The Youngest Miss Ward

  The coach-driver called something impatiently as Godwit reappeared, shaking his head, and the two men held a brief colloquy. Then Godwit returned to Hatty.

  ‘It’s bad news, I’m afeered, miss. No one’s been for ye.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Hatty. ‘Do you think this driver would take me back to Wanhurst?’

  ‘No, miss. I asked him that, but it’s not on his road. He has to be on his way to Peterborough.’

  ‘Then I shall have to stay at the inn, or try to hire a chaise to take me to Bythorn.’

  ‘No, miss. I asked that, but there’s none to be had, not in this weather. And the Woodpecker Inn is no fit place for ye to be staying. The landlord’s a swinker, miss.’

  ‘A swinker?’

  ‘A tippler. He’s half-seas-over already, for in this weather there’s no customers, and he’s got no housekeeper nor chambermaid; indeed ‘tis doubtful if he has so much as a decent bed in the place.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ said Hatty rather faintly. ‘I appear to be in quite a predicament. Can you give me any advice, Mr Godwit?’

  ‘Why yes, miss. We’ll leave your boxes at the inn – the driver’s a-fetching them down now – they’ll take no harm there, I’ll see them stowed away in a loose-box – and you can come home for the night with me to his Lordship’s cottage. There’ll be my old gran and Mrs Daizley to see after ye, so ye’ll be as safe and snug as an egg in a hencoop. And tomorrow we’ll see about hiring a chaise to take ye to Bythorn. Which of your boxes would you be wanting for the night, miss?’

  Startled, but immensely relieved at having her affairs so sensibly and expeditiously put in train, Hatty jumped down from the coach into what felt like about five inches of snow, and pointed out the small bandbox which contained immediate necessities for the night. Then, without further ado, the driver clambered back on to his seat and whipped up his horses, who trotted off into the snowy dusk with no great eagerness. Poor beasts, thought Hatty; I suppose they still have about twenty miles to go.

  Godwit carried her other two bandboxes away to some outhouse behind the inn.

  ‘Now, miss,’ he said, returning and shouldering the small one, ‘if you would not object to taking this satchel for me – ‘tis full of papers to be delivered later to his Grace’s bank – then you can hold on to my other arm, for I’m afeered we’ve a half-mile walk before us, and we had best step out smartly. I know these woods like the palm of my hand, but the path is on the rough side for a young lady, and dark will be on us in the flick of a lamb’s tail.’

  They took none of the four roads which met at the Woodpecker Inn, but struck away obliquely along a cart track which bisected one of the right-angles. Hatty was thankful that the boots she had on were a stout pair purchased not long ago under the guidance of Aunt Polly: ‘For, say what you like, my love, having your feet dry and warm is the first step to good health; never mind all your fine bonnets and pelisses and shawls, a girl’s feet are her fortune and money spent on them is never wasted.’

  Oh, Aunt Polly, mourned Hatty silently, as she struggled to keep in step with Godwit who, despite his years, was setting a vigorous pace through the untrodden snow. Dear, dear Aunt Polly, shall I ever see you again? You gave me such good advice about taking care of my health, why did you not follow your own precepts? ‘A diet consisting mainly of bread and tea has thoroughly depleted her constitution,’ had said Mr Filingay furiously. ‘And she seldom troubled to step out-of-doors for a breath of fresh air; indeed it is a wonder that she did not collapse long ago. Whether her system will now have the resilience to withstand, to bear up under the death of the twins, I do not dare predict—’

  Has the awful news been broken to her yet? Hatty wondered. The funeral of the twins was due to take place on the following day – no, today, she remembered; there was not the least possibility that Aunt Polly would be well enough to attend, or would even be told about it. Hatty was suddenly overwhelmed by such strong feelings of grief and fury at the fact that she herself would not be at the ceremony, was not permitted to be there, to comfort Aunt Polly through the impending dreadful revelation, that she would have liked to stop, stamp her feet in the snow, and scream aloud; but she was constrained to keep moving by her companion’s unflagging pace, and his firm guiding hand on her arm.

