Dust of the Land Page 4

  He said nothing.

  ‘My own daughter.’

  ‘If you decide to reject my offer, I shall quite understand. It is a distressing business for a mother to be separated from her child. But, for the child’s sake…’

  ‘What about your daughter-in-law?’

  ‘Charlotte will accept Bella into the household –’

  ‘’Ow can I be sure of that?’

  ‘Because I shall require her to do so. As will my son. But there are limits. As I said, having you living in the Grange would be an impossibility. But you need have no fears for Bella’s future, I promise you. That is her name, is it? Bella?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord. Short for Arabella. Mr Anthony chose it. I would need to see her regular.’

  ‘A meeting, let us say twice a year, would be perfectly acceptable.’

  ‘I’ll ’ave to think about it,’ Mumma said.

  ‘I understand. It is a big decision.’

  The earl extracted himself from the chair and stood. ‘Mrs Maud is my housekeeper here. You will let her know?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  He pressed the bell. A footman came.

  ‘Show Mrs Tempest and Arabella out.’ He turned to Mumma. ‘Shall we say by the end of the week? Perhaps you could bring the child with you? If you decide to accept my offer?’

  Six days later Mumma took Bella to have a final look at the river. A chilly wind was scything across the Thames and the river was running fast after all the rain they’d had. On the far bank, a barge was hoisting its tan sails.

  Cheeks wet with tears, Mumma scared Bella afresh by crying aloud to the rushing water. ‘Why do things ’ave to be like this?’

  But the river did not know, or would not say.

  ‘Not that I blame the earl,’ she said. ‘A real gent, ’e is.’

  Bella did not understand Mumma’s distress and fidgeted, wanting to escape, but could not, her hand held tight.

  ‘’Tes all that woman’s fault,’ Mumma cried. ‘She was the one got us chucked out. Your daddy would never ’ave done such a thing: I knew it ’ad to be ’er, all along. I wish she was dead!’

  ‘I wish she was dead, too, Mumma,’ Bella said.

  She’d said the same thing once about Beth Hardcastle, back at home, when Beth had trodden by mistake on a doll Daddy had given her. On that occasion Mumma had told her it was wicked to say such things but this time it must be all right, because Mumma had said it. If that woman had been the reason they’d been forced to come to this horrible place then Bella hoped she would die too. Daddy had never lived with them properly. Mumma had told her that had been that woman’s fault, too. If she died maybe he would. Then they could be together like a proper family instead of him only coming to see them now and then.

  Later, Mumma explained to her what was going to happen. She was crying when she said it.

  ‘You’ll be goin’ to live at Ripon Grange with Daddy and your Grandpapa,’ she said. ‘It’ll be a wonderful opportunity for you.’

  ‘Are you comin’ too?’

  ‘No, I’ll be stayin’ ’ere.’

  So Bella felt a growing sense of panic. ‘I don’ wanner go wivvout you!’

  There was an empty, lonely place inside her heart. She could not believe Mumma was sending her away and her blue eyes were filled with terror. ‘I ain’t goin’!’

  ‘It’ll be a wonderful opportunity for you,’ Mumma repeated. ‘You’ll grow up to be a real lady… I’ll be that proud.’

  Bella clutched Mumma’s skirt. ‘I don’ wanner go! Don’t make me, Mumma! Don’t!’

  Mumma’s tears flowed faster than ever but she went on regardless. ‘You’ll be a member of one of the best families in England. You could become anything you like. Stay in London wi’ me, what will you be then? Nuthun and nobody! I won’t have it.’

  A dredge hooted as it made its way downstream, its deck heaped with silt.

  But Bella refused to listen. ‘I’ll be a good girl, Mumma! I promise I’ll be good. Please, Mumma!’

  Mumma clutched her, holding her tight against her, and Mumma’s warm familiar smell made her cry all the harder.

  ‘No! I won’t go!’

  Now they were both bawling as loudly as each other.

  ‘You got to be a big girl, Bella,’ Mumma sobbed. ‘A brave girl for your mumma. I know you don’t understand but I would never do nuthun to ’urt you. You knows that, don’ yer?’

