken a fancy to the little maid, whose rapt admiration of her pretty hair and fine clothes was written all over her open and comely face from the moment they had met. This formed such a pleasant contrast to the vinegary visage of her husband’s mother and the general coldness from other wives she met in town, that she had almost unconsciously determined to make a friend of the girl. She loved to see Dilly’s unenvious pleasure in handling the silk, satins and lace of Evie’s wardrobe and allowed her to do so often. Dilly grew devoted to her, for she had a soft heart and was fond in a way even of her own mistress, who on occasion could be kind, albeit in her crabby way, though she only gave her harsh words most of the time. Her shy willingness to fetch and carry for Evie whenever the old lady would spare her led to the growth of a real affection in Evie and one day, in a tipsily confidential moment when she was much warmed by wine (even before dinner), had told her some of her life history including the courtship of Mr Wood. Since then Dilly’s head, never strong, had been full of dreams of well-born young men who might ride into town and seeing her, say, fetch the milk, fall for her charms and raise her from her lowly position to take her to a life in which silk dresses would be hers for the asking. Peggy, who worked for the Wentnors next door to the Woods and had become friendly over the garden hedge on carpet beating days and the like, had been concerned about her growing relationship with Evie Wood. She felt that Dilly was in danger of forgetting her place and she herself disapproved of Evie (‘flighty’, she had opined to herself) but was wise enough not disparage her openly to the smitten Dilly. She did feel it her duty though to try to give the younger and simpler girl a little guidance from time to time.

  Outside the church, a farm labourer called Jem Roberts was loitering, pretending to look at the gravestones and nervously plastering his blond hair across his head. His broad red face lit up at the sight of Dilly, who smiled at him, and he contrived to get her to hang back from the rest of the family group. Peggy, taking the arm of Daniel, smiled and winked at Dilly. “Go on, stay behind and talk to ‘im”, motioning towards the shy Jem with her head. “We’ll walk slow.”

  “’Allo, Dilly” said Jem when they were left together. “’Ere, these be for you.” Shyly he produced a posy of hedgerow flowers from inside his hat, where, truth to say, it had suffered from the heat and compaction.

  “Oh, them’s pretty. Thank you kindly, Jem Roberts” said the little maid, sniffing at them. Conversation now languished. However slowly Peggy had contrived to linger, both for her own sake and for Dilly’s, so that they could spend as much
time as possible with their beaux, the party were now at the cross roads where they must separate to their employers’ homes.

  Jem, rendered desperate, took a deep breath: “Dilly, ‘ud you like to go with me to the Michaelmas Fair?” He quailed inwardly as he waited for her answer in what seemed an eternity to his rapidly beating heart. Would she say no? But his fears were set aside soon enough. Dilly’s vanity, of a small and modest kind, was awakened and thrilled. A personable young man, who had first espied her at church and then sought her eye for several months, even though he blushed furiously and withdrew his gaze whenever he had succeeded, had finally asked for her company. She would have a beau to take her to the fair. She felt elated: sixteen years old, young and pretty and in good health, with an admirer. She felt that her cup was full already.

  “Why, yes, Jem, I ‘ud like that.” Just then her mother called her to say farewell and she raced away, still holding the battered little posy.

  * * *

  Later at the benefice house, the family discussed the events of the day. The kitten had been duly introduced to Judy, Edmund’s spaniel. He had though it best to defer the ceremony until he could be sure that the kitten was to stay. Judy had behaved very well, showing her usual gentleness, but the kitten’s manners in the face of this courtesy left something to be desired, for he hissed and jumped as if on hot coals, his fur inflated, on first sight. However he had calmed down when Judy flopped to the floor and just looked at him mournfully, with raised eyebrows, and it boded well. Talking of other events, Mrs Bredwardine remarked privately to her son that they had best wait for the written confirmation of the invitation to dine at Tickwood Hall before setting out. She had some doubts that Lady Ashfield might still find some excuse to delay further. His Lordship after all had first suggested an invitation to Edmund in early July and it had taken until now for something to be settled.