The Madness (29 page)

I’m shaking now and I just want to get back to me bed. But I can still smile. And I do, when I think that not long from now Noah will know exactly how much love can really hurt.

67

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. APRIL 17th 1869, Saturday

Prince is dead. There. I’ve written the words on paper. But it still doesn’t seem real. I can’t believe he has gone. I keep seeing the shadow of him at my heel and I keep reaching down to stroke his head. But he’s not here any more. We buried him this evening, just before sundown, under the old oak at the bottom of the gardens. It was his favourite place when the days were hot.

I am bereft without him. Poor boy. He died in such agony. Howling all night long. The whole manor was awake suffering along with him. We fear he was poisoned, but the gardener has sworn that he keeps nothing that would inflict so much harm.

The whole place has been quiet today. Even the servants have been mourning him. Poor Hetty could barely serve breakfast this morning for her sobbing. Not that any of us had an appetite. Cissie has done her best to comfort me, the sweet girl. But I fear I will feel this loss for a long time to come.

68

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. APRIL 18th 1869, Sunday

As we were leaving for church this morning, the gardener brought to me a piece of cloth he found in the gardens under some bushes. ‘It has the whiff of the butcher about it, sir,’ he said to me. ‘And look, see, there are grains of arsenic stuck to it.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ I asked him. He looked most offended. ‘Sir. I know me poisons, and I assure you that is most certainly arsenic. It’s what did for your hound, sir,’ he said. ‘We can be certain of that much.’

Who would do such a thing to poor Prince? To inflict such pain upon an innocent animal? And for what purpose? It is beyond me.

It was with a heavy heart that I attended the morning service. And I couldn’t help but look around me at the other churchgoers. Would anyone so wicked as to kill poor Prince dare to enter God’s house?

It was only after the service finished, as we gathered in the churchyard and I saw the girl Marnie standing there yet again, that true fear pricked at my heart. She stood there so brazenly, her blue eyes so cold and staring. And she was smiling at me! But it wasn’t just any smile. It was a triumphant smile, and it sent a shiver running down my back.

I asked Arnold if he thought she could be capable of poisoning Prince, but he assured me that grief was allowing my imagination to run wild. I am not so sure. There is something about that girl. She won’t take no for an answer. And I feel her eyes on me all the time.

69

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. APRIL 25th 1869, Sunday

It has been a dreadful week. Every day there has been a letter from that girl. It is what she writes that frightens me the most.

I am certain now that she is responsible for poisoning my poor Prince. She writes such strange things. She asks me how much it hurts to lose a loved one. How would she know to ask that if it was not her hand that fed Prince the poisoned meat? She says that now I have learned my lesson perhaps I should be kinder to her. But worst of all she declares her undying love for me and says that nothing will get in the way of us being together. I swear she is quite mad and I am only glad that we are leaving for London next week.

I wish the servants would not bring the letters to me. It is becoming harder and harder to conceal them from Cissie when they are delivered to me in her presence. She is naturally curious as to who is writing to me so often. I have told her they are from friends in London. I am so ashamed to lie. I wish I could tell the servants to send Marnie on her way without accepting her letters, but I am worried she would find another way of getting them to me. I am afraid that soon the truth will come out, for it must surely be the subject of much gossip in the servants’ hall.

She was there in the churchyard again today. I tried not to look her way. I tried to keep my head down. But I swear I could feel her eyes burning black holes in my back.

I have confided in Arnold again and shown him the contents of the letters. He takes it all lightly, as is his way, and assures me that a girl like her could not possibly harm me in any way. But I am not so sure. I am keeping Cissie close by me and I will not sleep well again until we are back in London.

70

Tiny Pieces

Word has spread throughout the village that Noah is to be married. I hear the women at the water pump in the morning, tattling about it.

‘
Will they wed here in Clevedon?’

‘Has anybody seen her yet?’

‘Is she very beautiful?’

‘Don’t believe what you hear,’ I tell them. ‘The girl you are talking about is plain and dull. There’ll be no wedding. You wait and see.’

They give each other knowing looks and I hear them whisper as I walk away.

‘She is worse now her mother is so ill.’

‘What will happen to the girl if her mother dies?’

‘There’ll be no one to keep her from the madhouse then.’

They know nothing and their gossip means nothing to me either.

Back at the cottage, Smoaker is waiting for me at the kitchen table. His eyes are red-rimmed and I wonder if he’s been crying for Ma. I don’t care enough to ask. I set his bread and tea in front of him and take a bowl of broth through to Ma. I know I should try and get some down her, but I can’t be bothered with the effort. Noah is taking up all me thoughts and strength and all I can think is, it is a shame that Ma will never get to see inside the manor. She would have liked it.

Smoaker shouts out that he’s off to the beach now, to open up. I shout back that I’ll see him there. I tuck Ma’s blanket in, tight around her. I don’t like to touch her now she’s so shrivelled and sickly. She doesn’t look like Ma any more and she doesn’t smell like Ma either. I’ll tell Smoaker that she took some broth. It’ll stop him fretting for a while. I leave Ma to her dreams, whatever they may be, and I take her broth to the kitchen and tip it back into the pot by the fire.

The day is fine and blustery. It’ll be a busy one, but at least I only have the morning shift to get through before Smoaker sends me back to the cottage to look after Ma. He still has no idea that I take meself up to the manor instead. I have to be near Noah, though. Anybody would understand that.