  But Bella only wept. ‘You don’t love me no more!’

  Mumma’s hands pinched Bella’s arms as she shook her. ‘O’ course I loves yer. But it ain’t no good, see. I wants you to ’ave sumfing better in life than I did. That’s why me an’ your daddy got together in the first place. You’ll ’ave sumfing I never ’ad: the chance to make a good life for yourself an’ your kids.’

  ‘I don’ want a good life. I don’ want kids. I wanner stay wiv you.’

  Later, after they had gone back to the room and Bella had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, Jenny stood at the window, looking down at the mean street three floors below. God help us both, she thought.

  She’d not been brought up to think much about God. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to church, but a French visitor to Tankerton Manor had told her once that God lived in the flowers.

  ‘Ze flowers of fields and ’edgerows,’ she had said. ‘Zat is where you will find ’im.’

  At the time Jenny had thought it a lot of Frenchy nonsense. But maybe the woman had been right. There were no flowers in Rotherhithe but maybe, if she thought about them hard enough, that would do.

  She fixed her mind on the primroses that in spring used to flower in the cottage garden, and the memory of that place, where they had been so happy, was like a dagger in her breast.

  ‘God, take care o’ my darlin’ Bella,’ she said, face once again wet with tears. ‘I’m doin’ the right thing, God. You knows that. But don’t never say it don’t hurt, you ’ear me?’

  She waited but there was nothing. Only pain, flowering like the primroses amid the summer’s unseasonable cold.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘Arabella Tempest,’ said the stern lady. ‘I have been instructed to welcome you to Ripon Grange.’

  It didn’t feel much of a welcome when Bella, terror in her heart, walked through the enormous entrance doors of a building that seemed to go on forever. Her face showed nothing but inside she was in tears, and inconsolable. She was thinking of Mumma, back in London; with all her heart she wanted those loving arms around her again, but the arms had failed her and the only way she could face that fact was to pretend none of this was happening.

  I’ll show ’em all. If she thought anything, it was that.

  So, when the stern lady told Bella her name was Miss Hunnicut, she turned on her the same stony face with which she had left her mother.

  Sulky little thing, Miss Hunnicut thought briskly. We shall see about that. There will be no sulks at Ripon Grange.

  She looked at Bella with distaste, telling herself that the earl had taken leave of his senses, bringing this scruffy brat to live with them. All because the mother, who Miss Hunnicut understood had been in service at Tankerton Manor outside London – a maid, I ask you, the daughter of a bait-digger! – claimed that Mr Anthony was the child’s father. It might be true, but what of it? These things happened, as the earl should know better than most, and there had been a war on, which excused a great deal. Surely it would have been sufficient to pay the mother a small sum towards the child’s education? To bring her here, just because the earl had decided she was his only grandchild… Miss Hunnicut thought it was ridiculous but supposed they should be thankful he hadn’t brought the mother to live with them as well.

  I can’t imagine what Madam thinks about it, Miss Hunnicut thought.

  Madam was Mr Anthony’s wife. One of these days she would be the countess of Clapham and she was already very much in charge of the household, for Mr Anthony was a poor thing nowadays, a shadow of the gallant
young man he had been before the war. Yet, in charge of the household or not, she had been unable to prevent the earl’s latest lunacy.

  Miss Hunnicut bled for her. How must it feel to have your husband’s bastard thrust down your throat every day? Especially when it seemed Madam could have no children of her own.

  It will cause trouble, Miss Hunnicut thought with a glow of satisfaction. She had also been young once. The earl had been known for his roving eye and there had been a time when she had thought…

  No matter. Nothing had come of it and now, Miss Hunnicut told herself, she was glad. Because the old man had clearly lost his wits.

  ‘Bates will take you to your room,’ she told the child. ‘She will unpack your clothes and give you a bath.’

  The child astonished her by answering back. ‘Don’ need a bath.’

  ‘Nevertheless you will have one.’

  ‘’ad one this morning.’

  ‘Bates…’ Miss Hunnicut turned to the maid, who all this time had been standing at her elbow. ‘Scrub her thoroughly. You understand me? Thoroughly.’

