Bitter Herbs Page 7

  “I didna want to, the first time. I was very merry, sir, cos Frank gave me wine to drink after the races and I lost my senses. When I woke, it were too late. And since then, well... it is hard to say ‘no’, once the harm was done.” Edmund clenched his fists at the thought of the seducer plying innocent and foolish Dilly with drink, but he restrained himself from showing his anger to her.

  “Well, well, we must see what can be done to repair the harm. Do you think, if he is willing, you can make a life with Frank and the child?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, not wanting to disappoint him again. “I will talk to him.”

  “Very good, my dear. Let me know his answer. If he will not, and you wish to pursue this, I will make sure he carries out his duty to you and your baby.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she whispered. Hot shame washed over her again. This was a miserable ending to all her hopes! Her pretty dream of being cherished by a handsome man who would be wise and kind and look after her and her child was shattered and she resigned herself sadly to what must be.

  “You are very kind, reverend. Goodnight.”

  They were both, albeit for different reasons, vastly relieved when he left and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 9

  A fortnight later, at the start of December, the Bredwardines were gathered at the breakfast table, when Deborah brought in a letter on a salver to Harriet, from Miss Ashfield. The latter had visited the Sunday School recently, not once only as promised but three times so far. The first occasion had been a formal affair, with starched pinafores and extra scrubbing behind the ears for the children being provided by their anxious mothers before being presented to the lady, and the aptest scholars being put on their mettle, but the two later occasions had been unannounced, straight after service, and she had astonished Harriet and Aunt Cecily for she had taken part in the class in a practical way, sitting down, without even dusting the chair first, to assist the eldest form of girls very ably with their reading, managing to overcome the awe which they naturally felt in her unlooked-for presence by her sincere encouragement of their efforts. Harriet begged leave to read the letter immediately as she thought that its contents might relate to the school, as Miss Ashfield had talked at their last meeting of providing some funds for materials for the scholars and contributing to the annual Christmas treat. As she perused the letter, her eyes grew wider and she had to supress an exclamation of pure excitement. She looked up at her family, who were all politely carrying on with their meal, but with their curiosity piqued.

  “This is a delight indeed! Mama, Miss Ashfield has written, so kindly, to invite me to travel to London with her to undertake some Christmas shopping.” Harriet passed the letter to her mother who retrieved her spectacles from her reticule and began to read with eagerness:

  ‘My dear Miss Bredwardine,

  I trust this letter finds you and all your family in good health. I have occasion to visit London next week, for a stay of some ten nights, to pay Christmas visits to old friends before the weather closes in on us here, and to finish shopping for winter dresses and some household items. To be frank with you, I had been rather dreading this prospect without any companion other than the servants, since the loss of dear Miss Fenton, but after our talk at dinner recently, I felt that you and I had agreed so well on our taste in muslins, table linen and the like, that it might be killing two birds with one stone if I were to invite you to accompany me. I would consider your advice invaluable, and I flatter myself that we would find each other’s company very agreeable in a scene of novelty to you, since I understood you to say that you had never had the opportunity to visit the metropolis. I sincerely hope that you might be induced to look upon this chance as a treat, even a reward, if you will forgive the presumption, for the sterling work you perform at the school, which I have been privileged to see for myself at your kind invitation on a number of occasions recently. I pray you to forgive the forwardness of one used to making her own way in life, but I would be responsible for all the expenses of the expedition and your mother and brother need have no worry on that score. We would dine simply at home most evenings or would only go out to dine informally at the homes of old friends with whom I am sure you would feel at ease.

  I will follow this letter in person later today to press my suit, if convenient, and to persuade your family to part for a brief time with you, who must be so valuable to them. Do consider, I pray you, the very great kindness you would bestow upon me in acquiescing to my request.’

  The letter finished with the usual salutations. Mrs Bredwardine was on her dignity as someone who was used to bestow patronage rather than seek it, but she was flattered by the admiration of her daughter’s abilities so amply displayed by the generosity of this offer.