  ‘All these are Wanmaulden Woods, what we’re walking through now, miss,’ Godwit informed her in a comfortingly matter-of-fact voice, so that her impulse of hysteria abated and died down. ‘Been here since before Saxon times these woods have, so ‘tis said. And Master Harry likes to keep them so; there’s not so many tracts of ancient British woodland now, he says. I daresay there was bears and savage things a-plenty, running wild here in those old historical days; but these days the woods are safe enow.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hatty, ‘when I was little, living at Bythorn Lodge, my sister Frances and I would sometimes go into the woods. We always hoped to see bears. But we never did.’

  ‘I daresay there may be bears where Master Harry’s gone now – grizzly bears they say there is in those American forests, do they not?’

  ‘I hope he will not meet with one.’

  Godwit chuckled, his rather gnome-like, eldritch chuckle.

  ‘I’d like to see the bear that could down Master Harry. Five minutes, and he’d have it marching up and down the bridleway with a placard that said, “Votes for bears”.’

  ‘Do you think he will stay in America for the rest of his life?’ Hatty inquired, in a voice which she hoped sounded suitably detached and disinterested.

  ‘As to that, I can’t rightly say, miss. It’s Master Harry’s whim to go as an indentured servant – ye know that? – so, properly speaking, he’d have to work out his time for his master over there, five years or whatever it might be, first. And then he wants to help with the formation of this new community that he and his friends are setting up. They have already bought thirty-five thousand acres of land. They plan to have mills and factories, they will weave silks and broadcloths, they will farm the land, plant orchards and vineyards, raise cattle, mill timber, print books and weave woollen goods from their own sheep. That is what they reckon to do. There will be no money used within the community, and each family will be given all that they need in goods or clothes.’

  ‘It sounds – it sounds like the kingdom of heaven upon earth, Mr Godwit! Are you not curious, yourself – would you not wish to go there and take part in it?’

  ‘Me, miss? Well, I’m plenty curious – that I won’t deny – but I’m too old for such a new venture, I reckon. And I’ve duties this side of the water. His Lordship has asked me to take care of the cottage – and there’s my old gran and Mrs Daizley and the boy, who’s a bit simple.’

  ‘The boy?’

  ‘Mrs Daizley’s boy Dickon – and then, also, his Lordship have asked me to keep an eye – to the best of my compass, miss – on his Grace. Or at least, keep his Lordship informed about his Grace’s state of health.’

  ‘Why,’ said Hatty, ‘this is a most serious responsibility Lord Camber has laid on you, Mr Godwit. Shall you be able to carry it out?’

  She wondered how, from a cottage in the middle of the forest, Godwit could keep an eye on the Duke of Dungeness. But he seemed unperturbed.

  ‘I’ve a-many friends at the Chase, ye see, for that’s where I was reared, working my way up from a pantry-boy to the steward’s position – we all know one another. And ‘tis the same at Underwood Priors. There’s little that’s not known in the servants’ halls of great houses. Somebody is sure to keep me posted.’

  ‘But how you will miss his Lordship himself, now he has gone overseas,’ exclaimed Hatty involuntarily.

  ‘That I shall, miss. It will be like losing the sunshine. But now, look, you can see the light of the cottage, far ahead through the trees. My gran and Mrs Daizley will be expecting me. And they’ll be right astonished to see a pretty young lady along of me.’ br />
  By now it was full dark, so the glint of candlelight over the snow made a useful aid to their progress, which had slowed down insensibly as they proceeded; Hatty could not help thinking that Godwit’s half-mile was rather a long one. Her feet were icy and her skirt and petticoats soaked six inches deep and heavily clogged with snow, impeded her motion; her shawl weighed heavy on her head, cold, stiff, and crisped with the layers of snow that had fallen on it.

  Nevertheless, and despite her discomfort and anxiety, she could not avoid a lift of the heart as they approached the tiny light, glimpsed intermittently through flying snowflakes and black branches. This is like a fairytale, she thought, and remembered stories told by her mother long ago: Red Riding Hood, the Three Bears, witches in gingerbread cottages among the trees. Perhaps it will be a magic little house, perhaps it will transform my life in some wholly undreamed-of way. Nothing like this, at all events, has ever happened to me before.

  They reached the house, which was lapped around with trees, almost up to its doorstep, and Hatty saw that the window was curtained by muslin, behind which the candle glowed in a pale aura.

