The Disgrace of Kitty Grey (7 page)

‘You are the dairymaid at Bridgeford Hall, are you not?'

‘I am, sir,' I said, knowing immediately that this must be
he
, Miss Sophia's young gentleman.

This was confirmed by his next words. ‘I have heard both the Misses speak of you. I believe you kindly supplied the cow for the
tableau vivant
?'

‘I did, sir.' I indicated the cows in the field. ‘That was Daisy, that was.' He began fumbling in his jacket pocket for something, and to fill the silence I found myself rambling on, giving him the names of the other cows and telling him that Clover was new and frisky, which I am sure he didn't find the least bit interesting.

At last he pulled something out of his jacket and said, ‘I was hoping I might see someone from the house. I wonder if I can trust your discretion?'

I nodded, thrilled. ‘Indeed you can, sir. Do you want me to take a message to . . . to someone in the hall?'

‘To Miss Sophia, yes,' he said, and he pressed a folded, sealed paper into my hand. ‘Let no one else see it – not even her sister!'

‘Of course not, sir,' I said. I pointed to the river. ‘There is a child I have to collect from the ferryman but I'll give the note to Miss Sophia on my return.'

‘I hoped to see her myself but I have to return to my ship forthwith.'

‘You can trust me, sir,' I said.

He bowed slightly (which endeared him to me, for it is not something which gentry often do to maidservants), mounted his horse and rode off, leaving me staring after him and marvelling.

I looked at the letter, which was addressed in a flowing, educated hand, and blessed the day that I had been taught my letters, for I could read that it said:
The Honourable Miss Sophia Baysmith
and
By hand
. I put it carefully into the pocket of my petticoat and carried on walking down to the river.

There was a little bit of a panic when I got there, for Betsy had vanished while Will was on the other side of the river with a passenger. Eventually, after much running hither and thither, we found her flat on her back fast asleep by a rabbit hole, where she'd been sitting waiting for a rabbit to emerge. By this time, because of the anxious ten minutes or so spent looking for Betsy, I'd forgotten about the note in my pocket.

Leaving her asleep, Will and I spoke at our relief in finding her – Will saying that at least he'd taught her to keep her head above water, so while he'd been searching he'd been confident she hadn't drowned.

‘You must learn to swim, too,' he said.

The thought of dipping my body into smooth, cool water was so enticing just then that before I knew it I had taken off my outer smock, bodice and skirt and was standing (still covered, mind, a lot better than some Society young ladies) in my stays and petticoats.

Will, sensing my embarrassment, endeavoured to be very matter of fact and, acting just as if I were fully dressed, backed into the river holding both his arms out straight in front of him. He told me to follow him in whilst holding tightly on to his hands and kicking up my legs. I did this and so enjoyed the feeling of lightness and well-being that I found myself jumping backwards and forwards, first going on my back and then on my front, my petticoats floating about me in the water.

‘You can do it if you're confident,' he said. ‘A few more lessons and you'll be swimming as well as me. Now, why don't you sit on the bank in the sun a little while and dry yourself as best you can.'

I went to sit near Betsy, who was still asleep, and it wasn't until I began to pat myself dry with a rough cloth of Will's that I remembered: the letter. I had been in the water with the letter still in my pocket!

Will hauled himself out of the water and came to sit beside me, then took one look at my stricken face and asked me what was wrong.

‘Miss Sophia's young man!' I said. ‘I met him and he gave me a note for her . . .'

Very gingerly, I felt in my petticoat pocket and pulled it out, soaking wet. I handled it very carefully, but it fell into four pieces, each a blotchy mess of blue ink and totally indecipherable. The only thing still in one piece was the young gentleman's seal, which had a dolphin on it.

Horrified, I began weeping – waking Betsy, who cried in empathy with me.

‘He told me to take it to her . . . He said to tell no one!' I said. ‘And now look at it!'

Will sat Betsy on his lap and comforted the both of us as best he could, and after some discussion we decided that I should go straight to Miss Sophia and confess what had happened. Thus I went into Will's hut, took off my wet petticoats and put on my gown, then walked with Betsy back to the barn where one of her ‘sisters' put her to bed for the night.

In the kitchens I found a great debate under way as to whether young ladies should be forced to marry men of their father's choice or be able to follow their hearts. Another time I would have joined in and spoken up strongly on the side of love, but that evening I was too anxious about Miss Sophia's letter to think of anything else. How was I going to approach Miss Sophia? What excuse could I use and what would the rest of her family think? Surreptitiously passing her a note was one thing, but actually approaching, speaking, explaining and apologising to her was another.

I beckoned to Patience to leave the servants' discussion for a moment. ‘Do you know where Miss Sophia is?' I asked her, for the family's supper hour was long past and the two young ladies could be anywhere.

‘Miss Sophia?' she replied cheerily. ‘Halfway to Bath by now, I should think.'

I didn't understand and thought she was making a joke. ‘What do you mean? How so?'

‘It's what we've all been talking of,' she said. ‘Weren't you listening?'

‘I heard all the talk about whether or not one should obey one's father but I've been out of the house for near two hours. Has something happened here?' I asked urgently.