  Madam and Mr Anthony were staying with friends in Scotland. In their absence Miss Hunnicut was in charge. She was determined there would be neither sulks nor fleas at Ripon Grange.

  That night Bella felt lonelier than ever before. The darkness of the vast room that she had been told was hers was full of terrors. Shadows stared. Unimaginable things crept in the darkness. She waited, only her nose showing above the blanket, eyes screwed tight. Mumma had gone; Miss Hunny-something was mean. The woman called Bates had tried to be friendly but Bella had locked up her sadly damaged heart and would neither smile nor talk, so that Bates, too, had eventually given up.

  She had hoped she would at least see Daddy, who had visited them regularly when they were living at the cottage and who Mumma had said loved them both, but she had not. She had eaten her supper in a room that Miss Hunnicut called the nursery, where Bates had brought her food and Miss Hunnicut had sat and watched, correcting her manners from time to time.

  ‘Arabella, you will not hold your fork like that.’

  ‘Arabella, you will learn to eat quietly, with your lips closed.’

  ‘Arabella, do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bella.

  ‘You will not speak with your mouth full.’

  ‘You asked –’

  ‘Arabella!’

  Silence.

  I won’t stay here, Bella thought mutinously. I shall run away.

  But where?

  Where was Mumma?

  She would not cry. She was almost seven years old, a big girl, and would not cry. But later…

  Sobbing, while formless fears watched her in the darkness.

  ‘You’ll live some grand life,’ Mumma had said. ‘Like a princess!’

  I shall run away, Bella thought again.

  The next day she got halfway down the drive before a gardener brought her back.

  She got her bottom smacked for that but, if she expected tears, Miss Hunnicut was disappointed.

  ‘You are a brazen child,’ she said. ‘But I shall tame you.’

  The taming began with a visit to the Ripon Grange chapel where Miss Hunnicut said Bella would remain until she could recite the Lord’s Prayer by heart.

  ‘Madam has instructed me to teach you the Lord’s Prayer. You have heard of it, I hope. Or is that too much to expect, given your background?’

  Bella knew the words because Mumma had taught her, but would not admit it. She stood in the chapel, as instructed, and said nothing.

  ‘Our Father, which art in heaven,’ said Miss Hunnicut. And paused.

  Bella said nothing.

  ‘Repeat the words after me,’ said Miss Hunnicut. ‘Our Father…’

  Bella said nothing.

  ‘Are you stupid?’ wondered Miss Hunnicut. ‘Or stubborn? Or stupid and stubborn?’

  Bella said nothing.

  ‘Our Father…’

  Bella said nothing.

  ‘There will be no luncheon or supper until you say the words.’

  For a long time Bella would not until, wearying of the game, she decided on a change of plan.

  ‘OurFatherwhichartinheaven…’

  And gabbled on until the end.

  ‘…andthegloryforeverandeveramen.’

  And stared, defiance in every inch of her.

  ‘I see,’ said Miss Hunnicut, and took her off to the nursery.

  ‘Hold out your hand.’

  The ruler descended three times, like a hot iron across her palm.

  ‘There,’ said Miss Hunnicut, breathing deeply, cheeks a dull red. ‘Let that be a lesson to you. I shall not have insolence.’

  Bella, every muscle tense, fought back tears. She said nothing.

  ‘Badly behaved children get sent to bed without any supper,’ said Miss Hunnicut.

  Except that Bates, who had a miraculous ability to know what was happening even when she wasn’t in the room, took pity on the poor motherless child and, at great risk to her own situation, smuggled a plate of goodies from the kitchen.

  ‘I hope you have learnt your lesson,’ said Miss Hunnicut the next morning.

  While Bella, still stuffed from her evening feast of chips and jelly, did once again what had served her so well the previous day.

  She said nothing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Charlotte Richmond, back from Scotland, examined Bella as though she were a piece of furniture: novel, perhaps, but not to her taste. She talked about her as though she were a piece of furniture, too, incapable of hearing or understanding what was being said in her presence.

  ‘What do we have here, Miss Hunnicut?’

