The Madness (21 page)
Authors: Alison Rattle
47
The Journal of Noah de Clevedon
Clevedon. MARCH 28th 1869, Sunday
We are back in Clevedon, having arrived last night, and the manor is bustling with busy-ness and noise! It is a far cry from the last time I was here. Then, it was only Mother and I and a handful of servants. Now there is a large party of us, and dozens of servants. Every room has a blazing fire and is full of chatter and amusements. Father is here with his dear friends Lord Baird and Sir William Elton (chairman of the pier committee) and their families – so of course Cissie is here too. Arnold has come – after some persuading on my part, and we are set, I am sure, for a splendid time!
Mother is now entertaining the women and I have just returned from showing Arnold the estate – with Prince in tow, naturally.
We attended church this morning and took over near half the pews with our pious party. I am sure the poor Reverend Strawbridge has never seen his collection tin so full!
Tomorrow is the opening of the Grand Pier and once the speeches are done with, we are set to return to the manor for a celebration dinner and dance with a few select locals. I am sure it will amuse Cissie. I so want her to enjoy herself.
I sat behind her at church this morning and I am afraid I did not hear a word of the sermon, so caught up was I in studying the small, pale hollow at the back of her neck. One day I will kiss that very spot. One day soon, when Cissie is mine.
48
Easter Monday dawned fair and breezy. A smattering of overnight rain had left a sweet scent in the air and glinting raindrops on tubs of flowers and waving flags and on rooftops and railings. Marnie thought the village looked for all the world as though it had been sprinkled with icing sugar in readiness for the grand occasion. She dressed carefully in her least shabby frock. It was short in the sleeves and tight around her bodice, but it was tidy and clean and, with her hair pinned neatly out of the way, Marnie was sure she looked respectable.
She wanted to look her very best for Noah.
Smoaker had oiled the grey tufts of his hair flat behind his ears and buttoned up a fancy wool waistcoat over his belly. Even Ma was up for some primping. She brushed the hem of her skirts clean and tied a starched white apron around her waist.
They headed to the pier early. Marnie’s eyes darted everywhere. Would Noah be here yet? Where would he be standing? The village was filling up quickly with visitors from Bristol and around, who had travelled into Clevedon on specially arranged excursion trains. ‘They reckon a couple of thousand are going to turn up,’ Smoaker pronounced.
Ma was anxious to secure a good position. ‘Might as well see what all the fuss is about,’ she said as she elbowed her way through the thickening knots of jubilant spectators. Marnie couldn’t help but be caught up in the giddy atmosphere. Children were running hither and thither between the legs of top-hatted gentlemen and behind the swaying bustles of tightly laced ladies. Every style and colour of frivolous hat and bonnet was on display. It looked to Marnie like a sea of flowers and ribbons bobbing towards the pier. Some families had brought picnics and were spreading out rugs on the grassy embankment and down on the beach. There were onlookers gathering high up on the nearby cliff tops, and everywhere banners and flags danced like lunatics.
Pressed up tight to Ma’s side, Marnie was close enough to the pier entrance to see that a small platform had been erected and a large banner stretched above it read,
‘
Success to the Pier’. She stood on her tiptoes and looked around at the confusion of faces. Noah was here somewhere. If only she could catch sight of him and calm her hammering heart. Suddenly, over the noise of the crowd came the boom and thump of music. Gradually, voices drifted into silence and everyone, as if instructed, moved to either side of the esplanade. The punch of drums and the tinny spank of cymbals filled the air as a band dressed in scarlet uniforms marched through the parted crowd. Marnie’s heart beat fast to the rhythm of the drums.
He must be here soon. He must be here soon.
The band halted in front of the pier and after a moment’s pause began to sing.
God save our gracious Queen, long live our noble Queen
. The anthem was taken up by the crowd and soon Marnie found herself singing words she hardly knew. She sang loud and long and was filled with a strange but wonderful feeling. Only when the singing finally stopped and the crowd began to cheer did Marnie realise what was making her feel so good. For once in her life she felt like she belonged. She was part of it all; the same as everyone else. And best of all, she knew Noah was nearby. She squeezed Ma’s arm, not wanting the moment to ever end.
