Elizabeth Mansfield (7 page)

“But this one will work, I
know
it! I been thinkin’ on it all these months, tryin’ to puzzle out where we might go when ye returned from the sea. I put the idea out o’ my head, figurin’ ye wouldn’t take kindly to it. But now it seems t’ me to be just exac’ly what we need.”

“Why? If I wouldn’t take kindly to it afore—”

“Well, matters ’er different now. It’d be a perfect place to hide.”

Daniel tried to stop her effusions, but Tom put a hand on his arm. “Let her talk, Daniel. She’s the only one of us who’s shown a spark of imagination. Perhaps she has something, this time.”

“I do, Dan’l, truly. The best suggestion yet. Yer uncle Hicks.”

“My uncle? What’re ye talkin’ about?”

“He’s in Dorset, somewheres near Shillingstone, ain’t he? That must be a goodish distance from the sea, and as good a place as any I can think of to—”

“But he’s a butler, ain’t he? On a grand estate. Workin’ fer a duke or an earl. Wyckfield Park it’s called, if I remember rightly. You ain’t imaginin’ he could take us in an’ hide us, are ye?”

“No, but per’aps he could find us places there. To work, I mean. I could serve as a housemaid, couldn’t I? At least ’til the baby comes. And you both could be gardeners or stable hands or footmen or somethin’.”

“Nay, girl, ye’re talkin’ like a witlin’. What do we know about gardenin’ or horses or household service?”

“What do ye know about
anythin’
save seafarin’?” she countered bluntly. “That sort of work’s as easy t’ learn as anythin’ else.”

Daniel was silenced but unconvinced. Dubiously, he looked at Tom. Tom shook his head. “She may be right, Daniel. Certainly no impressment officer would go seeking you in the house of a nobleman. It isn’t the sort of work for
me
, but you and Betsy might do very well—”

Betsy planted herself before him, her eyes flashing and her arm akimbo. “We already decided we’ll stick t’gether, so let’s hear no more you-and-Betsys! An’ if the work would do fer Daniel an’ me,
why wouldn’t it do fer you?”

Tom made a face. “I’ll be dashed if I want to be a footman for a puffed-up nobleman to step upon.”

“Are ye tryin’ to say ye’re too good fer household service? Per’aps it’d be better t’ be trussed up like a sack o’ mutton and dumped on the deck o’ that navy ship ye spoke of, eh?” she demanded tartly.

Daniel grinned at his wife’s spirit. “She has ye there, old man. An’ she may be right. No King’s officer would recognize us all spruced up in footmen’s livery.”

Tom looked from one to the other questioningly. “Are you seriously saying you want to go to Dorset and ask this uncle of yours for work as
servants?”

“That’s exac’ly what I’m sayin’,” Betsy declared. “Nothin’s wrong with bein’ servants. The quarters are clean, the pay’s reg’lar, and the food’s always good an’ plentiful.”

“That’s true enough,” Daniel agreed. “You’ll probably like it better ’n ye think, Tom, fer there’s sure t’ be a goodish number of pretty young maids about to kiss under the stairs—”

“Oh, hush, Dan’l! What a thing to say! Tom ain’t the sort to maul the girls under the stairs,” his wife objected. “He’s far too gentlemanly.”

Tom grinned at her. “No man’s too gentlemanly for that, my dear. In fact, the promise of some pretty girls to cuddle is the only part of your plan which I find pleasing, if the truth were told.”

“There, y’ see?” Daniel chortled, pinching his wife’s cheek. “I know this fellow better ’n you do, my girl. I seen ’im fondle and forsake more ’n one lass in our time together.”

“Shame on ye, Dan’l, trying to make me b’lieve yer best friend is a rake! I don’t want t’ hear no more o’ this. Besides, it ain’t gettin’ us no closer to solvin’ our problem. Are we goin’ to Dorset or ain’t we?”

“But Betsy, love,” Daniel said, his grin dying, “it ain’t very likely, is it, that my uncle Hicks could find posts fer all three of us?”

“How can we tell ’til we try?” Betsy responded reasonably. “Stake nothin’, draw nothin’, as they say.”

Daniel shrugged. “Well … it’s the best scheme we’ve come up with so far. What do y’ say, Tom? Shall we chance it?”

