Chapter 1 #2
“This is ours,” said Agnes, opening the first one to show a plain room with three single beds neatly lined up. There was a small wooden table with a jug and a basin for washing, and a chamber pot in the corner of the room. Two of the beds had a chest at the end, the third, closest to the door, did not.
“That’s your bed. So you can go to him easily in the night,” Agnes added.
They placed Maggie’s trunk at the foot of her bed and left the room.
“That’s Edward’s room,” said Agnes pointing at the next door. “He’ll come down when he’s called for. Anyway, you must be half starved. Shall I make you a plate an’ all?”
Maggie nodded gratefully. She wondered what was behind the third door but did not want to seem nosy.
Back downstairs, Maggie caught a glimpse of the doctor in the parlour, sitting down to a good spread, attended by Eliza, who was answering his questions about provisions and firewood supplies. Maggie followed Agnes into the kitchen, where the maid put together a plate like the one she had given the driver.
“I’ll just see how Will’s getting on,” she said, sidling towards the door, no doubt keen to make every moment count with the driver.
Maggie sat at the table and ate. The bread and ham were both good quality and she had been given a large portion. The water was fresh and cold, and there was ale, too, but she drank only a little, unused to the taste.
She had just finished eating when she heard the doctor calling her name and presented herself in the parlour. It was a good-sized room, with two armchairs and a fireplace, a shelf with a few books, a small pianoforte, a table and two wooden chairs in the corner, where the doctor was sitting, Eliza standing to one side.
“Ah Maggie,” he said. “Be so good as to fetch Edward for me. I would like to see him before I go, and I need to introduce you. He will be in his bedroom.”
Maggie made her way back up the stairs and paused outside Edward’s room before knocking.
“Come in.”
The young man seated by the window was bent over a large book. The light streaming through the window illuminated his unfashionably long shoulder-length fair wavy hair, turning it golden and bringing something ethereal to his figure. She could tell by his long legs that he was tall, but there was in his posture a desire to stay small. His shoulders were hunched, his arms close to his side, his neck bent downwards. His clothing was neat and clean but by his dress Maggie would have thought him a servant. He wore a brown woollen suit with a baggy jacket and breeches, a waistcoat in a lighter brown, thick woollen stockings and sturdy shoes, like her own. His shirt was a cream colour, but he did not wear a high collar as the governors of the Hospital had done.
“I’m Maggie, I’m to be your new… companion.”
He looked up, startled at the unfamiliar voice, then unfurled to his full height, even taller than Maggie would have guessed. His head came up last, so that Maggie could see his face. His skin was very pale, and he was overly thin for such a tall man, but his eyes, when they met Maggie’s, were a rich deep blue. They reminded her of a ring she had once seen on a visiting lady’s hand and for a moment she forgot her manners and stared.
The man bowed, a slow graceful movement, not the sharp half-dips that most men gave. “Maggie. My name is Edward.” His voice came out deeper than Maggie had expected from a man of such slight build.
She bobbed a curtsey. “Edward.” It felt odd to call him by his first name, as though he were one of the children at the Hospital in her care, but, she reminded herself, he was to be in her care, and perhaps thinking of him as a child was best.
“Doctor Morrison is in the parlour and would like to see you.”
He blinked at the name, not quite a flinch, but there was something fearful about it, there and gone in an instant.
Maggie stepped back onto the landing and he followed her down the stairs, ducking his head under a low beam before they entered the parlour.
“Ah, Edward,” said Doctor Morrison, standing up to greet them as they entered. “You have met Maggie I see. She will be your new companion. And are you well, in yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
The doctor looked him up and down, having to lift his chin to do so, since Edward was a head taller than him. “Yes, yes, you seem well enough, I am glad to see.”
Maggie thought it an odd assessment, for Edward was pale and too thin for his height, but perhaps he had been worse in the past; the doctor must know his business.
“Well, now,” continued the doctor. “I must make hasten to Leamington, for I have been gone more than two weeks. Edward, I will return in a month’s time for your treatments. Maggie, Eliza and Agnes can answer any questions about the household that you may have.” He came to the door, where Eliza stood waiting with his hat. “Eliza, I commend you for a good meal. Good day to you both.”
“Good day, sir,” they replied in unison.
He strode out through the front door which Eliza was holding open. Maggie caught a glimpse of Agnes hastily snatching the plate and tankard back from the driver and bobbing a curtsey to the doctor as he climbed into the carriage, as though she had only been there to fulfil her housework duties. The driver winked at her, cracked the whip and the carriage drove away.