Then, three dapperly dressed gentlemen stepped out of the throng and mounted the wooden platform. ‘There he is. Sir John de Clevedon,’ said Ma.
‘Which one?’ asked Marnie.
‘Him there. The one in the striped waistcoat,’ Ma answered.
Marnie craned her neck for a closer look. So that was him. That was Noah’s father. Marnie stared at the tall, pleasant-looking man who was smiling at the crowd and clearing his throat ready to speak. He certainly had the neat and costly appearance of a proper gentleman. Everything about him looked spanking new and plush; from his suit of plain dark cloth and his immaculate silk hat to the shiny black toes of his shoes, which peeped out from under the flick of his trouser hems. A thick gold watch chain hung from his coat pocket and his black tie was pinned loosely at his neck with a red jewel. Marnie searched his face for any reminder of Noah. He was certainly handsome, this Sir John; his dark, close-cropped beard looked soft and his skin had the healthy glow of the wealthy. With a jolt, Marnie noticed his eyes; one blue, one grey.
‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He began to speak in a clear, confident voice. But Marnie heard no more than that. Standing behind Sir John, nestled inside a small group of people, was a beautiful fair-haired woman dressed in flimsy white lace. Marnie recognised her at once as Lady de Clevedon. And standing next to her, with his face half hidden by the plumes of white feathers that sprouted from his mother’s bonnet, was Noah.
Marnie took a sharp intake of breath and her fingers squeezed tight on Ma’s arm. ‘Ow!’ Ma nudged her and frowned.
‘Sorry,’ Marnie whispered. Her mouth was dry and her throat hurt. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. She gazed at Noah and her eyes watered with the effort of not blinking. He was smiling softly at his father’s back, and then he bent his head and said something to his mother. Lady de Clevedon stretched out a white-gloved hand and placed it on Noah’s arm.
Please! Look over here!
Marnie willed Noah’s eyes to meet hers. He looked older than she remembered, somehow. Perhaps it was the dress suit he was wearing, an almost exact copy of his father’s. Or maybe it was the silk topper pushed too far down his head, on account of it being slightly too big for him.
‘And so, ladies and gentlemen … ’ Sir John’s words drifted into her ears. ‘I am most honoured and delighted to declare the Grand Pier of Clevedon open!’ A great cheer rose from the crowd. Noah lifted his gloved hands and began to clap. Marnie put her hands together too and mimicked Noah’s movements, never taking her eyes off his face. Noah was laughing and cheering and then for a split second his eyes met hers. Marnie’s hands paused in mid clap and she drank in the wide smile that broke across Noah’s face. The moment passed and Noah’s eyes flicked over the crowd before turning at last to Lady de Clevedon. He kissed his mother on the cheek. The pier gates were opened and suddenly Marnie lost sight of him as everybody rushed to be the first to walk the length of the pier.
If she hurried, thought Marnie, she could catch Noah. Maybe they could walk the pier together? ‘You coming, Ma?’ she shouted. Ma’s reply got lost in the sudden blare of trumpets as the band started up again. Marnie was pushed to one side by a sweaty-faced woman in a green velvet gown who seemed determined to crush everyone in her path. Marnie held her stick tight and tried to take a few steps towards the pier entrance. It was no good. Time and time again she was knocked off balance by silk skirts, velvet skirts, knotted bustles and wayward parasols. Finally, she found herself shoulder to shoulder with a couple of elderly matrons walking with steely glares and a determined pace. She let herself be swept along, through the rush of people and chattering voices, until she was past the entrance to the pier and felt the hollow clump of the wooden decking beneath her feet. She looked around desperately. Where was Noah? Surely he couldn’t be far away? But one silk topper looked the same as any other and there were so many of them. Then a flash of white caught Marnie’s eye and she saw again a plume of feathers bouncing high above the tide of black silk. Lady de Clevedon! And there … there was Noah!
‘Noah!’ she shouted. He was walking towards her, heading off the pier and back on to the esplanade. ‘Noah!’ she shouted again. A dark-haired girl walking near to Noah turned in Marnie’s direction and looked at her in puzzlement. ‘Noah!’ Marnie tried one last time. But it was too late. Noah was striding off in the wrong direction and, try as she might, Marnie couldn’t turn around.