I won’t give up on him. I’m so close to making him see that he doesn’t have a choice. Noah and Marnie. It was always meant to be. He knows now what it’s like to hurt good and proper. I taught him that when I got rid of the wolfhound. He won’t want to hurt like that again. I’m thinking all this as I leave the cottage and make my way to the beach. As I look towards the sea I’m startled yet again by the sight of the pier. Will I ever get used to it? It’s not that I mind it. In a strange way it’s what brought me and Noah together. I think it just scares me somehow. It looks so fragile, stretching out to sea like that with only its spindly legs for support. I’m afraid the sea will keep bashing at it and bashing at it until one day it will be smashed into tiny pieces and be washed away.

There are a handful of customers milling about outside the hut. I go inside to change and Smoaker looks at me questioningly. ‘She’s fine,’ I tell him. ‘She had half a bowl of broth.’

Smoaker’s face relaxes and he nods towards a very plump woman whose bosom looks like it’s fighting to escape the confines of her fancy frilled bodice. ‘She’s your first,’ he says. ‘Hurry up.’

I feel the cold of the sea more than usual today. I’m irritated by the weight of my bathing gown, and everything that used to thrill me is now just an annoyance and a waste of precious time that could be spent near Noah. But I go through the motions anyway. The plump lady shrieks loudly when I plunge her under.

I’ve done three customers and I’m leading the horse and bathing machine back up the beach to collect another when I see them in the distance. I stop where I am, hardly believing my eyes. The horse is confused and nudges at my shoulder. But still I don’t move. There’s the Bath chair, a footman, a maid and someone else. The blood rushes to me head so fast that it’s only the harness I’m holding on to that stops me from falling.

71

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. APRIL 26th 1869, Monday

I am elated! Father has just informed me over breakfast that we are to leave for London early. There are new business matters to attend to and we are to leave tomorrow! Already the servants are rushing around in a panic. Cissie is thrilled too. She says she can start our wedding plans in earnest now. I feel a great weight has been lifted from me.

It is a beautiful day outside. A last stroll in the gardens with Cissie would be a fine idea for this afternoon. I would like to take a happy memory away with me when we leave Clevedon tomorrow  … 

Hetty has just brought me a letter. I of course thought it was from the girl and my throat went dry. But I am happy to report, as my heart is calming, that it is from my darling Cissie and I am going to open it now and scribe her words on this very page as I read them. It is my first letter from my wife-to-be and I should like never to forget it.

Darling Noah,

I know you are busy in your chamber, and I have been busy in mine too, of course, instructing the maids on how to pack my trunk! As it is our last day here, your mother has asked if I would care to accompany her for a walk along the pier. I said that I would like to very much as we have not made as much use of it as we perhaps should have whilst we have been here. I was thinking also, that while we are there, I might sample the delights of sea-bathing. Your mother is quite sceptical as to the benefits. I know she did not fare too well herself, but she has nevertheless kindly lent me the use of her bathing gown—

72

As Blue as Hedgerow Cornflowers

‘Miss.’ I greet her as she opens the bathing-machine door. Her sleek black hair is tucked inside a large blue bathing cap that’s edged with lace. It makes her look younger somehow, like a pale, nervous child. She smiles at me nervously. ‘Will it be very cold?’ she asks.

‘The quicker you’re in the better it is,’ I say, giving her me usual answer.

She places her stockinged feet on the first step down. Her ankles are small and delicate, but the bloomers she is wearing conceal the rest of her legs. Her heavy wool bathing gown is belted tightly around her tiny waist. I can see the gown has weights sewn into the hem of it, so it doesn’t billow around her when she enters the water. Only the finest of ladies go to this kind of trouble. I reach me hands up to her and she holds on to them as I guide her down the rest of the steps. ‘Take a deep breath,’ I say as she reaches the last step and her feet dip into the chill shock of the sea. She gasps and her hands grip tight on mine. I let her stay there awhile till she is used to the sensation, then I take me hands from hers and place them around her waist. I remember seeing Noah’s hands in the very same place. I wish I’d never seen it. I want to wipe the picture out of me head for ever. But it stays all the same, hot and throbbing, taunting me and filling me belly with a thick black envy.

Cissie Baird trembles in me hands as I lift her from the steps and lower her into the sea. She squeaks like a baby mouse and her black eyes grow wide and shiny with tears. She blinks hard and the tears catch on her lashes and thicken them so they frame her eyes like painted strokes on a porcelain doll. I can see why Noah thinks he loves her. Who wouldn’t want to love such a fragile and delicate creature? But he doesn’t need her. She will never love him as much as I do and one day her beauty will fade and Noah will be left alone with a feeble and ugly wife. I’m the only one who can make him truly happy. He’ll soon see that when she’s not here any more.

I lay Cissie Baird back on to the surface of the ocean. I hold her afloat by placing one hand between her shoulders and the other on her lower back. The sea is being kind to us today. It’s tired and sleepy and there are no sudden waves to catch us unawares. Cissie has crossed her hands and placed them over her bosom. I think she will look well in a coffin. ‘I hear you’re to be married,’ I say to her. She nods her head, too afraid I think to open her mouth lest it’s filled with seawater. ‘I’m to be married too,’ I say, ‘to a wonderful man who loves me more than life itself.’ She lifts her lips into the smallest and briefest of smiles. It’s not a real smile. Why should she care less about me? Why should she even take notice of me? If only she could see inside me head,
then
she would notice me,
then
she would care more about me than anything she has ever cared for in her whole life.

I keep floating her, gently bobbing her up and down to the rhythm of the sea. I slowly move further away from the shoreline. I move deeper and deeper into the sleepy green water until me costume is sticking to me ribs. ‘Me fellow’s very handsome,’ I tell her. ‘He’s got thick brown hair. Shiny as a chestnut, it is.’ Again, she just throws me her pretend smile. ‘Are you ready for your dipping now?’ I ask her.