The Madness (22 page)

I’m cross now; fearful, confused and a bit sick in the belly. I don’t know what to do. He has to come! I struggle to imagine the awful possibility that he might never turn up. But me head won’t let me think such things. The sea is trying to calm me nerves. I hear its soothing voice reaching out to me. I know I shouldn’t; I’d promised meself I wouldn’t until Noah was here, but before I can help meself, I’m pulling me dress and shift over me head and placing them on the shingle with me shawl and boots on top. Then I shuffle out of me drawers. The sea breeze lifts a tress of hair off me shoulder and goosebumps run up and down me arms. I walk slowly to the sea’s edge. Me skin shrinks as the cold foam breaks over me feet. I gasp, and walk further in until the water reaches under me arms. I take a deep breath and plunge beneath the surface. In just a sliver of a moment I’m back where I belong.

I pull back with me arms and I slice easily through the cold, silky darkness. I swim underwater till me chest feels fit to burst, then I push back up to the surface and take deep swallows of the briny night air. I’m warm now and I lie back on the swell of the waves and paddle with me hands for a while. I look towards the shore and by the light of the stars I can see it’s still empty. I’m so scared he won’t come, and the feeling weighs heavy in me chest and presses down on me throat.

I don’t want to go back home yet. Not to Ma’s snores and a restless night. Besides, he might turn up yet, running across the shingle waving his arms at me. He’ll have had trouble sneaking out, I think. With his father being here and all. I decide to wait a while longer, so I stay afloat, allowing the waves to dip me up and down.

Time passes slowly as I stay floating on the night sea. It’s getting cold now. I can feel me whole body growing stiff with it. I wish Noah was here, Pa, I say. I wish he was floating next to me, holding me hand. We could lie here and count the stars, and the waves could carry us far, far away to where you are.

50

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. MARCH 29th 1869, Monday

Our first day back in Clevedon has passed very well. We took two carriages and the brougham down to the village this morning and joined in the celebrations for the opening of the Grand Pier. Father made a rousing speech, which was well received by the locals and visitors alike.

The finished pier is magnificent. Father is delighted with it. He says it will certainly prove to be a valuable attraction and will bring more business and visitors to Clevedon (and profit for himself, of course!). Besides affording pleasure to locals and visitors, the pier has made it possible for boats and steamers to discharge their passengers at Clevedon whatever the state of the tides.

At least two thousand people descended on our little village and the air was fizzing with a holiday atmosphere. After Father had spoken, the pier gates were opened and a rush of people clamoured to be the first to walk the wooden decking.

I think I spied the girl, Marnie, in amongst the hordes. It was the briefest of glimpses, but she looked to be well and enjoying the revelry. Although it has only been a matter of months since I was last here, it feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed for me. I am no longer the boy I was.

As fortune would have it, Cissie and I were pushed together by the crowd and for a blissful few moments, as we walked along the pier, we held hands unnoticed. I say blissful and indeed it was, but I long for the day when I can kiss her sweet, pink mouth. I hope that day is not too far away. I have a feeling there will be plenty of opportunities for Cissie and I to snatch some moments alone while we are here at the manor.

The evening was spent dining and dancing with a few of the more eminent locals. The new pier master, Mr Stiff, attended with his wife, as did the Reverend Strawbridge and chief engineers Messrs Ward and Groaner. The evening was a great success, and of course Cissie danced with me more often than with any other.

Now Father has taken me into the business (as a junior partner of the Clevedon Finance Company, no less!), I think the time has come for me to approach Lord Baird and ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage. I can think of no one I would rather spend my life with than Cissie. Father approves wholeheartedly. He has already given me his consent. I need to pick my time carefully, though. Shall I ask for her hand while we are here? Or should I wait until we return to London? What a delicious predicament!

Now to bed! I have stayed too long at my desk already. We are hoping for some fine weather tomorrow, and a picnic, no less.

51

Dippy Go Under, My Dears

By the time I slide back into bed beside Ma it is almost morning. She grunts and shifts in her sleep. I lay still, me damp hair growing cold around me face. I should be tired, but I can’t close me eyes. Me heart is thumping deep in me belly and I don’t know if it is anger or fear that is making me feel like this.

