A Woman of Consequence (15 page)

Anne regarded her with alarm. ‘You did not talk to Mr Lomax about
that
, did you?’

‘Why, yes.’

‘My dear Dido, that is not a subject to discuss with a gentleman! When talking to a man a woman must
always
avoid any topic upon which disagreement is possible – it is a principle of mine.’

‘But even if such a principle were sustainable before marriage,’ Dido protested, ‘it could not be maintained
after
.’

Anne looked puzzled. ‘Why,’ she said, ‘I do not believe that Mr Harman-Foote and I have ever found it an inconvenience.’

Dido was silenced. She let Anne talk on about Mr Lomax – and turned her mind to thinking about cake instead …

Great Farleigh was a large, populous village which had almost grown into a town with the aid of a particularly fast-flowing stream and a half-dozen or so mills and weaving sheds which had been established along its banks. The narrow streets were filled with people intent upon business, and with wagons carrying sacks of grain to the miller, logs to the sawmills and bales of cloth from the manufactories. Builders were at work upon the ragged remains of a village green, raising a new row of cottages, and their loud shouts and oaths were added to the rattle of carts, the whine of sawmills and the ceaseless low thunder of the great waterwheels.

Dido held up a hand as if to protect herself from the noise as she descended from Madderstone’s carriage in the grimy, confined little yard of the inn – for her head ached dreadfully from the tears of the previous night – and quickly made her way into the inn’s chilly parlour where, in keeping with the general busyness of the village, no one was at leisure to attend her. A quarter of an hour’s perseverance produced little information – or refreshment: only a pot of cold, bitter coffee, a shrug of the shoulders and, ‘No, I can’t ever remember hearing of no Pinker … Well, maybe she lives here, maybe she don’t … I couldn’t say.’

So she determined on making more enquiries in the village, but was met at the inn door by Jed Waters, the Madderstone coachman, who was, very kindly, intent upon accompanying her, ‘on account of the folk round here being a bit rough in their manners – and you not used to their ways, miss.’

She thanked him, but insisted upon his remaining at the inn to refresh himself and his horses. ‘For we have had a seven-mile drive,’ she said. ‘I am sure you are in need of rest before returning.’

And she made her way back across the busy, cobbled yard – wondering a little as she did so about those seven miles which lay between Madderstone and Great Farleigh. Now that she came to consider it, she saw that seven miles was a great distance for a lady to travel alone in a pony carriage. And yet, such was the esteem in which Miss Fenn had been held, she could not doubt that a different conveyance would have been put at her disposal, had she desired it.

What had been her motive in driving herself so far? Secrecy perhaps? Had she wished her employer’s household to remain ignorant of her exact destination? This idea quickened Dido’s interest and made her more determined than ever to discover all that she might about the mysterious Mrs Pinker.

But when she reached the archway that led into the street, she was forced to stop. A large cart was just turning into the yard at a rapid pace with a horseman riding beside it. She stepped back into the shadow of the inn’s walls and they clattered past her without seeming to notice that they had almost run her down.

‘Hey fellow!’ shouted the rider to a passing ostler. ‘Has the London coach gone? Damn my luck! I’ll wager fifty pounds it has!’

Dido turned immediately at the sound of the familiar voice and saw Henry Coulson, swinging himself out of his saddle – and being reassured by the ostler that, no sir, the coach weren’t yet come, but it’d likely be here in ten minutes, for he was almost sure he’d heard the horn very faint …

‘Why, I’m monstrous glad of it, for I’d have been in a fine pickle if I’d missed it. Now,’ handing a coin to the man, and gesturing at the cart, ‘you make sure this box is safely stowed aboard. It’s mighty important it gets to town today.’ And, with a tap at his nose, he was off through the parlour door.

Dido watched him go with great interest and wondered very much why he should put himself to the trouble of bringing his box here. A London coach passed within two miles of the abbey and stopped every day at the Red Lion in Badleigh …

She could not resist stepping closer to look at the box which the cart driver and the ostler were now, with some difficulty, lifting out of the bottom of the deep cart. It seemed rather heavy, though small to be the only cargo in such a large cart: long, and narrow, it was made of deal and clasped at the corners with iron plates.

‘What’s he got stowed in this, solid gold?’ grunted the ostler.

‘I don’t know,’ replied the carter quickly. ‘Ain’t none of my business what he’s got in it. I just drive it for him.’ And he lowered the box onto the cobbles as if he wanted rid of it.