  “Miss Ashfield is most obliging, my dear, even if she expresses herself a little too frankly on occasion. This would be a rare treat indeed. What do you think, Edmund?” She passed the paper to her son.

  Edmund asked Harriet’s permission to read by his glance at her before opening the letter. He read it aloud for his aunt’s convenience, smiling as he did so at Miss Ashfield’s characteristic brevity and candour in seeking to achieve her object.

  He looked up at his womenfolk and saw the yearning in Harriet’s eyes. “There is no question but that you must go, my dear Harri. Such a chance may never come again. You must seize it with both hands.”

  Harriet came round the table to clasp embrace them all, speechless with pleasure, before she was bustled away by her aunt and mother to oversee her wardrobe, which gave them grave anxieties.

  * * *

  Thus it was that Miss Ashfield, as good as her word, found Edmund alone in his study when she called a little while later, where in a rare moment of idle amusement before embarking on his pastoral round, he was perusing an ancient pocket sized volume in Latin written by a Jesuit priest, which speculated on the nature of angels; he had picked it up cheaply in Rome when he had been acting as a tutor to a rich young man, just after his ordination. Edmund took the opportunity to thank her with quiet sincerity for his favour to his sister.

  “Dear Harriet has never asked for anything for herself in a life of devotion to others, and she would have obeyed our mother without question if she had not been able to spare her, but the delight in her eyes when we insisted she should go was very pleasant to see, as I am sure you will agree when you observe it for yourself. Let me call her down to you.”

  Miss Ashfield put a hand on his arm to prevent him. “Mr Bredwardine, wait one moment, I pray you. We have not met more than a few times, but I hope that you will have seen enough of me to know that I do not like to let the grass grow under my feet. I have lost enough people in my life to know that one must seize the day, as the old Roman poet said. As soon as I met all your family, I felt an affinity that gave me great comfort. My brother is a fine man, but little at home, being so involved as he is with civic duties and the interests of the estate, and Lady Ashfield has much to occupy her with her child and household duties of course.” Miss Ashfield did not add (as she might have done to an older acquaintance) that this distance between herself and Lady Ashfield suited her preference perfectly well. I hope you will not take offence at my bestowing patronage on your sister, particularly after so short an acquaintance?”

  “How could I, madam? Harriet is so deserving of the same.” Edmund bowed. He smiled at the lady.

  She thanked him, relieved to have his assurance, and then started to look about her in interest. His fine microscope, a gift from the rich young man’s father, attracted her immediately and they were engrossed in using it to survey some specimens in minute detail when his womenfolk came back down.

  As he expected, Miss Ashfield was soon comforted and delighted to find such ready consent to her plans amongst his family and she thanked them all for conceding to her ‘selfish cowardice’ as she described her reluctance to travel alone.

  “Pray do not disparage such a neighbourly impulse, Miss Ashfield; we
all feel your condescension and attention to our dear Harriet very much. Friendship between people who measure each other’s worth so acutely can be as important as ties of blood,” Mrs Bredwardine assured her warmly. “Only think what scenes you will see, my dear,” she said, turning to her daughter, who had been worrying about the implications of her departure.

  Thus addressed directly, Harriet started up in consternation from the reverie into which she had momentarily lapsed. “Oh mama, perhaps I should not go! I have not finished the christening robe for Mrs Lawrence’s baby and I have the Christmas baking for the orphanage to oversee.”

  “Now, now, my dear.” Mrs Bredwardine was brisk in her reply. “Your aunt and I are not so decrepit yet that we cannot manage those tasks for you for once, and I know that Sarah Madeley will readily assist us if we should need her. She will help your aunt at the school too, I am sure. Supposing, heavens forfend, you were to be taken ill at any time? We should all have to manage then, should we not? You are not to persuade yourself out of this pleasure – it is not as if your days were filled with idleness.”

