Chapter Eight 1891
Chapter Eight
Theo woke from a nightmare with a sense of towering dread, and spent the first few minutes of her eighteenth birthday reminding herself that there was nothing in particular to be afraid of.
The day held no terrors, beyond the ordinary.
Her mother still watched closely for any sign of relapse into the nervous collapse that had blighted the first full year after Missy’s death, so Theo was careful to show nothing of what she felt.
She’d written to Toby every week, to begin with.
Secret, rambling letters, penned in a scramble of guilt and anguish, the contents of which she could only guess at now.
Begging for forgiveness, desperate to explain.
Her letters had gone unanswered, and his silence, though expected, was still crushing.
But today would be a better day. Timothy Crudge was down from London, and coming to collect her at two for a birthday tea in Shaftesbury, and the only thing she loved more than seeing him was being allowed to leave Hallewell for a while.
After breakfast with the guests, her mother drew her into their private sitting room and gave her a neatly wrapped present.
Inside was the pair of elaborate ruby drop earrings that had belonged to Diana’s sister, who’d died before Theo was born.
Theo had never liked them, whatever their value.
She still wore Rosalind Mackie’s butterfly pendant: simple and meaningful.
‘They were my grandmother’s, originally,’ Diana said. ‘She always intended them to be passed down the female line. You must give them to your daughter on her eighteenth birthday.’
‘Thank you, Mama.’
Theo closed the box, feeling the weight of that expectation: that she would marry, and produce children. Diana got up briskly, as though pleased to have the small ceremony over with.
‘Now, go and get dressed for visiting. We have an appointment.’
‘But . . . Uncle Crudge . . .’
‘He’s not your uncle, Theodora. In any case, we’ll be back in plenty of time.’
Theo did as she was told, surprised when they set off on foot, and even more surprised when they went directly to St Agnes’s.
She hesitated on the step, confused. She hadn’t been there since she’d tried to talk to Joanna Bowen; hadn’t set foot inside since she’d come to visit Missy and found her bored in bed, with her head in a bandage.
The memory swarmed over her. That familiar tumbling sensation, like someone pulling a string attached to the back of her brain; the sudden flash of aimless panic that came with it, sending her pulse racing. Theo fought the urge to turn and run.
Diana took her by the arm. ‘Whatever is the matter? Stand up straight.’
Mrs Vine nodded curtly as she opened the door. Theo had no idea why they might be there. Had the girls made something for her birthday? Why on earth would they?
The matron rang a tuneless handbell.
‘Girls! Assemble.’
The Friendless Girls filed in. They eyed the visitors surreptitiously, passing whispers behind their hands.
Scrubbed faces and tidy hair; plain, hand-me-down cotton dresses.
Seventeen of them in all, bringing a smell of laundry starch, wool stockings and rosemary.
Theo was relieved to know that Joanna Bowen would not be amongst them.
She’d found a position as a dairy maid out on one of the farms, the winter before.
The girls lined up in two rows, and all eyes turned to Theo.
Some curious, some sullen, some anxious.
She sensed their expectation and glanced at her mother, perplexed.
Diana made an impatient noise.
‘Perhaps you might make a suggestion, Mrs Vine?’ she said. ‘Somebody who might make a suitable lady’s maid for my daughter.’
It was Theo’s turn to stare. Her mother didn’t even have her own lady’s maid.
They simply shared Kitty Shoat – Diana taking the lion’s share, with hair dressing and costume changes throughout the day.
Theo didn’t need a lady’s maid; she didn’t want a lady’s maid.
She was about to say so when she realised what was happening: it was a misguided attempt to cheer her up.
Her mother was trying to buy her a new friend. Someone to replace Missy.
Heat flooded into her face. It was outrageous, and she drew breath to tell her mother so. But there were too many watching eyes, and they silenced her. The girls were expectant, all waiting to hear what their lives would be after that day: more of the same, or completely different.
‘Well, let’s see,’ Mrs Vine said. ‘Jemima’s our eldest now. She’s ever so good with delicate fabrics and mixing up beauty compounds. All the girls use her rosemary hair tonic.’
Jemima made the slightest of curtseys. Theo knew her fairly well, and could guess why she was still there at the age of seventeen.
She and Missy had come to blows a number of times.
There was something sly and smirking about Jemima.
She was the kind of girl who reached at once for the biggest slice of cake on the plate.
Theo said nothing, so the matron continued, giving a short résumé of each girl’s achievements.