Noah didn’t come.

I waited and waited – alone in the sea – and he didn’t come.

He has always come before.

I try to think of all the things that could have stopped him from coming.

His father caught him sneaking out.

He had to go back to London in a hurry and had no time to let me know.

He’s been suddenly taken ill.

I can’t think of many reasons, but I know there will be a good one. I try to calm meself. He will come to me later today. I know he will. He’ll come and explain to me what happened. He’ll be sorry and I’ll forgive him and we’ll make plans for next time.

I lay still for a while longer, but it’s useless to think that sleep will come now.

Smoaker is reopening the bathing machines today, and I’m to help with the dipping. I should be excited but instead I’m fretful. I don’t want to be out in the sea all day where Noah can’t reach me. I want to stay in the hut with Smoaker. There at least Noah will be able to find me. I dress quietly and, after I’ve stoked up the kitchen fire, I go outside to look at the sky. I’m glad to see grey clouds rolling over the top of St Andrew’s on the Hill. A brisk wind is blowing sand across the lane and the surface of the sea is a mess of grey choppy waves and spitting foam. Only the bravest of ladies will venture out today. I’m happy we won’t be too busy.

‘I won’t be going out there today,’ Ma says when I get back inside the cottage. She’s slicing bread for breakfast and is wincing with the effort. She is growing worse every day, it seems. It takes her for ever to do anything now. She grunts more often and sits for longer and longer in her chair. I look at her carefully. She takes up the same amount of space, but seems to have shrunk in upon herself. The skin on her arms is looser and her face has sagged.

‘It’s rough out there, anyway,’ I say. ‘It’ll be a quiet one for certain.’

‘Thank the Lord for that,’ she says, and sinks down heavily into her chair. ‘Couldn’t have managed it today, Marnie. I ache so.’

I pass her a cup of tea and she holds it close to her chest and closes her eyes. ‘Me and Smoaker will manage today,’ I say. ‘Tell him I’ll open the hut.’

Ma nods at me without opening her eyes and I know I’m free to go.

It’s far too early to open the hut – even Smoaker isn’t out of bed yet – but I’m desperate to see Noah and I know he’ll be feeling the same. He’ll come to the beach as soon as he can, and I need to be there for him.

I walk along the esplanade first, towards the pier. I haven’t got me stick with me again. I want Noah to see how good I’m getting without it. The wind whips me hair across me face and me skirts stick to me legs. It’s empty and wild on the beach. I can spy a few fishing boats in the distance being tossed about on the waves, and there are gulls riding the sky and screeching with excitement. I push me face into the wind and I feel wide awake. The new tollhouse is shuttered; the pier master will be breakfasting, so there is no one to see me walk through the gates and along the wooden decking. I walk right to the pier head, to the back of the pavilion, and look down into the water below. It’s dizzying to be standing this far out to sea and this high above the crashing waves. I wonder how the delicate iron legs of the pier can hold up against the power of the ocean. It feels strange out here. I’m not sure I like it. It’s too empty and lonely. A person could jump right off the end and no one would notice.

It’ll be different when Noah is with me, I think. On a warm day it’ll be a good place to take a stroll. We’ll sit on the seats by the pavilion and look out to sea.

I turn and look back towards the village. I’ve never seen it from this way round before. It’s all there, spread out before me. I can see Ratcatcher’s Row in the distance and the rabble of lanes running behind; I can see the glinting windows of Miss Cranston’s Tea House and the bandstand out at Layde’s Bay. Best of all I can see the manor, out beyond the cottages, nestled in the dip below the woodlands. If I squint me eyes I can make out the topmost windows. There’s Noah’s in the middle. I imagine him up there, rushing to get dressed. Leaning over his washstand, brushing his hair with his heavy bone brush. I wrap me arms around meself and squeeze tight.
Hurry up, hurry up
, I whisper.

