Suki, p.7
Suki, page 7
‘And that’s not all,’ Smithers said. Charlie was flushed with the excitement of it all. ‘I had a billet from Alexander, by the first post this morning. You are like to get one too, if it ain’t arrived already. No? Well then, the Company of Merchants are to hold an extraordinary meeting in London next Monday. We are urged to attend.’
‘Then matters are serious,’ Sir George said with great satisfaction. ‘With any luck we might just declare war. I’m on my way home for breakfast, be gad. Shall you join me?’
‘Thank ’ee, but no,’ Sir Arnold declined. ‘We’ve breakfasted long since, don’tcher know. Besides we’re engaged to dine with Lady Fosdyke in an hour or so, an’ ’twould be a parlous thing to be late in that quarter. Never be forgiven, what!’
So they agreed to defer their conversation until dinner and Sir George went home in high spirits to read his letter.
‘Tell Cook to serve breakfast,’ he said to Jessup, removing his damp dressing gown as he strode into the hall. ‘Where’s my billet, what? Come has it? That’s the style. Good news brings good appetite.’
So despite his mistress’s instructions Jessup had to hand the letter over there and then in the hall.
As Sir George broke the seal, he was still smiling happily. But the news this billet contained was not from London and Mr Alexander. It was from his brother in Bristol and as shocking as a douche of cold water. One of his traders had beaten the French and come safely home to port, but the second had been boarded ten leagues out and all its cargo taken. Most of the crew had been killed or captured or had jumped ship and, although the master had survived and managed to steer his tattered vessel back to port, their local factor had written to say that he now feared ‘some difficulty at the Barbadian end’ and would await instructions.
‘’Od’s bowels,’ Sir George said. ‘Here’s a kettle of fish.’ It was a parlous blow. A third of their annual trade. To say nothing of the ship and the crew. He knew it was the sort of setback any sugar trader had to expect in piratical times but the shock of it gripped his bowels in a vice. A third of their trade completely lost and just when they were banking upon it. ‘’Od’s bowels!’
But, as always, bad news brought out the best in him. As he stuffed the note into the pocket of his breeches, he was already thinking of ways to counter the loss, estimating costs, wondering how much capital he could raise, his mind money-sharp. We shall need to commission another ship at once, he thought, or we shall miss our next cargo on the Guinea Coast. Poor old Frederick. He’ll be at his wit’s end. I must go to him at once. The thought of his brother’s distress renewed his anger. Damned Frenchies, he raged, to do this to the poor feller. And he stomped upstairs, still in his damp clothes, to tell Lady Bradbury.
‘See this,’ he shouted, pulling the letter from his pocket and waving it at her. ‘Damned Frenchies! They want stringing up by the thumbs and setting in the stocks. They want shooting out of the water, ’od rot ’em. They should be hung drawn and quartered, so they should. All the whole confounded lot of ’em, lock, stock and barrel. There’ll be no peace till we go to war. Ain’t I always said so? ’Od’s bowels, it makes me mad! They needn’t think they own the ocean. What are they, eh? Tell me that. Just a parcel of plaguey foreigners, dammit. A parcel of plaguey foreigners. We should give ’em a damned good hiding. That’s what they need. Damned good hiding. I’m off to Bristol.’
The lady had been reading a book in a desultory way but she set it aside at once, realising that the letter had been given too soon and that the news had been bad. ‘Indeed?’ she said coolly. ‘In that apparel?’
He looked down at his damp chemise and his slippery slippered feet. ‘Ah, to be sure,’ he agreed. ‘Jessup shall have the carriage brought up while I dress.’
‘Chairs are ordered for half past two,’ she reminded him, ‘since we are engaged to dine with the Fosdykes at three.’
In his sudden anger, he’d forgotten. ‘You must make my excuses,’ he said.
‘Do you think that wise, my love?’ Hermione observed mildly. ‘I say this for your own good, you understand, and mindful of the fact that the noble lord is the chairman of the consortium.’
Sir George dismissed that with a wave of his podgy hand. ‘Fossy won’t mind,’ he said. ‘Business, don’tcher know. Read that.’