Dido peered over his shoulder as he bent down and read the label pasted on the lid.
To John Kenning, Leadenhall
. How very interesting …

The carter was climbing back onto his seat and gathering up the reins, eager to be gone. The ostler looked up.

‘Can I help you, miss?’

‘Oh!’ She blushed and stepped back hastily. ‘Oh, no thank you … That is … I wondered whether you might direct me to the haberdasher’s shop.’

He did so, but as he was talking, she kept her eyes upon the box – and noticed that there were one or two damp leaves clinging to it, and that a very thin trickle of liquid was now running from the edge of one of its iron plates, forming a little dark stream through the dirty cobbles. And then, as she thanked the ostler and started off across the yard, she became aware of a smell. It was very faint, but it was something other than the usual
inn-yard
odour of horses, dust and sour ale: something sweet and very slightly rotten. And she was almost sure that it was coming from the box …

There was no more information to be got about Mrs Pinker in the haberdasher’s shop than there was at the inn. It seemed that the good people of Great Farleigh bought their laces and their cottons and their
knitting-pins
as rapidly as they did everything else, and had no time at all to talk about their neighbours. The woman behind the long counter shook her head at Dido’s questions, astonished to be asked about anything other than haberdashery. However, a woman with a pair of whining children hanging upon her skirts did interrupt her hurried selection of shirt buttons long enough to
suggest that Dido might make enquiries at the post office.

It was an excellent thought and Dido praised the buyer of shirt buttons so warmly for it, that she was rewarded with a little smile – and a few hasty directions.

The directions took her back to a muddy lane beside the inn, a tiny room adjoining the stables and a very old man upon a very high stool who was so exceedingly short-sighted that he was obliged to hold the letters he was sorting within a half-inch of his spectacles in order to read their covers.

And … yes, he certainly knew Mrs Pinker. He continued with his work.

Might he be so very kind as to direct her to the lady’s house?

He slowly lowered the letter he had been reading, pushed his spectacles to the very end of his long nose and studied her. He seemed, after all, to be the one inhabitant of the village who had time to spare. She waited. A couple of fat, sleepy bluebottles buzzed loudly in the window. At last he shook his head with a ‘Well, well,’ as if he were somehow shocked at her enquiring after Mrs Pinker.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Dido.

‘Nothing! Nothing at all!’ He hurriedly picked up another letter and hid his face behind it. ‘Out along the Upper Farleigh road, that’s where you’ll find her. ’Bout half a mile out. Green gate in a high garden wall. You can’t mistake it.’

‘Thank you.’

She turned to go, but, just as she reached the door, he said something else very quietly – something which
sounded rather like, ‘I doubt she’ll be able to oblige you.’

She stopped. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said again.

‘Nothing! Nothing at all!’ he said, very busy with his letters.

The noise of the village faded rapidly as Dido made her way along the road which led to Upper Farleigh. The muddy street became a broad, steep track and the crowding houses gave way upon one side to fields of stubble, yellowing hazel thickets and hedgerows bright with rosehips and hawthorn berries. Upon the other side of the road were now more prosperous-looking cottages with honeysuckle fences and mounded onion beds.

As she walked, she wondered about Mrs Pinker, the kind of house she kept here – and the nature of Miss Fenn’s acquaintance with her … And of one thing she was certain: such a very busy village would be an excellent place for the keeping of a secret. Perhaps both Miss Fenn and Mr Coulson had discovered how to use that fact to their advantage.

The old man’s grudging information was accurate. She found the wall and the gate – which was unlocked – and let herself into a rather pleasing, but overgrown, little garden. The air was full of the heady scent of crab apples fermenting in long grass, and from a branch of the ancient apple tree hung a low, lopsided swing. A great mass of rose bushes gone wild clambered about the gate, snatching at her hands as she replaced the latch. A pigeon was warbling comfortably to itself somewhere close by, and a little tabby cat was trotting along the cinder path to greet her.

The house, old and low-built and more than halfcovered with ivy, was too large for a labourer’s cottage, but certainly not a gentleman’s dwelling … The home of a shopkeeper perhaps, she calculated … or a family that was prospering in a humble trade … It was altogether a rather surprising establishment for such a woman as Miss Fenn to be visiting …

The cat, as attentive as a footman, conducted her to a porch where a dilapidated hobby horse was propped beside a low old door. A minute or two of knocking produced at last an elderly maid and the information that it was quite impossible to see the mistress.

