Chapter 9
‘...just keep getting worse. They keep popping up everywhere and they aren’t half irritating.’
Thea’s attention slid back to the conversation.
She had been too busy thinking about the night before, and now she had no idea what Harriet was talking about.
She wracked her brains for the type of things that popped up and were irritating.
A jack in the box? Thea was terrified of the ones in the nursery. Or weeds in the garden? Tory MPs?
‘That’s unfortunate,’ she tried, assuming she was on safe ground.
Harriet shifted her weight a little on the bed as Thea watched from her toilette chair for any clues.
She had still been in bed when Harriet had arrived at ten o’clock.
She hadn’t slept, thinking about the robbery and also about Frankie.
Harriet had barged in anyway and up to Thea’s room despite Fletcher’s protestations.
Thea didn’t mind, she thought it might stop her mind racing, but it hadn’t so far.
‘They’re just so angry and red,’ Harriet went on, snapping Thea back to the room once more.
That ruled out weeds then but otherwise didn’t narrow it down.
‘Have you tried calming them down?’ That seemed a safe response, if the unidentified things were angry.
A wrinkle formed in Harriet’s forehead. ‘You know I have, Thea. What is wrong with you today? You’ve been combing that same strand of hair for ten minutes.’
Thea paused. She couldn’t very well tell Harriet that she was too busy thinking about the woman dressed as a man that she kissed the night previously, just before she got robbed twice.
And that whilst there was clearly nothing romantic in the kiss how she was now certain she wanted the woman to work at Hawkdean because she was the best gardener she had met since Scip and she sated her intellectual curiosity whenever they talked and that it didn’t matter if she had a forest and Frankie didn’t.
She also now knew that Frankie was the same as her, in her worldly curiosity and queer attraction to ladies at least. It made her feel safe, in a strange way.
Like if you had someone like that around you, there seemed to be one less barrier between the real you and the world.
But she couldn’t say any of that, not even to her best friend.
‘Thea?’ said Harriet again.
‘I’m fine, sorry,’ said Thea, not wanting to be pushed. ‘So, what you have tried so far hasn’t worked?’ Couldn’t be the jack in a box, Harriet could just throw that away or put it in the attic if it was an heirloom. Was it the MPs?
Harriet seemed satisfied with her response but leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘They sometimes leak nasty stuff.’
Definitely MPs.
‘I’ve had to wash my drawers at least once a week this past month, it’s getting beyond a joke.’
Thea blinked at her.
‘That cream that Speckle gave me is definitely helping but I’m running out. I don’t suppose you’d mind having a look?’ Harriet slid off the bed, turned around and started rucking up her dress.
Thea’s mind tripped over itself trying to catch up with the past twenty minutes of conversation. Boils. Harriet was talking about her boils. And they were clearly on her…
Harriet bent over right in front of Thea, her hands braced on a side table. Her skirts were bunched up around her waist and two round mounds, currently covered in silk drawers but soon not to be, the way Harriet was pulling at them, were thrust into Thea’s face.
‘It’s just it’s difficult to see round there, even with a mirror,’ said Harriet, her voice a little muffled against her scarf in her downward position. ‘And it’s making sitting down difficult.’
‘Uh,’ said Thea, having not expected quite such an intimate examination before breakfast. Or ever, for that matter, but Harriet was never shy.
She took a deep breath and decided that this was what friends were for.
Better than Harriet having Doctor Herbert, or even Doctor Speckle handling her buttocks.
She used one finger to shift the silk aside from the split in the middle of the drawers, so she could view the area Harriet seemed to be indicating was the problem.
There were indeed lumps. Red, and angry looking.
Maybe the one on the far left did look a little like the MP for Haverfordwest.
Before she could report back on her findings, a swift knock came at the door, the handle turned, and Thea heard the familiar creak of the hinges.
‘I thought I’d bring you and Mrs Henry some coffee and carraway buns, Your Gr…’
Joan’s address faltered as she took in the scene. She looked between Harriet, bent over on the side table, and Thea, with her fingers buried in the drawers. Nobody moved for what seemed like an age. Then both Joan and Harriet spoke at the same time.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Joan, backing out of the room.
‘Oh, carraway buns!’ exclaimed Harriet, standing and pulling at her layers of skirts. Thea stared at her, and then at the rapidly closing door. ‘Well go and get her,’ said Harriet, motioning to the retreating Joan. ‘I can hardly go out like this, but I could murder a coffee.’