Now that the doctor was gone Maggie felt at a loss. She was to be a companion; she was to keep Edward contented and well in himself. At the Hospital there would have been the daily routine of the children being woken, washing, eating, being taught their lessons, attending prayers and so on. What should she do here? What sort of routine was Edward accustomed to? Perhaps she should see what the garden had to offer. The doctor had spoken of healthful exercise, after all, and walking in the garden must form a part of this. She returned to the parlour, where Edward was sitting in one of the armchairs close to the small pianoforte which sat in an alcove of the room, once again holding a book.
“Shall we walk in the garden? It is a fine day.”
He rose at once without speaking and headed out into the hall. Maggie followed, glad that he was so easily compliant with her first suggestion, but at the back door he opened it and stepped back, still holding it, and stood still. Was he refusing to go out? She looked up at him, confused, but he made a small gesture with his other hand, indicating that she should go out before him, that he was holding the door open for her.
Maggie had never had someone hold a door open for her. She had seen the governors do so for lady visitors, or the servants and staff do so for the governors. She had held many doors open herself for her superiors, but now Edward was treating her as though she were his superior, or a lady. She hesitated, but ducked her head in awkward thanks and stepped out into the garden. Perhaps he meant to get rid of her, would shut the door behind her and leave her standing outside like a fool, but he did not. Instead, he followed her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, oddly touched that this silent man should show such courtesy to one who was, after all, his servant.
The garden was very large, stretching out ahead of them. It was enclosed on both sides with high hedges, presumably for the privacy the doctor was so insistent on, but Maggie could not see to the end of it. It began with a lawn and a few bare rose bushes, but sloped downwards further along. Glancing at Edward, Maggie walked forwards and he, still silent, kept pace alongside her.
“Do you walk here every day?” she asked after a few steps.
“Yes.”
“And about the village? Or further afield?”
“I am not permitted to leave the garden.”
They walked on a little further. The ground sloped downwards, towards a row of trees and low bushes, before rising steeply beyond, up a forested hill.
“What is at the bottom?” she asked.
“A stream,” he said.
“Will you show it to me?”
Silently, he walked with her to the bottom of the slope, to where bushes and trees rose up and now Maggie could hear the gurgling of a stream, which they shortly came to. It could only be knee deep, might dry up in summers, but for now it wound its way between the bushes, forming tiny pools here and there.
“It’s very pretty,” she said. “Are there animals?”
He had been looking at her, but when she turned towards him his eyes slid away, as though her gaze was too much for him. He ducked his head but did not reply.
Maggie knelt at the side of the stream and let the cold clear water wash over her hands, then stood, drying them on her apron.
“Frogs.” His voice was low, a murmur.
“I’m sorry?”
“I see frogs, in springtime. A fox most evenings. Deer in the summer, they come to drink when there’s not much water about.” He was looking beyond her, up at the woodland, as though seeing the animals in his mind and for a moment she wondered whether he was seeing things that were not there, but he seemed to know what she was thinking, for he added, “Not now, they come when they think no-one is near.”
“Do you hide so they can’t see you and be scared?”
He nodded.
“I’ve never seen deer nor a frog,” she said. “I saw a fox once, a long time ago. I should like to see more animals. There were none at the Hospital.”
“Hospital?” He sounded scared. Had he been kept in somewhere like Bedlam? Everyone in London was afraid of the likes of people that were kept there and indeed of the gaolers, who were said to be cruel.
“The Foundling Hospital,” she said. “I was a foundling and raised there. When I was fourteen I became part of the staff there, before I came here to you.”
“A foundling.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother gave you away.”
Maggie hesitated. Having seen so many women bring their children to the Hospital, she could not think harshly of them. They came weeping, they came with bruises or dressed in rags, they came out of desperation, and they left pathetic tokens of their intentions to one day return for their children, however unlikely that might be. “Yes. She gave me into the care of the Hospital, that I might be raised well and not suffer hardship.”
He gazed at her for a moment before his eyes slid away again. “My mother sent me here.”
“To make you well again,” she said gently, meaning to comfort him.
“So that I would not embarrass her,” he corrected, and Maggie heard the misery under it, the grief of being unwanted.
“How long have you been here?
“Several years now.”
“Always with Eliza and Agnes?”
“Yes.”
“And any other people?”
He looked down. “There was a man when I first came. Then a woman. Before you. Bridget.”
Maggie thought it better not to ask more questions. He seemed unwilling to give much detail and she was mindful of Doctor Morrison’s instructions not to inquire overmuch into her patient’s history.