  Godwit tapped on the door and called, ‘Grandma? Jenny? Open up, it’s me, Eli, I’m back!’

  Immediately there were high, delighted female cries inside, footsteps, fumblings, rattlings, the excited bark of a dog. Then the door was flung open.

  The space inside seemed full of figures. More than three, surely? Females in caps and aprons, a leaping, capering hound, somebody holding a candle, somebody restraining the dog, a chorus of joyful welcome.

  ‘We thought ye’d never be here – that ye were lost for sure – such weather as we’ve had – come in, come in. Never mind shaking yourself – do that indoors – come in, come in, do. Good sakes, Eli, ye look like a snowman!’

  ‘I’ve brought a young lady with me who’s in trouble,’ Godwit said, and gently urged Hatty ahead of him through the narrow doorway. A wonderful warmth came out to meet her, and the scent of woodsmoke. Her eyes began at once to water in the smoky heat – she could hardly see. The group inside the door gave way in wonder and concern.

  ‘A young lady? Eh, dear, whatever next! Come this way, my poor love, ye must be clemmed. Come by the fire directly.’

  Urgent, friendly hands propelled her along a short passage-way and into a room, dimly lit, but kept deliciously warm by a red fire which burned behind bars and was contained in a stove, itself set into a chimney-piece in the wall; Hatty found herself gently but firmly thrust down on a wooden settle by this stove, while voices and fingers fluttered about her like birds: ‘Lift her shawl off, her fingers are friz. Dickon, set a pan of milk to hot up – now the bonnet-strings – eh, me, they are as stiff as wire. Fetch a towel to rub her hair dry – and Jenny, run up to the attic for a spare mutch and a shawl and my best flannel petticoat. His lordship will have to go in the back kitchen for a minute – and you too, Eli – while we set her to rights.’

  His Lordship? thought Hatty confusedly. His Lordship? How many Lordships can there be?

  Now the room was cleared of all but two female figures in white aprons over stuff dresses – a plump, rosy-faced woman with brown-grey curls escaping from under her calico cap, and a much older, tiny gnome-like creature with a spikey pointed face and bright little black eyes – she is like a wood-mouse, Hatty thought, as the old lady attacked her petticoat strings, with minute, bony fingers, and skilfully undid them.

  ‘Are you – are you Mr God wit’s grandmother?’ she asked.

  ‘Ay, that I am dearie, and right pleased to see my Eli safe back in such a storm as it has been! And this is Mrs Daizley,’ as the rosy-faced woman enveloped her in a capacious brown wool gown, evidendy one of her own, and wrapped a brilliant knitted shawl round her shoulders.

  ‘Mrs Daizley – thank you – I am so grateful to you both.’

  ‘Never name it, my dearie – ‘twas Eli fetched ye in out of the snow – and now I know who ye are – aren’t ye Mrs Ward’s youngest gal, her as used to be Miss Isabel Wisbech? I thought as much – you are as like her as two peas in a pod. Leave the lady’s hair to hang on her shoulders a while, Jenny, it will dry better that way. Now you may tell his Lordship and Dickon they can step back in.’

  With complete bewilderment Hatty saw Lord Camber’s tall figure come into the room, followed by a skinny boy dressed in leather and sheepskin. Lord Camber was smiling and at ease, just as she had seen him, so many times, in her uncle’s house.

  ‘Miss Hatty! What a wholly delightful surprise! The last person I expected to see! And the most welcome! I can see that you have had many adventures, but I will ask no questions until you have drunk this posset that Jenny is preparing for you.’

  ‘But you—’ she stammered – ‘you here – I thought – by this time – you would be halfway to Pennsylvania?’

  ‘Ah, and so I should have been. But Fate decreed otherwise. And I must confess, since this gale has been blowing for the last two days, I am not sorry to have escaped encountering it in the Irish Sea or the Atlantic Ocean. But drink your posset.’

  The posset was heavily flavoured with nutmeg and some powerful spirit – rum? – Hatty sipped it with caution and felt a wonderful thrill of warmth travel with lightning speed to the extremities of her fingers and toes.

  ‘Why did you not set sail as planned, my Lord?’ she asked.

  He grinned, somewhat wryly.