  Edmund was quick to second this. “Indeed not, Harriet. Do not spurn this gift. It has come to you by the Lord’s grace though the agency of Miss Ashfield because of your own deserts.” It took a little more argument but Harriet was gradually soothed into compliance since she saw her own cherished wish would also give pleasure to others.

  Satisfied once this outcome had been achieved, Miss Ashfield now turned to the package she had brought with her. “It occurred to me after I despatched my note that I have may have inconvenienced you by my precipitate invitation, insofar as I have left you but little time to prepare your wardrobe. I may be able to help remedy this however. I had recently purchased this suit for travelling from Hill’s in Shrewsbury but after parading before my looking glass, I had reluctantly concluded that the colour and pattern is much more suitable for a younger person. I really do not know how I allowed the assistant to persuade me that it became me. It is an instance of that need for another sincere friend’s judgement that I want so sorely these days. Perhaps with some alteration, achievable in the time we have left, it might be of use to you?” Fresh exclamations of pleasure followed this statement and Harriet was once again borne away to try on her new apparel, which was proclaimed most satisfactory and indeed could almost have been made for her, so well did it fit, even though Miss Ashfield was a little taller than she. Mrs Bredwardine thought it likely that the costume had been intended for Harriet all along, and was touched by the tactful way in which Miss Ashfield had presented it to her daughter.

  Miss Ashfield had not finished astonishing the Bredwardine family with her generosity however. After careful contemplation of the pleasure her invitation had occasioned, and her reflection on the absorbing conversation she and Edmund had enjoyed before his family had appeared from upstairs, she resolved to include him in her invitation. She sensed that this attention would be most pleasing to his mother, whose good sense she respected. She and her brother had in conversation agreed that Edmund was a worthy young man, however much the Reverend Moore might disparage him. It would be an excellent opportunity for the curate, poor as he was, for he had abilities that were suited for a wider stage than dear little Wenlock. The expense would be trifling as she had not yet relinquished the tenancy of her London home, where she retained a small staff and where her guests would lodge and dine and with her. She was finally resolved when she saw the interest kindle in Edmund’s brown eyes as she mentioned her planned Christmas visit to John Soane, whose house was a living museum of architecture and artefacts from around the world, a great attraction to any person of culture and information. No sooner had she thought of it than she acted on her warm impulse.

  “Dear Mr Bredwardine, would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to accompany us? It would give me such pleasure to introduce you to Mr Soane *(5). He is a hospitable man, though he does not suffer fools gladly, and he loves to show men of sense and taste over his house, which is an Aladdin’s cave of wonders. He intends, I believe, to bequeath it to the nation, provided that it can be preserved as he has laid it out, with every nook and cranny left adorned just as it is. Do let me persuade you to say ‘yes’. It would be a great comfort to us ladies to have you as our protector, if your mother and aunt would allow me to snatch you away?”

  Edmund started to protest at this too liberal helping of generosity, in much the same terms as his sister, concerning the press of his parish duties, especially in the weeks before Christmas. He thought privately too that Miss Ashfield was not someone who would relish too greatly the idea of a male protector, though he admired her tact at putting him in this role to tempt his acquiescence.

  “I would be profoundly indebted to you, Miss Ashfield, but I fear I could not abandon my many duties at such short notice during Advent. Forgive me.”

  “Ah yes, of course, how inconsiderate of me to think only of my own pleasure and not your duty.” Miss Ashfield was disappointed but she saw that his womenfolk were more sorry yet that he might not have his share of the enjoyment. Thinking hard, she brightened up again. “But perhaps we can overcome the difficulty by a shorter visit? Lord Ashfield will be joining me for just two nights to meet Soane, leaving on the morning of Tuesday the eighth. I am taking my own carriage and coachman and my brother will follow in his own, returning on the thirteenth. Lady Ashfield will stay at home. It would be tiring, I own, travelling for two days to spend only two in London and then two more days on the return journey, but that would not interfere so much with your duties as a longer stay, perhaps?” She put an extra note of pleading into her voice, and was immediately backed up by a Greek chorus of women who gradually wore down his objections and convinced him of the propriety of acceding to her request.

