An Appetite for Violets Page 5

  As I watched him, Mr Loveday’s sad eyes turned around to a spot behind me, and he stiffened like a sentry. Mr Pars looked up and also gave a start. Turning around I found the object of their interest. Right near me, at the back of the hall, stood Lady Carinna, splendid in a blue gown that shone like an angel’s glory.

  It was a battle for Mr Pars to reach her; his blood was up for he knocked a few loiterers out of his path.

  He was stiffly correct by the time he bowed before her. ‘Lady Carinna. If you had but rung—’

  ‘Rung? Damn you, Pars. If there is no answer to my ringing?’ Her voice carried loudly and those close by began to turn and stare. Then the play halted too, for old George had missed his cue. For a moment there was a hubbub, till silence fell and Lady Carinna noticed us all agog.

  ‘Mr Pars,’ she hissed, as loud as a swishing whip, ‘I must discuss our departure at once.’ Then she turned with a rapid shimmer of blue silk and our steward trotted after her.

  After a moment’s silence all the company burst into curious chatter.

  ‘Where she be off to then?’ asked fat Nell the laundress who stood close by me. ‘Back to London, you fancy?’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said, puzzled and uneasy. ‘For I reckon she brings only trouble here.’

  VII

  Mawton Lodge

  The Correspondence of Mr Humphrey Pars

  All Souls’ Day, 1st November 1772

  PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE

  North Lodge

  Mawton

  1st November 1772

  Mr Ozias Pars

  Marsh Cottage

  Saltford

  Ozias,

  Brother, I have no time for courtesies, for the news here at Mawton is so prodigious I must share it at once. Two days ago, Sir Geoffrey’s bride arrived here without news or notice. And this close on word that Sir Geoffrey himself has retreated to his Irish estate, after no more than ten days’ dalliance with his bride in London. Oh, the folly of old men!

  As for the girl, she had not been here a single day before I knew her to be as tainted and shallow as a puddle. However, she does not lack a vixen’s cunning, as you will learn. Last night she confided to me that by the month’s end she will leave for France and onwards to Italy, where her uncle owns a property. I asked if her husband would join her. ‘No, no, he is too liverish to travel at this time of year,’ says she. ‘But he insists I must go for my health that declines in this northern chill. And I should like you to lead my little expedition, Pars, for I do so need a man of good sense to make my arrangements. Indeed, he writes to me of his absolute trust,’ she said, ‘that you will appoint a sound deputy while you are absent.’

  Now letters had arrived, I knew that, but from her insistence on always sending her own man for the post box I had lost my usual intelligence. I left her with assurances I would think on the matter.

  I have been considering the situation with great thoroughness of mind. I have sought assurances from young John Strutt that he will do his best to oversee my land agent’s duties, the farm and household. Then, last night on Souling Night my lady brought all to a head, interrupting the revels to tell me she wished urgently to gather the funds for her travel. No sooner was Sir Geoffrey’s dresser open than she rifled through it, as quick as a dealer of cards at the Assembly Rooms. Soon there was close upon £1,400 upon the table.

  ‘This is not suffcient,’ she said. ‘Look here, I bring with me a letter of credit signed by Sir Geoffrey himself. You must visit Sir Geoffrey’s banker in Chester tomorrow and draw a further £1,000 for the journey.’ I perused her letter and found it most properly drawn up, with Sir Geoffrey’s own seal and signature – a little shaky for sure, but I would swear in a court of law it was his own hand. Brother, you see how these Town Madams may run through a Fortune?

  ‘Speed is all,’ she entreated, ‘for we must leave for London and reach Dover before the winter storms.’

  She then told me who should make up the party, the splendour of her equipage and so forth.

  ‘And I am to choose what jewels I like,’ she said, ‘for I must not embarrass Sir Geoffrey’s good name.’

  Then she commanded me to give her Lady Maria’s jewel, the Mawton Rose. Oh, with what reluctance did I hand her that precious stone. If I were a man of fancy, I should say the gem cast a baleful glow on its new mistress’s greedy face. She pressed me to hang it about her neck, and as my fingers fumbled with the clasp I was dreadfully tormented by the memory of sweet Lady Maria.