“How did you manage to see the animals?”
“I sat quiet for over an hour each time.”
That was reassuring. If her patient’s idea of passing the time involved sitting in silence out of doors watching wild animals, he did not sound dangerous.
“Shall we try now?” she asked.
He glanced at her, as though surprised. “To watch for the animals?”
“Yes.”
He nodded and settled himself on the bank. Maggie watched him and sat in a similar position, knees up, arms wrapped about her legs, making herself small and still.
Perhaps an hour slipped by in the cold January sunlight. Edward’s fingers and toes were growing numb with cold, but he did not want to move. Not because of the animals, for twilight would have been a better time to wait for them than broad daylight, but because of her. Maggie. He had been expecting, dreading, another Bridget, a hard-faced, hard-voiced woman who had barely tolerated his presence, who had seen it as her task to strip from him any of his small pleasures in life. And here instead was a young woman of his own age, with bright eyes and a gentle voice, who was prepared to sit with him in the cold for the hope of seeing a glimpse of a wild animal. He wondered how long she would stay after she had seen what the role would entail, whether she would be frightened away by his strangeness, his wrongness. Everyone had always told him he was wrong and different, so it must be true. Would she be able to bear life at Ivy Cottage? He hoped so, but he did not want her to suffer for his strangeness.
“We should go back in,” he said. “It is too cold to stay out long.”
She turned her head and smiled at him. “My nose is cold,” she said. “But I would like to try again one day.”
Slowly they got to their feet and made their way back up the steep bank. At the top, Edward slipped. He flung out his arms to help himself balance and Maggie grabbed his hand, steadying him.
“Thank you,” he said.
She laughed. “I cannot have you fall into the stream in this weather,” she said. “You would die of a chill and Doctor Morrison would say I was a poor companion.”
He managed a smile as they reached the safer ground of the garden and once again he held the door open for her, which she appeared both awkwardly pleased by and grateful for. But when she went into the kitchen to speak to Agnes and Eliza, he stood in the hallway, looking down at his own hand, trying to hold onto the feeling of how she had held it. Her cold fingers tightly clasping his, helping him find his feet in that moment of unsteadiness. It had felt like care, and he had forgotten what being cared for felt like.
On their return to the house, they went into the parlour. Agnes was pumping water and Eliza was cooking. It was clear that, while pleasant women, they had their own work to do and saw Edward as entirely belonging to Maggie. So far, she had seen little of the lunatic about him, but she supposed that would reveal itself in due course. He was currently choosing a book, after which he settled himself into an armchair.
“What do you do, most days?” she asked him.
“Read.”
“All day?”
“There is not much else to do. The vicar, Mr Robertson, brings me new books when he can.”
Maggie perused the books on the shelves. There was a large handsome Bible, a leather-bound Atlas so heavy that Maggie’s wrists felt weak when she lifted it, as well as works by Shakespeare and Milton, along with books that had evidently been used to educate Edward: The history of England, from the earliest times to the reign of George II. by Dr. Goldsmith; The British Youth’s Instructor: Or, A New and Easy Guide to Practical Arithmetic ; A Short Introduction to English Grammar: with Critical Notes ; A Tour Thro’ the Whole Island of Great Britain. Divided into Circuits or Journies by Daniel Defoe, and others of a similar nature. Clearly his education had continued, even though he was not at school.
“What do you like to read?”
“I prefer books on the natural world,” said Edward. “Botany, or animals, geography.”
They ate a simple supper of pease soup with bread and butter, hot and filling, served to Edward and Maggie in the parlour, while Eliza and Agnes ate in the kitchen, though the food was the same. Darkness had already fallen and shortly after supper they retired to the bedrooms.
“Leave a candle burning,” said Eliza to Maggie. She offered her a lamp made of metal, which surrounded the thick candle within, allowing light to emerge only through many tiny holes, thus avoiding the risk of fire. “You may need it if you have to go to him in the night.”
“Does he wake often?”
Eliza nodded without offering further information, busy divesting herself of her clothing and changing hurriedly into a nightgown against the cold. Carefully, Maggie placed the candle in its holder on top of her trunk, where it glowed softly.
The room was chilly, but the blankets on the bed were thick and after all the new experiences and lack of sleep the previous night, Maggie fell asleep.
“HELP!”
Maggie awoke with a start in the darkness, unsure of where she was. The Hospital? No, she had left there… the inn? No, no, she was in Ivy Cottage, and the shouting she had just heard was a man’s voice, it –