  Much later, when notes of apology had been dispatched to various parishioners in anticipation of his absence, using Daniel as a messenger, and the packing of Harriet’s small trunk was planned to the very last detail, Mrs Bredwardine confided her belief about the travelling clothes for Harriet to Edmund, who in the absence of the persuasive lady herself was again inclined to feel a little oppressed by the weight of his obligation to Aurelia. His mother dismissed this:

  “No, my boy, you should not feel guilty, any more than dear Harriet should. It gives Miss Ashfield much harmless pleasure to play the Lady Bountiful, I believe, and heaven knows, the parish needs someone to take up the role since Lady Ashfield chooses to neglect it, my dear, and Lady Harley is not in the parish often enough to fill it completely. Miss Ashfield lacks her own children and it is only right that, like many other women, she must find a vent for her natural feelings. No, you were quite right in what you said to your sister: this is a gift and we should not spurn it.”

  Chapter 10

  Thus it was that Edmund was setting out to London with Lord Ashfield just as Annie was trying to shake Dilly awake, as she thought. Exasperated at her lack of success, she pulled the bedclothes right off the sleeping girl, knocking a small vial to the floor as she did so. Annie froze in horror at the sight of Dilly’s face: her eyes were open and her pupils widely dilated. Her hands were clenched. She did not sleep: she was stone dead.

  Annie did not give way to screams or panic, though her heart was beating painfully and she felt very hot, despite the chill of the room. She slapped at Dilly’s cheeks for a moment, more in despair than in real hope of reviving her and then put her head to her chest to try to discern a beat, but all was still. She bit her lip and ran for the master. Within a short space of time the apothecary Mr Trent had been summoned to the house. He examined Dilly but quickly declared her to be beyond hope. There was vomit around her mouth and on her pillow; she was curled up as if in abdominal pain and she had evidently thrashed her arms and hands about in her death throes as her sheets were disordered, but the stopper of a glass container was still grasped in the fingers of her right hand. Charles Wood, still in his rumpled night clothes, stood on the landing wringing his hands as the apothec
ary straightened the body and drew the sheet over Dilly’s little head, having closed her poor staring eyes. As he did so he trod on the vial Annie had missed and bent down to pick it up. He held it up to the light but it was empty. Mr Trent sniffed at it cautiously. Mr Wood paled and gasped.

  “Is that poison? How could this be? Dear God, has she done away with herself?” He started as he heard his mother imperiously calling from her room: “Dilly, Dilly! Where are you girl, where is my tea?”

  “Annie, be quick, see to Mrs Wood’s tea, I beg you. Say nothing about this. Say Dilly is unwell, if she asks.”

  Annie made an involuntary grimace at this but hastened to do his bidding, glad to be active but feeling sick herself as she thought of the death that had occurred above her all unbeknown in the night. She had to badger Mrs Grant the cook and the other servants, who having heard the ghastly news, were huddled around the stove, shocked and shivering, to assemble Mrs Wood’s breakfast.

  Mrs Wood was querulous and looked askance at Annie as came in with the tea-tray. “What are you doing here? Where is Dilly? It’s half-past eight, for heaven’s sake. Whatever is the girl doing?”

  “Beg pardon, ma’am, but Dilly cannot come. She is poorly.”

  “I’ll give her ‘poorly’, the idle little trollop. I don’t suppose it is more than a headache. She should be here. I need her. Rouse her up and send her to me at once. At once, I say. She is a selfish, sly cat.”

  Hearing this abuse poured out on one who would never serve the old lady again, Annie could not bear it any longer. “Oh, dunna, ma’am, please. Please don’t go on at ‘er. She canna come to you, I swear,” and with those words, the long delayed tears began to flow.