The pier master has opened the shutters and is standing looking out of his window as I walk by on me way back to the esplanade. He’s put out to see me there and opens his mouth to shout. Then he notices me leg and lowers his eyes. Even though he’s new in the village, he’s just like everyone else.

I make me way to the beach and set out the new signs next to the hut.

Nash’s Bathing Machines for Hire

6d for a time not exceeding half an hour.

Two clean towels. One clean gown or other clean and sufficient covering to prevent indecent exposure of the person.

I can’t stay still. Me fingers are twitching and me feet keep taking me out of the hut so I can look for Noah. Me heart jerks as I see a figure in the distance, but it’s only Smoaker. He’s holding on to his hat with one hand and balancing the bowl of his pipe with the other. Me heart drops into me boots. It’s too late for Noah to come now. Not now I’ve got me work to do. I pick up a pebble and throw it angrily on to the beach. I don’t know how I’ll get through the day.

Smoaker stops by the hut and looks out to sea. ‘Just you dipping today,’ he says. ‘No sense in paying the other women to come out.’ He licks a finger and holds it up into the wind. ‘I’ll just bring the two horses for now.’ I don’t know if he’s telling me or the wind. He walks back up the slipway to fetch the horses from the stables at Rock House.

‘Please, Noah, please,’ I beg out loud. ‘Come now!’ I stand on the slipway and strain me eyes, looking in all directions. There’s nothing to see. I feel tired and heavy already, and me heart stays sulking in me boots.

Smoaker comes back with two horses and busies himself with their harnesses. The wind has calmed now, and out on the horizon the cloudy sky is edged with blue. I sigh. If the weather stays like this, there’ll be bathers for certain.

The bathing gowns we keep in the hut are old and stiff. I change into one, in readiness for the first customers. I hate the weight and feel of it and would rather work in me shift, but I know it’s ‘not decent’ and besides, the dark blue alpaca skirt, the knickerbockers and stockings all help to hide me leg. ‘We don’t want to scare away the customers,’ is what Ma would say.

Smoaker sits in the chair in the corner of the hut fiddling with his pipe, and I stand leaning against the doorway and think of Noah. I imagine him lying ill in bed with a fever, or speeding to London in a coach with his father. I know I’ll have to go to the manor later. I won’t be able to stop meself.

The first bather of the day is a scrawny woman of about sixty who can hardly walk for the gout in her foot. She climbs into the bathing machine with difficulty and I lead the horse and machine into the sea. While I wait for the lady to change, I unhitch the horse and lead it round to the back of the machine, where I hitch it ready to pull the machine back up the beach. Then I wade into the water to wait on the bather. She opens the door eventually and sits on the steps of the bathing machine shivering like a frightened kitten. I take her by the waist and gently guide her into the sea. She squeals loudly and can barely catch her breath as a small wave wets her bosom.

‘It’s quite safe, Ma’am,’ I tell her. ‘But I need you to lie back.’

She looks at me as though I am mad.

‘It’s so I can float you,’ I tell her.

‘But  …  but I cannot swim,’ she stammers.

‘That’s why I’m here,’ I say. ‘I’ll hold you up. You won’t drown, I promise.’

I put me arms under her and lift her like a child. She is as stiff as a plank of wood. She screws her eyes tight shut and clasps her hands across her chest. I feel as though I am bobbing a corpse through the water. She won’t last the half-hour; she is not strong enough for a dipping. By the looks of her, I imagine it won’t be long before she is gone from this world altogether.

A nursemaid and her two charges are next. The young boys are no more than two or three years of age. She sits on the steps of the bathing machine and passes the wriggling bundles to me. I hold a child under each arm and, as I’ve heard Ma say so many times, I sing, ‘Dippy go under, my dears!’ as I plunge them down under the water and hold them there for a second. When I haul them back up they begin to wail and splutter. ‘One more to make you hearty!’ I shout. Under they go again. Their wailing grows louder, but their nurse seems deaf to the fuss. She is concentrating hard on keeping her skirts dry. I keep on dipping until me arms ache, the boys grow silent and their teeth begin to chatter. Their lips are blue when I hand them back to their nurse.