The Madness (7 page)

‘A half pound of butter and five ounces of yer best tea, if you please,’ said the girl.

Mr Tyke nodded at her. ‘Coming right up! And how’s things up at the manor, then?’

The manor? Of course, thought Marnie. The girl must be a maid from up there. Marnie remembered the maids she’d seen on the beach the other day, with the Bath chair and the footmen.

‘Cook’s ’aving a fit,’ the girl was saying. ‘Master de Clevedon’s asked for pancakes for ’is breakfast and we’ve run out of butter.’

Mr Tyke chuckled. ‘Well, I’d better wrap this up as quick as I can then. We can’t have the Master impatient for his breakfast, can we?’

Marnie watched as Mr Tyke weighed a cut of butter and wrapped it quickly and expertly in a sheet of paper. She watched as the maid placed the package in the basket she had hanging over her arm. So the boy Noah was having pancakes for breakfast, was he? Marnie laughed out loud. The maid turned to look at her and Mr Tyke glanced up, puzzled.

‘Something tickled you?’ he asked.

‘Sorry,’ said Marnie. ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’

Mr Tyke gave the maid an apologetic look and went back to weighing her tea. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘I’ll add it to the manor bill.’

The maid turned to leave, making sure she gave Marnie a wide berth. Marnie stared after her. She was itching to follow and trip the maid with her stick. She wanted to see the butter fall from the basket and roll out of its packaging and get ruined in the dust of the lane. See if the boy got his breakfast then. But Mr Tyke was rubbing his hands together.

‘And what can I do for you?’ he asked.

Later in the day, as Marnie half-heartedly swept sand from a bathing machine, she saw the footmen from the manor carrying the Bath chair on to the beach again. A knot of maids were hanging around outside Smoaker’s hut and Marnie recognised the one she’d seen in Mr Tyke’s that morning. It was a pity she hadn’t managed to spoil the butter. She would have liked the thought of Noah de Clevedon having to wait all morning for his pancakes. Without wanting to, Marnie found herself searching the beach for him. He was sure to be here if his mother was. Marnie passed her gaze quickly over the array of bonnets and parasols that seemed to cover the whole beach. She saw his hound first, sniffing its way across the shingle. Then, a few steps behind, there he was. The boy; strutting along like he owned the place.

Marnie felt a bubble of anger rise in her throat. She swept the last of the sand from the machine up into a furious cloud, then clambered down the steps back on to the beach. Smoaker was by the hut now, fawning over Lady de Clevedon. She knew that Ma would simper over the Lady too, at least while she was dipping her. What was wrong with them? Why did they have to pretend, when Marnie knew that later, back at the cottage, Ma and Smoaker would both be ranting?

Well, she wasn’t going to pretend, Marnie decided. She wasn’t going to act like everything was fine when it wasn’t. She wasn’t going to bow and scrape to the bleedin’ de Clevedons. Not when they’d come back and turned everyone’s lives upside down and ruined everything. Given the chance, she’d tell the boy exactly what she thought of him and his rotten family.

He was walking towards her now. A wide smile stretched across his pale face. Marnie glared at him and gripped her broom tightly in her hand. She wished her heart wasn’t knocking so loudly in her chest.

‘Marnie!’ he said. ‘I hoped I might see you here.’

‘Why?’ said Marnie. She kept her voice hard. ‘I thought you’d have better things to do with your time than waste it on a poor dipper’s daughter.’

‘Oh,’ said Noah. He stopped. ‘I beg your pardon. I was only being polite.’

‘Well, don’t waste your breath on me,’ Marnie spat back. ‘I shan’t be being polite to you or your family!’

Noah lowered his eyes. His hound nuzzled into his leg and growled low in its throat. ‘Hush, boy,’ said Noah. ‘She didn’t mean to be so unfriendly, I’m sure.’ He fondled the hound’s ears. ‘Perhaps we shall catch you in a better mood next time.’ He glanced quickly at Marnie before turning on his heel and walking away.