  ‘The child that his Lordship had brought from London, Madam.’

  ‘And what sort of child is she? I will tell you. She is a bastard, Miss Hunnicut. A nasty, snivelling, filthy little bastard. That’s what she is, Miss Hunnicut.’

  She smiled at Bella, looking for some response, but Bella did not know the word and did not understand. Bella looked.

  ‘How well behaved is she?’

  Miss Hunnicut shook her head. ‘Wilful, Madam.’

  Madam stared Miss Hunnicut down. ‘Then we shall have to do something about it, shall we not?’

  ‘Indeed, Madam.’

  The stare transferred to Bella. ‘Wilfulness will not be tolerated. You hear me, Arabella?’

  How could anyone not hear? Bella nodded.

  ‘Well, miss?’ said Charlotte Richmond.

  Bella was unsure what was wanted so once again took refuge in silence. Which seemed to aggravate Mrs Richmond excessively.

  ‘Wilful, you say?’ she said to Miss Hunnicut. ‘Insolent might fit the bill better.’

  ‘You may well be right, Madam.’

  ‘Insolent children are thrashed,’ Mrs Richmond told Bella. ‘You understand me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bella said.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Richmond.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Richmond.’

  ‘Don’t forget it.’

  Bella wanted to ask where her father was and if she could speak to him, but did not dare.

  ‘Well, miss?’ said Mrs Richmond. ‘What are you waiting for? Be off with you.’

  So Bella left. Miss Hunnicut did not believe in allowing Bella freedom to wander, so it was the first time she had been loose in the castle. She explored this corridor and that, poked her nose into bedrooms, into rooms with leather armchairs and books in cases around the walls, into plain rooms and pretty rooms. She got lost.

  She came across a staircase, very grand, sweeping up from the floor below. She stood, finger in mouth, staring at a gigantic painting on the wall opposite. The painting was of a lady with rosy skin and no clothes, with what looked like fat little dolls with wings fluttering about her head.

  She studied it gravely until a voice made her jump.

  ‘Like it, do you?’

  She looked up at the very tall man who had come up behind her. It was the same man she had
seen when Mumma had taken her to London. ‘Why ain’t she got no clothes on?’

  He smiled. ‘Because that was the way Raphael chose to paint her.’

  She had no idea what he meant. ‘She’s fat,’ she said.

  ‘In those days they liked their women fat,’ the man said. ‘I’m partial to a bit of meat myself.’

  ‘I’m not fat,’ Bella said.

  ‘Give you a few years and you will be,’ he said. ‘Bits of you, anyway.’

  ‘The lady married to my daddy ain’t fat,’ Bella said.

  ‘The lady married to your daddy is a spike,’ the man said. He looked down at her from his great height. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  Bella shook her head.

  ‘I am your grandpapa,’ the man said. He held out his hand; cautiously, she put her hand in his. It felt knobbly and hard. ‘Come with me. I want to show you something.’

  She went with him obediently. She was still scared, but not very, because he had spoken to her kindly and was as different from Miss Hunnicut and Mrs Richmond as it was possible to be.

  He took her into a room with books all around the walls. There was a long wooden table in the middle with chairs on both sides. He took down a big book, which he opened and put on the table. It was full of photographs. Bella stared, uncomprehending.

  The knobby finger pointed at a picture of a man in a funny suit, with whiskers.

  ‘That is my grandfather. Which makes him your great-great grandfather. He attended the coronation of Queen Victoria. He was a young man at the time, but this photo was taken when he was much older. Almost as old as me.’ He laughed, and the child had no idea what he was on about. ‘And this,’ he said, turning the page, ‘is my father, who died in Africa in a big battle with the savages.’

  ‘Did they stick a spear in ’im?’ asked Bella.

  ‘I rather think they did.’

  ‘Cor,’ said Bella, and studied the photograph with heightened interest.

  He showed Bella other photos, but they confused her more than ever, so that she soon stopped listening to what he was saying.

  As the earl eventually saw. ‘Has your father been to see you since he’s been back?’

  Bella shook her head.

  There was a bell standing on the table. He picked it up and rang it. A man came.