‘Lord Fosdyke might well be agreeable to it,’ Hermione agreed, taking the letter languidly. ‘That I do not doubt. Lord Fosdyke is an agreeable man. His wife, I need hardly remind you, is a horse of another colour.’
That was true and uncomfortable. ‘Dammit!’ Sir George said. ‘It’s come to something when a man ain’t allowed to bring a little comfort to his own brother. We’ve lost a third of our trade, dammit. We shall have to find another ship — and not just any ship, mark you, a ship of the proper tonnage — hire another crew, a reliable master — and they’re not easy to come by — and all by the end of the month if we ain’t to miss the Guinea trade. There’s others’ll take it if we default.’
Hermione was reading the letter. ‘This is most unfortunate,’ she observed. ‘I trust you will not allow it to affect Ariadne’s dowry.’
Sir George’s mind was still in full problem-solving flow, so he was baffled and looked it. ‘Ariadne’s dowry?’ he said. ‘We ain’t talking of dowries, woman. This is a matter of business.’
Hermione gave him her stern look. ‘Then perhaps we should,’ she said. ‘In my opinion — and ’tis merely my opinion and therefore of little consequence — ’tis high time our eldest was married.’
‘What nonsense!’ Ariadne’s father said, his mind still busy with balance sheets. ‘She’s a child.’
‘She is seventeen,’ her mother corrected, ‘which is a dangerous age for a young gel. An age ripe for mischief.’
‘If that is the case,’ Sir George said, ‘you must take her in hand. Women’s work, don’tcher know.’
‘Depend upon it,’ Hermione told him, ‘I shall do all that lies within my power to dissuade her from folly. But you are aware, are you not my love, how grudgingly she obeys. ’Tis an obstinate wretch and uncommon hard to persuade. She is firm in her opinion that her health will suffer if she is not allowed her every whim. No, no, ’tis time she was married and tamed. She’s a deal too headstrong. And I have to say this, my love, a marriage is a matter that you must arrange.’
‘Well, well,’ Sir George temporised. ‘I’ll think on it. Later. This other matter takes precedence.’
He was rewarded with unexpected praise. ‘How wise you are, my love,’ his wife said, rising from her chaise longue to pat his arm. ‘The equal of Solomon himself. A man of action and bottom and uncommon good sense. I find myself particularly blessed in your good sense, as I told Lady Fosdyke only the other afternoon. She is peculiarly appreciative of your good sense, which is why you are so wise in your present decision to dine with her today.’ And when he tried to speak. ‘No, no. Say nothing. I would not dream of dissuading you. Now pray do dress, my love. I would not have you take cold for the world. I will order the carriage to be ready when we return and Barnaby shall pack such linen as is necessary for your journey. You may leave all to me.’
He could feel his mind numbing as he strained to understand. He knew that he was being outmanoeuvred and that his ability to prevent her was being drained away by her speed and decisiveness. He gulped, blinked, tried to make a stand. ‘Lady Fosdyke’s dinner is quite out of the—’ he began.
But before he could even get his tongue round the word ‘question’, she had finished the statement for him.
‘…ordinary. How very true! What a mind you have! No, no, you need not explain. If you are to finance a replacement for your lost trader you will need capital. That is quite understood. And who better to provide it than Lord Fosdyke, your oldest and most trusted friend? I do understand. You are uncommon wise in these matters and not to be gainsaid. If you wish to attend the dinner I shall do nothing to dissuade you. You may depend upon it. I will see to everything on the instant. Leave all to me.’
Which, warmed by her compliments, stunned into acquiescence by the speed of her strategy, and in such confusion that he even forgot about breakfast, he did.
Chapter 5
Having decided to start her search the minute the Bradburys were out of the house, Suki was taut with impatience to see the back of them. She and Bessie stood on the bench below the kitchen window and watched every movement so as to speed their departure, but it didn’t do any good.