Susan has an excellent hand at pastry. Doreen has the neatest stitching.
The girls weren’t supposed to be ladies’ maids – they weren’t being trained as ladies’ maids.
And if some strange girl were to wander into Cook’s domain and start making pastry, she’d certainly get short shrift.
Theo didn’t want any of them. How absurd to have to choose a person to have close to her, when all she wanted was to be left alone.
The last girl was the smallest.
‘This is Audrey. She’s only come lately, so we don’t know too much about her, do we, Audrey? And she’s had no training yet,’ Mrs Vine said dismissively.
But Theo paused near Audrey. She was short, and birdlike – not particularly thin, but with a tiny waist and narrow shoulders.
She had straight brown hair and olive skin, which made the unusual colour of her eyes stand out – a mottled mix of hazel and green.
Her face tapered to a pointed chin, which was lowered, but she regarded Theo calmly.
‘Audrey, is it?’ Theo said self-consciously.
‘Audrey Wagstaff, miss.’
‘How old are you, Audrey?’
‘Fourteen, miss, or thereabouts.’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Audrey came to us from Salisbury,’ Mrs Vine interjected. ‘She’d been apprehended for begging, and had no family as could be found. She was bound for the workhouse, before luck – and Lady Wilton’s intervention – brought her here.’
‘You’re an orphan?’ Theo asked her.
‘I suppose, miss,’ Audrey said, without self-pity or apparent rancour at being discussed like a heifer at market.
Theo hated the whole situation anew. She wanted to turn on her heel and leave, but found herself still standing by Audrey.
The girl had lived through things, Theo saw.
It was true of all the girls there, to some extent, but in Audrey it was obvious.
Her voice was tiny, and she wasn’t bold, but she also wasn’t afraid.
‘Do you . . . would you like to be a lady’s maid?’ Theo asked.
‘I don’t really know, miss, never having been one.’
‘Audrey!’ Mrs Vine barked. ‘Perhaps Doreen might suit you, Miss Hallewell?’
Theo shook her head. She’d seen the flicker of good humour in Audrey’s eyes, buried deep beneath the things she’d had to see and do. The girl was unbeaten – just like Missy.
‘Audrey will suit me very well,’ she said.
The other servants at Hallewell House were already two to a room, and, Theo argued, Audrey needed to be able to hear when Theo called her.
‘If she is to be my lady’s maid, she must be close at hand,’ she said, more to cause a nuisance than for any other reason.
It backfired somewhat.
‘Very well.’ Diana sighed. ‘We shall have to do out your sister’s room for her.’
Theo’s sanctuary. But she’d more or less stopped going in there. Like everything else, it had lost its power to comfort her.
Crudge took Theo to the Grosvenor Arms Hotel in Shaftesbury.
It was an elegant Georgian building in the middle of town, away from the crenellated Town Hall, which Theo couldn’t look at without a shudder.
The proprietor’s wife was Austrian, and her hot chocolate was made with proper chocolate, rather than powdered cocoa, and topped with thick cream.
It was too rich for Theo these days but she usually ordered it anyway, out of nostalgia for the precious few outings she’d had there as a child – all of them with Crudge.
‘It had to be champagne this time,’ Crudge said, as the tea arrived on a tiered platter: tiny sandwiches and cakes, penny-sized scones. ‘If you mightn’t drink champagne on your birthday, then when on earth might you?’
He beamed at her and raised his glass. ‘A toast to you, dearest girl: happy birthday. I wish you nothing but joy. And here,’ – he brought out a wrapped parcel – ‘this is for you.’
‘Thank you, Uncle.’
It was a new illustrated edition of The Rihla, by Ibn Battuta, with a cover of peacock-blue calf hide. Theo thumbed through it carefully, seeing pyramids, deserts, ancient cities.
‘The fellow went everywhere – simply everywhere,’ Crudge said. ‘Though perhaps he didn’t go in person to all the places he claims to have visited. But a better and more entertaining account of the medieval world beyond Europe we simply do not have.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ Theo said. ‘You know how I long to travel – and reading about it is the next best thing.’
‘Indeed, I do know,’ Crudge said. ‘Arnaud and I intend to travel to the Alhambra Palace, in Granada, next spring, to make a study of the various phases of its construction. I do wish I could bring you with us.’
Theo sighed. ‘Mama would never allow it. I can hardly imagine seeing such a place! Though you could take me to Lyme and I expect I’d be just as thrilled. Anywhere that isn’t Hallewell.’
‘My poor Theo – is it so very bad?’