Tom stared into the fire. It
was
the best suggestion to come forth, yet it only served to deepen his despond. He suddenly perceived that his dreams of mastering a vessel were now completely beyond the possibility of fulfillment … and for the first time since they’d encountered the press-gang, that truth swept over him with the finality of death. No more would he feel the rocking of the deck beneath his feet, the salt wind cracking his lips, the wheel fighting for supremacy under his hands. No more would he wake up in the morning, climb up on deck and stare out at the grey mist rising from the immensity of grey sea. Now he’d probably wake up to the smell of horse dung in the stable, or, if he were housed in the servants’ quarters, he’d probably look out on a backyard court piled with kitchen refuse waiting to be burned. At sea the work had seemed to him to be purposeful and important; the way he’d order the sails trimmed or how he’d chart a course would determine how quickly and safely the ship would reach its destination. He’d had rules to obey, but they’d made sense. Now his work would be trivial, and the rules would be made—and arbitrarily changed—at the whim of a spoiled nobleman with nothing more to do than give orders. At sea he’d had a chance to become a master. Now he’d be subjected to orders from an army of superior beings, and the hope of ever becoming his own man would be an empty dream.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up. Daniel was standing above him, looking down at him with eyes that revealed his complete understanding of his friend’s feelings. “I’m … right sorry,” he mumbled miserably. “Things shouldn’t ’ve turned out like this fer ye …”

Filled with shame at his attack of self-pity, Tom forcibly shook off his dejection. “No, Daniel, don’t
mind me,” he said, getting to his feet and smiling reassuringly. “Being sorry for myself won’t buy any barley, as your sensible little wife would be quick to tell me. She seems to have more brains than the two of us together. Well, Betsy, it seems we’re going to Dorset. What are your plans, then? Give us our orders, my dear. You’re the captain of this voyage.”

Betsy threw her arms around him in a grateful hug. Then, clapping her hands happily, she looked at them both with eyes shining in excited anticipation. “If I’m to be captain,” she said, laughing, “my first order is to warn you, Tom, to stop usin’ all that mariner’s talk. Next, I say we should all go to sleep, fer there’s nothin’ more we can do tonight. We’ll be able to think better after we’ve rested. Dan’l, you and Tom take the bed. I’ll fix myself a pallet on the hearth—”

“Not on your life,” Tom interrupted, grinning. “I’ll obey your orders on almost anything, Betsy, but not on this. You and Daniel take the bed. I’ll do very well on the hay in the loft outside. Goodnight to you both.” And with a wink at his friend, he wrapped his blanket about him and fled.

Betsy proved more than equal to the task of organizing their departure. First thing next morning, she had them pool their resources. Betsy had managed to save—after months of slaving in the taproom—only a meager pile of coins, and Tom, having left the
Triton
so abruptly, had only a few shillings in the pocket of his coat. But Daniel had sewn into his coatlining the twenty pounds which the paymaster had given him before his departure from the
Triton
. Betsy decided that most of the money had to be spent on clothing. “We ain’t likely to get posts as respectable servants if we look like shabby beggars,” she informed them.

To avoid arousing suspicion while they prepared themselves for the trip to Dorset, the men kept hidden in the stable while Betsy took steps to procure the items of clothing they would need. First she informed her employers at the Crown and Cloves that she was leaving to live with distant relatives until her child was born. Then, quite openly, she ordered a warm and amply cut gown for herself from a seamstress in Twyford. An extra few shillings convinced the woman to set aside her other work and stitch up the dress as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Betsy unobtrusively made her way by cart, wagon and shank’s mare to the town of Winchester to buy clothing for the men. She waited until dark to make her way back, and her husband was in a state of considerable agitation by the time she slipped back into the room. “Where’ve ye been, woman?” he almost shouted when he saw her safe. “Ye had me fearin’ you’d been trampled by a horse or worse!”

“Hush, ye great looby, do ye want them t’ hear ye in the taproom? I had to wait ’til dark so no one’d see me carryin’ these parcels. I’m fine, as ye can see. And just wait ’til ye glimpse what I’ve bought fer ye.”

The packages were eagerly unwrapped, and the merriment was hard to contain as they watched Daniel struggle into a pair of almost-new buff-colored breeches which were much too tight for him. But they all roared aloud when Tom stood before them fully dressed. The coat Betsy had purchased for him had been cut for a much shorter man. The waist was too high, and his wrists hung from the sleeves like those of a fifteen-year-old youth who’d grown too quickly. And the high-crowned, curly-brimmed top hat she’d purchased, while certainly fit for a gentleman, fit him not at all. It was so large that it slipped down over his ears. The entire effect of his altered appearance in those ill-fitting clothes set them all in stitches. But Betsy sat up all night, letting out the seams of Daniel’s “smalls” and lengthening the sleeves of Tom’s new coat. And the next day, after exchanging Tom’s top hat for the low-crowned, soft-brimmed headpiece she’d bought for Daniel, she was quite pleased with their appearances.