‘Don’t bother with a next time!’ Marnie shouted after him. But her heart wasn’t in it and her voice tailed away into the clamour of the beach. Marnie groaned. She didn’t feel like she’d thought she would. She didn’t feel glad to have spoken to him like that. Part of her had wanted to talk to him properly. Part of her had wanted him to smile at her again.

Marnie kicked angrily at the shingle. She wished the boy wasn’t a de Clevedon. She wished she didn’t have to hate him. She wished she could just have a friend.

15

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. JULY 25th 1868, Saturday

What a dreadful day. It did not begin well. I passed a restless night, plagued by dreams of the girl Marnie again. They were pleasant enough dreams. But that is the problem. Should my thoughts be taken up by this girl? Should my thoughts not be of dear Cissie back in London? As a consequence, I woke tired and confused and more world-weary than ever.

Then I had a fancy for pancakes at breakfast, which did not arrive until almost mid-morning, by which time my fancy had evaporated and it was time to go with Mother to the beach for her to take the sea-cure.

As I suspected, and secretly hoped, I saw Marnie working by the bathing machines. She looked as beautiful as in my dreams and I went over to greet her. It seems she has taken against me, though, and was exceedingly rude. I was, I admit, shocked that she would speak to someone of my station in such a way, but to my shame it has only made me more determined to speak to her again.

As a final insult to this doomed day, Mother did not take well to her dipping. It did not revive her senses. Indeed, it seems she has taken leave of her senses and had to be taken back to the manor and put to bed at once. I would seek out a local doctor, but Mother will not entertain the idea. So I have had to send word to Doctor Russell instead.

And so this day cannot end quickly enough for me. The sun has eventually crept to bed and it is a relief to feel a small breeze come through my chamber window. I will stop my ramblings now and hope for a peaceful night.

16

Like an Empty Pocket

Things were not good between Ma and Smoaker. Marnie could tell by the way Ma thumped Smoaker’s bowl down in front of him at supper time. She could tell from the thin silence that quivered in the air, just waiting to be broken. She could tell from the bitter whispers that passed between Smoaker and Ma, after Marnie had taken herself to bed and blown out her candle. Most of all, Marnie knew things were not good when Ma stopped going to Smoaker’s bed. Ma’s hot, heavy form lying next to her at night disturbed Marnie’s sleep and tainted her night excursions to the sea with a maddening danger.

Marnie knew it was all to do with the pier, of course. She knew Ma was scared and didn’t know what to do. She’d only ever known being a dipper. While the pier was being built there would be no bathing and no money to be earned. Ma seemed to blame everyone for the pier; she blamed Smoaker, she blamed the de Clevedons and she blamed Marnie.

Marnie hated it in the cottage. Nothing was certain any more and nothing was fixed. Only the sea was always there. When she was floating on its surface she could forget Ma’s moods and the dark worry that creased Smoaker’s brow. She could forget the black shadow of the coming pier that filled her dreams. She could forget how her life had been turned inside out like an empty pocket. When it was just her and the sea, she could let her thoughts wander where they liked. She could talk to Pa with no one to hear and she could let her hopes for his return rise up high on the crest of every wave.

But it wasn’t so easy to get away at night now. Only when Ma had supped heavily on beer and was a dead weight beside her could Marnie chance leaving the cottage.

It was worth every flip of her heart though, and every creak of the floorboards and doors for Marnie to feel the wet shingle on her bare toes and the first lap of the sea on her ankles.

She’d tied her hair high on her head tonight. It was easy to dry bare skin but she couldn’t risk Ma questioning her over sea-soaked hair.

It was a good, calm night. A cloudless sky patterned with stars stretched like a silk cloak overhead as Marnie paddled lazily on her back. ‘It’ll be all right, won’t it, Pa?’ she said. ‘As long as I have you and the sea, nothing can be too bad, can it?’ She imagined that no matter how far away Pa was, her voice had travelled in the breeze and reached Pa’s ears, so that at this very moment he had turned his sails towards her.