  ‘Ah, well, you see, my old father – by some mischance – came to hear of my embarkation plans. Now – I do not know if you are aware – he and I are not on good terms.’

  Hatty nodded.

  ‘We seldom meet – and, when we do, dissension is sure to follow. But – well – I suppose blood is thicker than water and when the old fellow heard on some grapevine that I was due to set sail – he fell into a fret, decided he was dying and had a message sent me to that effect. I, of course, took said message with a bushel of salt – but – but—’

  ‘You had to go,’ said Hatty.

  ‘Of course. You, I am sure, would have done so on such a call.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ agreed Hatty. ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘So,’ he said smiling, ‘when I got to his bedside I was greeted with a storm of reproaches and recriminations – all very familiar – but as I could see that the old fellow was no worse than usual, in fact rather better than I have sometimes known him, had taken to his bed in a pet rather than from any real infirmity – I left as fast as I had come. But my ship, by then, of course, had sailed, so now I must wait for another.’

  ‘Master Harry, come and get your soup,’ interrupted Mrs Daizley briskly.

  While he had been talking she and old Mrs Godwit had been setting bowls on a table in one corner of the room. ‘And before you sit at table, pass the young lady this bowl of soup to eat by the fire. Dickon, give Eli a call – he should have changed into dry things by now.’

  Indeed at this moment Godwit came back, having changed his snow-covered outerwear for a plain manservant’s suit of black.

  Hatty was served an earthenware bowl of soup by the fire, while the others sat round the table and listened to Godwit, who told the tale of how nobody had been there to meet her at the Woodpecker Inn. This was received with nods and clucks of sympathy.

  ‘But what else could you expect in such weather? A dozen accidents might ha’ befell the other coach – and no way to send word – ’

  ‘It was just so lucky for me that I was with Mr Godwit and that he could bring me here,’ said Hatty faintly. She was beginning to be overwhelmed with drowsiness.

  ‘The young lady’s for bed,’ decreed old Mrs Godwit. ‘She’s as dozy as a cockle-pig. Come along o’ me, my dearie, a good night’s rest will set ye all to rights.’

  Hatty, heavy-eyed and stumbling, had no wish but to obey. She followed the old lady up a steep narrow stair, which turned several corners, and into a sloping-roofed ro
om with two beds, both covered by patchwork quilts. ‘That’s Jenny’s bed,’ said the old lady, nodding at one of them, ‘but she won’t disturb ye, a quiet sleeper she be. Now, here’s a night-robe for ye.’ She pulled it out from the bed, where it had kept warm, wrapped round a stone bottle filled with boiling water. ‘There’s a goose-quilt under the patchwork, so ye’ll be plenty warm enow.’

  Nimbly and with great cordiality the old lady assisted Hatty’s speedy disrobement. No time was wasted for the room was icy cold. Helping Hatty into the sagging, capacious bed – ‘That’s it, then, bless ye, my dearie – I mind your mother when she was just your age’ – the old lady stooped and kissed Hatty’s brow. ‘Sleep sound now – I doubt there will be little need for stirring in the morning.’

  And she took her candle downstairs again.

  In two minutes Hatty was deeply unconscious.

  IX

  Next day the snow still fell; and the sky was thick and brown with it, like lentil soup, until long past noon.

  Hatty slept very late, and nobody roused her.

  ‘What use?’ said old Mrs Godwit. ‘Ne’er a soul will be stirring between Bythorn and Wanmaulden Cross this day.’

  ‘Her poor father!’ said Mrs Daizley, who had a soft heart. ‘Worried to a ravelling he’ll be, wondering where she’s to.’

  ‘They should have sent to meet her at Wanhurst,’ said Godwit. ‘Penny-pinching, that was. Then, if aught went amiss, at least she’d be in a town, with inns, and coaches for hire, and a post-office.’

  ‘Well,’ pronounced old Mrs Godwit, who had once been chief nursemaid at Bythorn Chase before she married the head gardener, and whose sister Jess had held the like post at Underwood Priors with the Fowldes family, ‘that Lady Ursula, who’s took and married Mr Ward at Bythorn, she was never one to spend sixpence on a pint of shrimps if she could get them farther down the road for fourpence.’