  Only as I left the room did she ask, ‘So you will join my little adventure?’ I looked at the bonds and the jewel and her cunning narrow face and replied, ‘I will indeed, My Lady.’

  To my advantage, I believe she thinks me some sort of witless drudge, but I will watch and wait and bide my time.

  E’en so, brother, my heart beats as quick as a soldier’s tattoo at such a rapid change in my affairs. I have maps to obtain, strongboxes to be commanded, horses to inspect, and sailing times to negotiate. I will go Ozias, and I will protect my master’s interests. On my oath I will do all in my means to protect the Mawton fortune, should I travel from here to Italy or around the world and back again. I shall write when I may from the road and by that means I shall instruct you as,

  Your zealous brother,

  Humphrey Pars

  VIII

  Mawton Hall

  Being All Hallows to Martinmas, November 1772

  Biddy Leigh, her journal

  * * *

  A Portable Soup for Travellers

  Take three legs of veal, one of venison, two pig’s feet or whatsoever other good meats are at hand. Lay in a boiler with butter, four ounces of anchovies, two ounces of mace, five or six celery, three carrots, a faggot of herbs, put water in to cover it close and set it on the fire for four hours. Strain it through a hair sieve and set it on the fire another day to boil till it be thick like glue. Pour it on flat earthen dishes and let it stand till the next day. Cut it out like a crown piece and set out in the sun. Put them in a tin box with writing paper betwixt every cake. This is a very useful soup for travellers for by adding boiling water it will make a good basin of broth or mix readily with pottages, stews or gravies.

  Martha Garland, 1750, a most useful receipt given me by Mistress Salter of Chester

  * * *

  On Souling Night I kept looking out for Mr Pars, so I could send Jem over with news of our wedding. But when at last he did come back he clambered quickly onto the Mummers’ stage.

  ‘It is with deep regret I must address you,’ he said, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. ‘For I have just learned that neither our master nor mistress will be home next year. Consequently, the estate will not require such a great number of you to be employed. Firstly, there are those persons who might remain at Mawton on reduced pay. These are the stablemen and others needed to tend the stock.’ This met with cries that they must all have full wages to live. ‘The second list,’ he boomed above the racket, ‘are those persons to be laid off at the month’s end.’

  ‘So it’s the poorhouse for us,’ wailed a shrill voice, to a chorus of jeers. I looked over to Jem, but he still had his head in a pot. ‘Finally, there is the list of those who are to accompany Her Ladyship to the continent.’ At that, silence. ‘And that list being so short, I can instantly give it,’ he said.

  ‘Firstly, myself. I will be travelling to Europe as Lady Carinna’s guide and protector.’

  So that is it, I thought. He is all puffed up at being chosen to travel abroad.

  ‘And Miss Jesmire, of course, being Her Ladyship’s personal maid. And also Loveday, Her Ladyship’s footman.’ I glanced at my new friend, who nodded his head slowly. ‘Next, so far as to Dover with His Lordship’s carriage, George Stapleforth.’ That caused a roar, for old George had never been outside the county.

  Then Mr Pars looked into the crowd, and to my surprise, his gaze lit on me.

  ‘And lastly, so we need not eat these foreign kickshaws, Her Ladyship wil
l take Biddy Leigh.’

  It was all too outlandish. I was no London servant able to smooth the way of a lady in foreign parts. ‘No, sir!’ I cried out without thinking. ‘I in’t going nowhere.’

  ‘You shall go, miss,’ Mr Pars commanded. ‘And show proper gratitude to your generous mistress.’

  To my own astonishment I answered back, before the whole company.

  ‘I will not go, sir, begging your pardon. For I am to marry Jem Burdett and cannot and will not go.’

  That left all the company jabbering like geese. A great hubbub broke out, for this was news even to my kitchen maids, who shrieked to hear I had ensnared their favourite. Jem attempted to stand, though nearly legless with ale, but did agree that ‘Biddy will have me for a husband and I durst not refuse.’ I could have brained the lummocks, and all those who roared with laughter.

  ‘Both of you come to my office. Eight o’clock,’ Mr Pars commanded.