It took one more day for Betsy’s dress to be ready, but they looked a very presentable trio when they finally set out, on foot, before the sun had risen the next morning. Daniel was surprisingly
gentlemanly in his top hat (which Betsy had made to fit by stuffing paper into the inner hatband), Tom was quite “sporting” in his more informal headgear, and Betsy was neatly demure in her plum-colored kerseymere gown and black bonnet. All their extra linens were packed into one small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a cord, which Tom and Daniel took turns carrying.

By midmorning they reached Winchester, where they boarded the stage bound for Bath. Although they were going only to Deptford—a distance the coach would cover in less than seven hours—they found the ride completely nerve-wracking, for the coach had started out from Southampton, and it seemed to them that every passenger who’d boarded before them was staring at them with suspicion. They disembarked at Deptford, however, without any untoward incident having occurred. In joyful relief, they squandered a large portion of their meager funds on a substantial dinner and lodgings at a respectable inn. And the next morning, after a whispered conference over the breakfast table, they decided to throw what remained of their finances into hiring a private carriage to take them the rest of the way to Wyckfield Park.

The carriage ride was a merry one, for the privacy was heady luxury. There was no one aboard to stare into their faces or eye their makeshift clothing with suspicion. Their spirits rose to dizzy heights as they laughed and joked and made optimistic predictions about their futures. “My uncle’ll be delighted t’ see us, don’t ye think, Betsy, love?” Daniel asked. “He always like me as a boy. Tossed me up in the air and pinched my cheek …”

“I’m certain he’ll be glad t’ see you, my dear,” his wife smiled confidently. “By tonight, we’ll be comfortably moved into neat bedrooms, an’ we’ll be havin’ our supper in a nice, warm kitchen with the rest o’ the staff, all smilin’ and friendly.”

No cloud could be envisioned to dim their bright prospects. Betsy was convinced they were embarked on a promising new path. She painted a glowing picture of how she imagined their new mistress would be: a sweet, generous lady who’d be delighted that her new maid was with child, and who’d kindly provide a midwife to see her through the birthing safely. Daniel dreamed of the small apartment they would be given all for themselves, and of the kitchen gardens and the ample grounds where the child would be permitted to run and play quite freely.

Betsy and Daniel together made predictions even for
Tom’s
future. Tom, because of his gentlemanly speech, would soon be promoted to the favored post of gentleman’s gentleman. Tom laughed at the absurdity and acted out a comical pantomime in which he attempted to tie an impatient gentleman’s neckcloth with staggering ineptitude. By keeping everyone laughing, he was able to mask, even to some extent from himself, the despair with which his altered prospects had overwhelmed his spirit.

The ride was briefer than they’d expected. By midmorning they’d arrived at the impressive gates of Wyckfield Park. They quickly sobered at the sight. Ordering the coachman to set them down just outside the gates, they climbed from the carriage and trudged along the drive leading to the great house. Silently, with unspoken fears beginning to hammer away at their previous optimism, they made their way round to the kitchen door. Before knocking, the men removed their hats, and Betsy nervously looked them over. She straightened Daniel’s neckcloth, picked a piece of lint from Tom’s shoulder and nodded. Daniel stepped forward and, with a deep breath, knocked firmly at the door.

It was opened by a plump, fuzzy-haired woman in a very large, stiffly starched white apron and neat cap. “Yes?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Betsy dropped a quick curtsey. “Beg pardon, ma’am,” she said politely, “but we was wonderin’ if we could see Mr. Hicks.”

The woman, taking note of their dusty shoes and strained expressions, looked at them with a twinge of sympathy. “Mr. Hicks? I’m sorry to have to disappoint you, but he ain’t here no more. He’s gone off
to London, he has, not a se’ennight since. An’ he ain’t expected back.”

For three days following Camilla’s announcement of her intention to leave Wyckfield Park for London, a painful war had ensued. Ethelyn had subjected her sister-in-law to a most trying ordeal, attacking Camilla repeatedly with every weapon of persuasion or coercion available to her. There had been hours of argument, during which Ethelyn described London as a place of vice and iniquity, declaring it to be completely unsuitable for a woman of Camilla’s sensitivity and sheltered background, “and positively
unfit
for a child like Philippa!”