The trouble was that three chairs had arrived on the pavement simultaneously, and when Sir George and Lady Bradbury emerged from the house in full fig and ready to be assisted into their transport, Lady Bradbury took exception to such abundance and declared that the third chair was not required and had better be off. That provoked a spitting argument between the bearers, none of whom would admit to the indignity of being the third chair. Jessup ran frantically in and out of the house, coughing his embarrassed cough — krrum, kr-krrum — and the mistress ordered one chair after another to be ‘on its way’ without any of the bearers taking the least bit of notice, and so much time passed without movement it was as if they’d all been glued to the road. Finally the master threw a handful of coins on to the pavement and roared, and that seemed to settle the matter, for after a scramble only two chairs remained.
Bessie and Suki watched as two pairs of elegant silk stockings climbed inelegantly aboard, Jessup was sent running yet again for ‘my dear darling Benjy’ and returned with a snarling bundle under one arm and a new yellow stain all down one white stocking, and at last they were gone.
Cook gave a cheer. ‘About time too,’ she said. ‘I never knew such a long-winded lot. Still they’m gone now, me dears, an’ that’s the main thing. The cats are away, the mice can play. I’m off out.’
She wasn’t the only one, for the two senior servants had the same idea. Mr Jessup was gone so quickly he practically followed his master down the road, his yellow-stained legs scissoring past the area window, swishing with urgency. And the very next moment, Mrs Sparepenny swept from her parlour in her best bonnet and her smart pelisse to announce that she too was off ‘to the Pump Room to take the waters’.
‘The rest of you may visit as you please,’ she said to her assembled staff, frowning her displeasure as Bessie and Suki scrambled down from the bench, ‘now you’ve stopped gawping. You may visit, as I say, providin’ you are discreet about it and providin’ you make certain sure to be back in this kitchen in time to prepare the supper. A cold collation, Cook, if you please. Suki will watch the house, being she can’t walk abroad with a baby to keep within doors.’ And with that she left them.
Oh will I? Suki thought, her face mutinous. That’s all you know, Mistress Sparepenny. I ain’t stayin’ here twiddlin’ my thumbs all precious afternoon. Not me. But at that point her thoughts froze into her head because she was so shocked at what she was seeing. Cook was undressing, actually removing her clothes, right there in front of them all. Lawks a’ mercy! She ain’t takin’ that skirt right off, surely to goodness. But she was. Within seconds, she stood before them stripped to her chemise, with the wicker frame of her two side panniers protruding on either side of her petticoats like two great bird cages.
‘Now,’ she said happily, ‘to the vittles.’ And she grinned at Suki’s widened eyes. ‘You watch gal, an’ you’ll see the full beauty of the new fashion. I’m off to me sister’s to see what I can do to help the poor soul.’ And walking to the larder she produced two iron meat hooks and attached them to the top rung of her false hips. ‘Ham to the right and mutton to the left,’ she announced suspending the remains of the two joints on the hooks, ‘and no one a penny the wiser when I leaves the house.’ She winked at her fellow servants. ‘Take what you will, me dears, providin’ ’tis hid.’ And as Suki was still looking surprised, ‘’Tis only an extension of vails, me dear, when all’s said an’ done. If we may stand with our hands out for money when the guests take departure, then I’m certain sure we may take the leftovers when they deigns to leave the house. ’Twould only go to wrack an’ ruin, an’ we don’t want that.’
The other servants needed no encouragement. The kitchen was already a blur of activity, as dishes were clattered down upon the table, skirts whisked, feet trampled and kicked, and rough hands scrabbled for the best pickings. Broken pies disappeared into pockets, chunks of bread and oily pats of butter were secreted in a basket full of soiled linen, Hepzibah hacked lumps of sugar from the loaf and hid them in her skirt pockets, Barnaby grabbed up the last of the comfits and stuffed them into the pocket of his waistcoat with such force that he split the seam, even eggs were being seized, wrapped in a kerchief and tucked into a pleated bodice, whether they cracked or no. Within seconds the table had been cleared of all the choicest leavings and Cook was sailing from the room, her skirt replaced and her panniers swinging heavily on either side of her.
‘Take what you will, me dear,’ she said to Suki as she passed. ‘You too, Bessie.’
‘There ain’t a deal left,’ Suki told her. But her purloining mentor was already out of the door.
The kitchen was so quiet they could hear the coals shifting in the grate. Now, Suki thought, once Bessie’s taken herself off wherever she’s a-goin’, I can get out an’ find the Captain. Come on gal, shift your shanks.