  * * *

  Next morning we stood uneasily in Mr Pars’ office, as our steward sat at his desk beneath costly maps and leather books. Jem was still lushy and held a cloth to his mouth.

  ‘So, are you forced to marry?’ Mr Pars began, then blew a plume of blue pipe smoke towards the ceiling. ‘If so, the rules state you must both lose your positions.’ Not receiving a reply for I was too amazed, he demanded of me, ‘Have you been playing the wanton with this young fellow?’

  Jem spluttered into his kerchief. I had caught my breath at last. ‘That is not true at all, sir. Such talk is slander.’

  ‘Slander is the ruling of a judge,’ Mr Pars mocked, ‘and not the whim of a kitchen maid.’

  ‘I never granted Jem that freedom, I do swear it,’ I said earnestly. ‘Mr Pars, sir. Do hear me when I say I cannot go, sir.’

  Setting down his pipe he clasped his hands across his round stomach. ‘Now listen, my dear. Consider. It would be a shame to put a newly married man out of work.’

  ‘Oh, you would not,’ I wailed.

  He shrugged. ‘He is an outdoor man and may not be needed.’

  ‘Then we will leave together and find other work.’ I grasped Jem’s hand and made to get up.

  ‘Hold! I have not finished.’

  Reluctantly, we bumped back together like skittles.

  ‘There is your bonus of five guineas to consider.’

  At this Jem finally seemed to wake. ‘Five guineas, Mr Pars, sir?’

  ‘Aye, lad. I will pay your betrothed her full wage and another five guineas bonus on condition she takes her year abroad. What better foundation could there be for your marriage, lad?’

  He pulled out a golden coin from his strongbox and set it standing on the mantel. How Jem gawped at King George’s fat face, which beamed like a great lardy woman. Then my sweetheart tugged his cap and said, ‘Thank’ee, Mr Pars, sir. Say thank’ee, Biddy.’

  ‘We could find other work, Jem,’ I begged, but I knew Mr Pars had won. For five guineas that lad would send me away with less sorrow than a pet pig to slaughter.

  * * *

  I hate boiling bones. Day after day I made Portable Soup, throwing dead creatures into the cauldron, till the mass of boiled sinew smelled like a renderer’s yard. To add to my misery, it seemed that Mrs Garland was punishing me, as well she might, for she knew that butchery was the one branch of cookery I hated.

  As I stirred the cauldron I recalled a day when the master and his hunting cronies had galloped into our yard, the horses steaming and blowing from a dawn hunt. The stablemen ran to them, but whilst the others dismounted, Sir Geoffrey sat victorious on his jittering mount, downing a tankard of liquor. With raw satisfaction he watched the gamekeepers unload his bounty. Then his eye fixed on me where I stood at the door.

  ‘You, kitchen maid! Do I pay you to stand idle?’ he shouted like a deaf man. ‘That doe that was brought to bay by the thicket, I’ll have her liver for breakfast.’

  I looked about myself – there was no one else watching but me.

  I waited at a distance as the men unloaded the creature, and Sir Geoffrey dismounted to slap the doe’s haunch with all the pride of a conqueror. I saw then that all his skin was plaguey, even his crooked fingers looked scalded. There was something of the slaughterman about the master, especially in his way of measuring antlers and hooves. As I recollected that his lordship was the true centre of all the bustle and carry-on of Mawton, suddenly everything seemed tainted, even its wondrous mullions and towers.

  Reluctantly, I followed a pair of gamekeepers, who lugged the beast down to our cold larder. But either the hunt or the liquor had left them in a harum scarum mood.

  ‘Get along then, Biddy Leigh,’ said the chief of them. ‘We was up riding hard, afore you even thought of rising. You can gut the quarry for a change. His Lordship’s waiting for his breakfast mind.’ And off they went, leaving me to it.

  I looked at the poor creature slung on a hook, her head lolling, her china-eyes staring, her wounds still red and claggy. I was keen to learn and give it a try, though I’d only watched the bloody business once before. As I made ready to butcher the creature, her warm fur stank of terror and half-stomached grass. It took me a while to decide where to make the first rip with my knife. Then with a few tugs I got the front of her parted, like two grisly doors opening up from throat to tail. The stinking guts had just dropped steaming to the floor when my eye was caught by an odd little thing.