More to intercept Joan than to fetch the buns, Thea turned and dashed to the door.
‘Joan,’ she shouted as her slippered feet slid a little on the floorboards in the cabinet corridor. Joan stopped by the glass case with the ancient amphora.
‘I am so sorry, Your Grace,’ she said, only turning halfway and seemingly unable to look at Thea. ‘I should have left longer after I knocked but I know Mrs Henry likes those rolls and I never imagined–’
‘You are quite without fault, Joan,’ said Thea.
She knew she would have to elaborate a little if Joan wasn’t to wonder.
Who would have thought that after all her dalliances with Martha she would be exposed for examining a friend’s boils?
‘I had not expected to see quite so much of Mrs Henry, but she has been having some trouble and wished to show me her buns.’ She stuttered. ‘Ah – I mean her boils.’
‘Oh,’ said Joan, finally turning to look at Thea. Understanding seemed to dawn on her face. ‘Oh,’ she said again, sounding a little relieved this time, but she didn’t move.
‘And she would like a boil,’ said Thea, pointing at the tray. ‘Ah – I mean a bun. I’ll take them.’
‘Are they bad?’ asked Joan, holding out the tray to Thea and allowing her to take it.
Thea peered down at the tray. ‘They look alright to me.’
‘The boils.’
‘Oh!’ Thea thought back to her brief glimpse and lowered her voice.
‘They didn’t look good.’
‘I’ll make her some cream.’
Thea smiled at her excellent lady’s maid. ‘I am sure she would appreciate that. Thank you, Joan.’
She turned back towards the door but heard no retreating footsteps behind her. As she pushed the door, Joan spoke again.
‘Your Grace?’ Thea turned back around and raised her head in question. Joan came towards her and lowered her voice. ‘If it wasn’t the boils,’ she said, nodding towards the door. ‘I wouldn’t have minded.’
Thea was so taken aback she didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth and then shut it again. Joan stepped closer.
‘I know it isn’t my place to say, but he does what he wants.
’ She nodded in the direction of George’s wing of the house.
‘And whatever it is that you want, Your Grace, you should do. Not everybody has the chance.’ She smiled, bobbed, turned, and hurried off down the cabinet corridor to whatever task came next.
Thea watched her go, sliding her thumb thoughtfully along the smooth side of the silver tray.
Joan was right. The harsh light of day had once again made her cautious and unsure, but she needed to rekindle the fear and resolve she had felt in that alleyway, at the barrel of a pistol.
Thea didn’t have autonomy, but she had opportunity.
Why was she dithering and feeling sorry for herself, when she had wealth and comfort and more chance to pursue her goals than everyone else who worked their fingers to the bone for a pittance?
She might not be able to impress the men, but she could damn well please herself.
She would ask Frankie to join her at Hawkdean and put their collective minds to growing.
Her enthusiasm swelled and it felt like her vision cleared.
She burst back through the door, tray in hand.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘To the doctors.’
Harriet looked horrified and clutched her behind. ‘Are they so bad?’
The ride to Doctor Herbert’s, where Thea knew she would find Frankie and where she could pass off Harriet’s boils as an excuse for her presence, seemed long.
She was worried about seeming too keen, and even more worried that Frankie would have reflected on the night before and find her foolish or weak, but she knew she had to go.
Joan’s words had breathed life into a determination that she thought she might never feel again. It was almost heady.
‘So, you’re going to leave Speckle without a gardener?’ asked Harriet, enjoying herself.
‘Herbert,’ said Thea. ‘And he is a terrible employer. I will help Speckle to find another and train them up if he wishes.’
‘And George won’t mind?’
‘I’m sure he won’t notice. I manage most of the estate finances now and he’s off with Miss Bellegarde most of the time. Or another lady he picks up.’
‘Have you ever met her?’ Harriet pressed a hand to the carriage door to steady herself as they hit a pothole. ‘Miss Bellegarde?’
‘Once,’ said Thea. ‘She’s harder to avoid at Hawkdean when she’s on the estate. She has to venture outside sometimes and that’s usually where I am. Other than that, I see her occasionally, but she doesn’t take meals with us of course.’
‘And is she French?’
‘Absolutely not. East London, I’d say,’ said Thea.
Harriet smiled.
‘Gets you out of wifely duties I suppose.’