‘Why, yes: Miss Sophia has been sent away in the carriage to stay with her uncle.'

‘Never!'

‘ 'Tis true. And 'tis because of a young man she's been meeting in secret. Milord was heard to say that he was a naval man and, being without a title or a fortune, quite unsuitable. He called him a varlet and a fortune hunter!'

I stared at her, shocked.

‘She's never to see him again!' said Patience, enthralled in the telling. ‘There must be as many miles as possible between the two of them.'

I stared at Patience. ‘
Really?
She's been sent to Bath?'

‘She left an hour ago, crying her eyes out. She's been allowed to take Christina with her, but must not return until the new year,' said Patience.

I sat down at the table, tears filling my eyes. Now she would never know that her sweetheart had sent her a letter. And he would never know that she had not received it.

It seemed that love was not always an excellent thing.

Chapter Seven

 

 

The house was very quiet in the days following Miss Sophia's departure, and it was apparent that Miss Alice missed her dreadfully, for she was to be seen moping about the place with red eyes. There was some talk of her being sent to be with her sister, but in the end she stayed – and on warm days sat in the park under the big oak where her parents had been painted, sometimes with her maid, sometimes alone, but always with a book in her hands. Lady Cecilia arranged a variety of amusements for her: a picnic, various musical events and a visiting landscape painter, but anyone could see that Miss Alice was pining for her sister. At one time I thought of telling her about the note and confessing what had happened to it, but I was worried that this was not the correct thing to do, for hadn't the young man said that no one must know, not even Miss Alice? Besides, what difference could it make to anything now that Miss Sophia had been sent away? Finally, I decided: I knew I would have the opportunity to speak to Miss Sophia when she returned after Christmas, so I resolved to try and forget about it until then.

One humid evening Betsy and I had another swimming lesson with Will. Betsy, trusting fully in her brother, managed to scramble quite a distance in the water, but I, not quite so sure of being able to stay afloat, thought it a great achievement when I managed to take my feet off the riverbed and float on my back for a few moments without being held.

Afterwards, as we sat drying off, Will told me that he had had news of his relations in London. A cousin from Kent had gone to join them and sent a message back to say that the family was having a new boat built, one that could hold twelve passengers. This meant that, when full, each trip across the Thames would earn them the sum of four shillings.

‘And four shillings back again!' Will told me, marvelling at it. ‘Although there would need to be
tw
o strong watermen in the boat, of course, to row across that many passengers.'

‘And you think you are that strong waterman, do you?' I teased.

‘Indeed. My cousin said they are waiting for me.'

We were silent for a moment.

‘But what of Betsy?' I said, for I still didn't want to go to London and she was an excellent reason not to. ‘Even if I could find work there –'

‘You can and would!' Will interrupted. ‘There are thousands of well-to-do folk in London, needing thousands of servants to look after them.'

‘Even if I could find work, what would we do with Betsy in London?' I repeated. ‘She couldn't just be left to fend for herself all day.'

Will heaved a sigh. ‘I know. 'Tis a problem.'

‘And you would surely not go without us.'

‘My two girls?' Will said. ‘As if I could . . .'

‘Is it so bad here?'

‘Not . . .
bad
. It's just that we will never make anything of ourselves.'

‘There are compensations,' I said, and I made a gesture with my arms, taking in the beautiful grounds, the orchard and the sunset reflected on the river, then leaned over and kissed him. He forgot about London then, and – kissing and being kissed – so did I, until Betsy came back crying that a dormouse had bitten her.

 

In mid-August, there were various parties held at the house and visitors from London coming and going, and Miss Alice was allowed to Bath to see her sister. We learned afterwards, in whispered snippets of news, that Miss Sophia desperately wanted to come home, but this was still not going to be allowed until after Christmas. By that time, so Lord Baysmith had apparently discovered, her young naval officer would be on his way to Australia and well out of harm's way. Patience, after some listening at doors and skulking around corners,  assured us that Lord Baysmith had now selected the man who would be Miss Sophia's future husband and she was to be introduced to him soon. Following this, there was a lot of speculation amongst us as to who this gentleman might be and whether he would be titled, worth a fortune, or perhaps have both these desirable qualities. I joined in, but ached inside for Miss Sophia.

Two more things happened in August, the first being that Mrs Bonny taught me how to make soft cheeses, which I was very pleased about, for it was another skill that – if I ever had to find a new job – would stand me in good stead. The other thing which happened in August, however, was not at all good. It was, in fact, devastating.

It was the last day of the month and Betsy had set off to spend it at the river as usual. It was a slightly misty morning, for the season was just on the verge of turning autumnal, and I was thinking to myself that when the days grew shorter either Will or I would have to bring Betsy backwards and forwards, for unless there was a moon it would be pitch-dark, and even with a candle she couldn't be expected to go across the fields on her own. She waved to me when she reached the river and, though I did not see Will waving back, I presumed he was there and just ferrying someone across.

An hour or so went by and I had finished with my cows, wiped them down, put them back to pasture and was about to begin the lengthy process of churning butter when I heard Betsy running back towards the dairy, sobbing heartily with every step she took.