  At first I thought it was a twisted gut or raddled spleen. I peered more closely and found a long-snouted face the size of my thumbnail. What I saw near had me fainting to the ground. A perfect tiny fawn lay curled in the sack of its mother’s womb. I reached out to tug it away and suddenly, through the womb-sack, it kicked at me with its tiny cloven hoof. Lord, I screamed all the way to the yard until the stablemen came and sorted it. I knew it couldn’t live, poor baby, all slimy and soft with the cord from its mother sliced off like a squirting purple pipe. But long after I’d sent the master his liver fried in butter, I wept for the blind waxy-legged creature that twitched and then mercifully stiffened on the larder floor. Since that day I’d always left the butchery to those who have a stomach for it.

  * * *

  Of those last dark weeks at Mawton only two memories shine to me now. One is of my dear Mrs Garland. We had stayed on poor terms, and then two days before my leaving, she called me to the stillroom. Pacing through the murk of a winter’s afternoon I picked up a switch and hit out at the spiky brambles that crowded the path. Everything about me was dying. The golden year, my wedding hopes, all my familiar ways. I had a mighty strong wish to hit someone hard with my fist.

  There my old cook sat by the fire, much as she had done the night we attempted those violet pastilles. And she said to me, ‘Biddy, I cannot let you go without making my peace.’

  For a moment I heard only the fire crack, then a whimper broke from my lips and we grasped each other’s hands. Tears fell down my cheeks and I wiped them away fast.

  ‘I cannot forgive myself. You have treated me better than my own mother. And you will be left here all alone.’

  She shook her head and sighed. ‘God willing, me and Teg will make do till you get back safely.’

  Then she sat up straight and passed me a clean rag to wipe my face, and said some words I will never forget.

  ‘Now listen to me, Biddy. If you only listen once, do it now. I’ve been puzzling, and it seems to me you have two ways ahead of you.’ Her eyes shone as bright as a young girl’s as they met mine. ‘You can suffer all this as a trial and waste a whole year complaining.’ I lifted my head sharpish at that, but she would not be interrupted. ‘Or you can learn to be more than a plain cook like me. Learn how to make those fancy French bomboons and dishes à la mode. What a chance, girl,’ she said, shaking my captive hand. ‘I have seen advertisements for cooks with the French Style and do you know what they offer? Twenty guineas a year. You shall be a cook to nobility.’

  ‘But I am marrying Jem when I get back.’ I spoke it like an article of
faith that only I believed in. She sighed, her solid bosom heaving.

  ‘Then cook at this alehouse Jem boasts of. I’ve heard there are taverns that sell spanking fine food in London. Oh, if I had my youth again I should dearly love to try what they offer. And as for Paris! This could be the making of you, with the talents God has given you. You shall taste food I never even dreamed of.’

  ‘I think not.’ I was quite fixed on being miserable. ‘I am only the pan-tosser, taken along so Her Ladyship needn’t eat foreign stuff. Maybe I’ll only be cooking for that rat-dog of hers.’

  I did not tell her that the previous day I had been summoned by Lady Carinna for a few chilly moments. She told me to pack a chest with linen, glass and plate, and store cold victuals in the well of the coach. But before she dismissed me, she said, ‘And you will bring the rose gown.’ My heart thumped to hear her words. Why, I wondered, did that dress make me so uneasy?

  Mrs Garland’s voice interrupted my worries. ‘But you will go marketing in all these foreign parts?’ she insisted.

  ‘Aye. Perhaps,’ I said wearily. ‘Though to hear Old Ned, we’ll be eating only frogs and snakes. Just this morning I told him I’d been practising the frogs’ legs and had put one in his pottage. You should’ve seen his face. And I will do it too, if he doesn’t shut his trap.’

  Mrs Garland’s lips fell open and then gathered in a hoot of laughter.

  ‘Oh, that is more like the old Biddy,’ she wheezed. She squeezed my hand tight and I returned her smile. ‘But do mind that tongue of yours. I’m thinking of Lady Carinna. She’s a queer one, but she is your mistress. My advice is to do her bidding as quick as you can and then stay well away. Jesmire too—’