But he
had
seen her. Marnie comforted herself. He’d smiled at her through the crowd. A secret smile, meant only for her. He was busy now, so of course he couldn’t come to her. But later … they’d be together later. Just as he’d said.
I will meet you here on the beach, the first night I am back!
49
I wait till Ma’s snores grow loud and regular. She’s had a gut full of beer and she won’t wake now till the light of morning strokes her face. I lift the wool blanket that covers us both and slide from the bed. I’m careful to tuck the blanket back around the rising and falling mound of her.
The stone floor is cold on me feet so I quickly slip on me boots, not bothering with any stockings. I leave me bootlaces undone, tucking the loose ends inside so I won’t trip. I pull me cotton frock over me shift and grab me shawl before I limp out of the bedchamber into the kitchen. Smoaker will be asleep in the upstairs bedchamber now, with Nep curled up on his feet. Smoaker’s empty beer pot is on the table with the remains of the bread and cheese he must have had for his supper. I leave me stick propped up by the fireplace. I want to manage without it. I want to show Noah how strong I can be.
I open the kitchen door and step out into the night.
The March moon is only the white slit of an eye, but the stars wink bright as lanterns in the dark sky. The bells of St Andrew’s on the Hill chime the hour of eleven and I stand still for a moment and breathe in the salty air. I taste the tang of seaweed on the back of me tongue and I shiver with pleasure. The echo of the church bells melts away, and instead I hear the gentle swish and slap of the waves as they break on the beach. The tide is in. It’s perfect.
Me belly is filled tight with hope, longing and a bubbling excitement. I haven’t been able to swallow a bite of food today. I hurry as best as I can across the lane in front of the cottage in Ratcatcher’s Row, and down the grassy embankment that leads to the esplanade. All is quiet. The Old Inn has spat out the last of its sots and closed its doors, the excursion trains have taken the last of the visitors back to Bristol and it is hours yet before even the keenest of fishermen will be stirring from their beds. I walk to the railings that run alongside the esplanade and look down on to the beach. The shingle glitters, wet and inviting. Away to me right stands the new pier. Silhouetted against the starry sky, it looks to me like a monstrous insect marching out to sea on long elegant legs. I have still not grown used to the sight of it. The huge arch of flowers and evergreens still hangs over the pier gate and the hundreds of flags that deck the pier from end to end are still waving in the sea wind, as if they don’t know yet the celebrations have ended. If I look closely I can just see Smoaker’s bathing machines tucked away at the base of the tollhouse, huddled together like some family of giant sea turtles.
I go to the gap in the railings where the stone steps lead down to the beach. I slip off me boots and carry them in me hand as me feet grip the cold, sandy surface of the steps. I make me way down slowly, me bad leg dragging behind and aching with the effort. I hop down on to the beach and on to the first of the rocks that are jumbled in a pile against the sea wall. I’m careful not to slip as I pick me way across the largest and flattest of the rocks until I reach the shingle.
I dig me toes into the coarse mix of cobbles, pebbles and broken shells. The sand beneath still holds the warmth of the day. It feels wonderful. It’s been too long. But I’m here now and I feel like I’ve come home. The lacy edge of the swash is stretched out before me. The sea is whispering to me. It knows I’m here. It’s missed me too, I can tell.
But where is Noah? Me heart tightens into an anxious knot. I look around and peer into the shadows. He’s not sitting on our rock. I look up and down the beach, as far as the faint light of the stars will allow. There’s no sign of him. I wrap me shawl around me shoulders and kick at the shingle for a while. The minutes pass and still there’s no sound of crunching footsteps. He promised he would be here.
I will meet you here on the beach, the first night I am back!
That’s what he’d said. And haven’t I been waiting patiently for him all these long months? Where is he? I search me memory for the glimpse I had of him today. Stood proud by his father’s side, in a new top hat that was slightly too big for him, Noah had smiled at me. I’d caught the smile gladly and eagerly. What can have happened? I try to ignore the worry that’s nagging at me insides. I strain me ears, hoping to hear me name being called over the noisy wash of the sea. Still, there’s nothing.