Marnie thought of the boy again and how she’d spoken to him the day before. She had wanted him to feel bad. She had wanted him to know that just because he was the son of Sir John de Clevedon, she wasn’t going to bow and scrape to him like everyone else. She should have felt smug that she’d been so rude. But she didn’t. Instead she felt a strange regret gnawing at her insides. ‘I did right, Pa, didn’t I?’ she said, as she tried not to think of the hurt look in Noah de Clevedon’s eyes. ‘He got what he deserved, didn’t he, Pa?’

The night breeze flitted gently across her face and touched the small circle of her belly, poking naked above the water. Marnie sighed deeply. She was content now. Pa was answering her in the only way he could.

17

The Journal of Noah de Clevedon

Clevedon. JULY 26th 1868, Sunday

Doctor Russell has arrived from London to attend Mother. She has weakened dramatically. I questioned him as to the benefits of sea-bathing. He said, and I quote, ‘A healthy plunger would feel a considerable shock or chill, a contraction of the skin and ringing in the ears. On leaving the water a general glow should succeed and the spirits be raised. But when bathing does not produce a glow, the chilling sensation continues, the spirits become languid and the appetite is impaired, it may be assumed that the bathing is doing more harm than good.’

So he advises that Mother desists from dipping, but that we remain here in Clevedon where the soft, mild air will benefit her more than the fog of the city. He is also worried that several new cases of cholera in London might indicate the return of the epidemic that killed so many thousands when I was but a babe in arms. So there is still no chance of us returning to London yet.

Doctor Russell is a kindly man, albeit somewhat pompous. But at least I had someone other than Clarissa to converse with at dinner. That damn girl Marnie is still playing on my mind.

Codfish with egg sauce, and summer fruits for dessert.

18

Not One for Gossip

August drifted by in a haze of heat. Marnie was barely aware of the passing of the days. They were just a stretch of time she endured until night fell and she could escape to the sea. Ma and Smoaker were on better terms now and so busy with their new plans that Marnie found, if she was careful, she could come and go unnoticed; like a cat out on its nightly prowls. Smoaker had signed up for work as a labourer on the pier and Ma had finally decided on a new way to earn a crust. She was to set herself up as a laundress and when the workers arrived to build the pier, she was to take one of them in to lodge.

‘He’ll have our bedchamber, Marnie,’ she said. ‘You can make do with sleeping in the kitchen.’ It didn’t have to be said that Ma would go in with Smoaker. Whoever the lodger was, he would no doubt assume Ma and Smoaker were wedded.

The news that she was to sleep in the kitchen came like a gift to Marnie. No more waiting with her heart beating fast to see if Ma was going to Smoaker’s bed. No more holding her breath as she slid from under the blanket on the nights that Ma stayed put. She would have a mattress by the fire, a space of her own and a whole night, every night, to come and go as she pleased.

As the end of the summer season approached, demand for the bathing machines grew less and less and Clevedon gradually emptied itself of visitors. And this year, for the first time, there would be no autumn or winter visitors to replace them. Marnie found herself looking out for the Bath chair and Lady de Clevedon and the entourage from the manor. But none of them came. They must have gone back to London. She told herself she was glad of this. It meant she didn’t have to see the boy Noah again. She tried to put him from her mind and not think about how kind his eyes had been, even after she’d been so rude to him.

Marnie was surprised then at how her heart lurched when she saw the young maid from the manor come out of Mr Tyke’s early one Saturday morning. She was so surprised that before she knew what she was doing, she had smiled at the maid and wished her a good morning. The maid smiled back and although Marnie didn’t need anything from the grocer’s, she found herself pushing open Mr Tyke’s door.

‘Ah,’ said Mr Tyke, looking at her from over the rim of his spectacles. He rubbed his hands together. ‘And what can I do for you?’

‘I  …  I was just wondering,’ Marnie began. ‘Up at the manor? Have they all gone back to London?’

‘I should hope not,’ said Mr Tyke. ‘They haven’t settled their bill with me yet!’ He looked closely at her. ‘But what’s that to you, Marnie Gunn? You’re not usually one for gossip.’

‘It’s just that  …  that  …  ’ Marnie thought quickly. ‘We haven’t had the Lady de Clevedon for a dipping lately. And I just thought  …  I just thought it was because they’d all gone back to London, that’s all.’