But Bessie didn’t seem to be in any great hurry to leave. She was eating the last crumbs of the pie, gathering them from the plate with a damp finger and licking them up as though they were a great delicacy. She’ll have to be urged, Suki thought. I’ll move that plate for a start.
‘What you goin’ to do, Bessie?’ she asked, lifting the offending dish.
Bessie was vague. ‘Dunno. But you can go out if you like. You got fam’ly hereabouts, ain’tcher? What I means to say is, there’s no need for you to stay indoors. I’ll look after the house.’
It was such an unexpected offer that Suki was shamed by it. ‘Will you?’ she said. ‘That’s uncommon land.’
‘I don’ mind,’ Bessie told her. ‘I ain’t got no fam’ly to visit. Not here, least ways. Well, not anywhere really. Never ’ave ’ad. Not that I knows of.’
Suki was already lifting her bonnet from its hook by the door but at that she paused and turned to look at Bessie’s round honest face, moved from shame to sympathy. ‘None at all?’ she asked.
‘Not that I knows of,’ Bessie repeated. She didn’t sound particularly concerned about it. ‘I’m a norpheen. Lived on the streets afore I got took on by milady when they come up to London. Lucky to get the place, really.’
The news came as no surprise to Suki. Despite her round face, Bessie looked like an orphan. She had the sort of scraggy hair you would expect on a child uncared for, her wrists were thin as twigs, she was a deal too small for her age, and always hungry. Poor little thing, she thought, and here I am trying to get rid of her. And she changed her mind at once and rushed to make amends.
‘Look ’ee here,’ she said. ‘I’m off to town to find my…’ She’d nearly said ‘husband’ but checked herself just in time. What a nuisance lying is! ‘…brother. You can come with me if you like. I can take the babba on my back. He’m sound asleep. House don’t need lookin’ after.’
So the two young women set off together, with William sleeping and secure in Suki’s shawl.
‘’Twon’t take no more’n a minute,’ Suki promised, happily, as they stepped out into the parade. ‘He’m bound to be somewhere hereabouts.’
But that afternoon Bath was not the easiest place for a search. The narrow thoroughfares were quarrelsome with chairs and carriages and it was oppressively hot, the air full of dust and the pavements brown stained and sticky as though they’d been smeared with treacle. They struggled through the traffic in Pierrepoint Street and pushed their way into the great square before the abbey, where Suki peered in through the long windows of the Pump Room in case the Captain was taking the waters. But there were so many people squashed inside that all she could see were rows of fat rumps and scores of red faces with their mouths open, and she was afraid that if she stood there staring too long, she might come face to face with Mrs Sparepenny.
So she and Bessie pressed on into the complications of the high street, which was a very uncomfortable place indeed, for here the citizens were out in force, come to haggle over the stale loaves and dusty pies still on offer, and they had no intention of allowing anyone else to beat them to a bargain, however tawdry. The two young women were pushed against rough arms and rigid backs, buffeted by baskets, struck by canes, hemmed in by bad breath and sour sweat at every turn, until Bessie declared that she was bruised all over and Suki grew fearful for her baby’s safety.
But at last they reached the first coffee house that Suki could remember and elbowed their way in. It was full of gallants all drinking coffee in the most stylish way they could contrive and making the loudest conversation. None of them took any notice of Suki at all and it took several minutes before she could attract the attention of a waiter. He was in a rush and very short with her. No, he didn’t know the Captain and he certainly wasn’t open to carrying any messages.
‘Do I look like a fee’d post?’ he said haughtily, adding, ‘An’ if you don’t mean to sample the merchandise you got no reason to occupy no space, so I’ll wish you good afternoon — if you’d be so obliging.’
‘Never mind,’ Suki said stoutly when she and Bessie were out on the pavement again. ‘There’m plenty of other places. Can’t expect to strike lucky first time.’
‘Is he a seafaring man an’ all?’ Bessie asked.
Suki wasn’t paying attention. ‘What?’
‘Your brother,’ Bessie said patiently. ‘You called him the Capting. I mean your husband’s at sea, ain’t he? I mean, are they on the same ship?’