‘Why, she’s gorn away to her sister’s on a visit, miss! She won’t be back these three days yet.’ The maid shook her head in amazement at Dido’s ignorance of these facts.

‘Oh dear. That is a great shame, I was hoping most particularly to speak with her. I have made quite a long journey.’

The maid sucked in a breath through her teeth and shook her head again. She seemed to be a woman who was continually surprised by the folly of her fellow creatures. ‘You ain’t come here on business are you?’ she said pityingly.

‘Well, yes, in a manner of speaking.’

The maid shook her head and all but echoed the words of the man in the post office. ‘No, no! Mrs Pinker won’t be able to oblige you … madam. She ain’t taking no more. She ain’t taken none this last twelvemonth.’

‘Oh.’

The maid curtseyed and, with a final shake of her head in compassion for the simplicity of her visitor, she
was upon the point of closing the door. Dido thought rapidly, eagerly trying to guess at the precise nature of Mrs Pinker’s ‘business’. ‘I wonder,’ she cried hurriedly, ‘I wonder whether you might be able to … advise me …’

The maid waited with an air of great impatience, her hand still upon the door.

Dido looked about her – at the hobby horse – and the swing. And she considered also the insolent interest of the man in the post office – and the alteration in the maid’s address – that telling change from ‘miss’ to ‘madam’ as soon as she suspected that the visitor was, ‘come on business’.

An idea occurred.

‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘you might be able to suggest another establishment. You see,’ she continued slowly, watching the woman’s face closely, ‘a friend of mine is very anxious to place a child in the care of just such an experienced, respectable woman as your mistress. If Mrs Pinker is no longer taking in children, I would be very grateful if you would be so kind as to suggest another woman to whom my friend might apply?’

Before she had finished speaking, Dido knew, from the maid’s manner, that she had guessed aright. Mrs Pinker’s business was, without doubt, the care of children.

The maid sighed impatiently. ‘Well, I don’t know … There’s Mrs Hardwick, I suppose. You might try her. How old is the little ’un?’

‘About eight … or nine,’ Dido hazarded.

‘Oh no!’ cried the maid. ‘No, Mrs Hardwick’s like the mistress, they don’t neither of them keep ’em on that old! It’s up to seven she keeps girls – and not beyond five
for boys. They need schooling after that, that’s what the mistress says.’

‘Yes … yes, of course.’

‘Is it a boy or girl?’

‘Oh! It is a … er … girl.’

‘Well then your friend might try Mrs Nolan’s school in Bath.’

‘Mrs Nolan …?’ said Dido. A memory stirred at the sound of the name, but she could not quite make it out.

‘Yes, yes,’ the maid replied and repeated the name with emphasis, as if it were one which all the world ought to know. ‘Mrs Nolan. It’s her Mrs Pinker sends her girls on to. Holds her in very high regard, she does.’

‘Thank you.’

The maid bobbed and began to inch the door closed.

‘Oh, please, just a moment,’ cried Dido eagerly. ‘There was something else which I wished to ask.’

‘Yes?’ There was a long sigh.

‘I wondered whether you might recall an acquaintance of mine – a Miss …’ She stopped, remembering the recent careful change in her own status. It was, probably, a courtesy extended to all women who did ‘business’ with Mrs Pinker. ‘
Mrs
Fenn. Mrs Elinor Fenn?’

‘Oh!’ The maid pushed back the door a little way and peered at the visitor, showing interest in her for the first time. ‘Yes,’ she said warily, peering around the door’s edge. ‘I recall the mistress speaking of her. But that was a long time ago her little ’un was here. Before I came.’

‘So you do not know what became of her child?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said flatly. ‘And, pardon me for speaking plain, but if I knew anything I wouldn’t tell it.
It’s the rule – Mistress says I’m never to talk about the little ’uns. Folks have secrets, she says, and it’s part of our business to help keep those secrets. And that’s what I told the young gentleman when he came here.’

‘The young gentleman?’

‘Ah – the fellow who came asking about Mrs Fenn two months back. And the mistress told him the same I know – for I don’t reckon she liked the look of him any better than I did. But he was set on finding out …’ She stopped with a suspicious look. ‘What’s happened to this Mrs Fenn that everyone is asking about her?’

‘Oh nothing has happened to her,’ said Dido quickly. Clearly news of the inquest had not yet spread to Great Farleigh – and probably would not until a report was printed in the newspapers next week. ‘I just wondered …’