Mr Cavell's Diamond (11 page)

Maria c
ame over to see the gown. ‘Ain’t it lovely?’ she said, and then she noticed how upset I was. ‘What’s wrong, miss?’ At least she were no longer calling me ma’am.

I sh
ook my head. How could I explain the problem without telling her the secret?  Maria picked up the gown and oohed and aahed over it.

‘
It’s too tight for the missus,’ I said. ‘She is plumper than she was afore she went to London.’ That was the truth though not the whole truth. ‘And she wants me to let it out.’

Maria peer
ed closely at the seams. ‘How much?’

‘
Need to get another four inches into that waist at least.’

She look
ed up at me, but I kept my eyes on the gown for fear the truth was in them. ‘There ain’t four inches in these seams, miss,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to put a panel in. Two panels – one each side will be best. Take the skirt off, cut a piece from that and sew it back in with less gathers. Unpick these side seams and add your panels.’

I stare
d at Maria. ‘You know how to do this?’

‘
Course! My Ma taught me. She wanted me to be apprenticed to a dressmaker but no one in Worthing needed another girl so I said I’d do service until I could find a place. You want me to alter the gown? Give it here, then, miss.’

My smile
was as wide as the bread-oven door as I handed it over. I gave her my sewing basket, and took over making the mistress’s breakfast while she sat down to her task.

The hall clock had just struck three when the mistress came downstairs. Maria was still working on the gown – she had cut the piece from the skirt and sewn one panel in, the other was still to do and the skirt to sew back on. She had added four inches to the waist and left big seams, in case. I wondered had she guessed but if she had, her lips were pinned shut.

I hear
d the mistress come down from her room and I expected to hear the drawing room bell but instead she came all the way down to the kitchen. Maria jumped to her feet – she had not met the mistress yet for up till then I had done all the work upstairs and she had stayed in the kitchen.

‘
Ma’am, do you need something?’ I said.

‘
My gown!’ she said, picking up the skirt of it. ‘Who’s this girl? And why is she cutting up my gown?’

‘
Ma’am, this is Maria, our new maid. She is better at sewing than me so she…’

‘
New maid? Who authorised you to take on a new maid? And on whose recommendation did she come?’

‘
Ma’am, Mr Dennett sent her. Mr Cavell said to take her on to help, now that we have a full household again…’

‘
She could be
anyone
. She might steal the silver. And look here, she’s cutting up my gown!’

Maria cower
ed against the wall in tears, and Sultan was whimpering at her feet. He doesn’t like shouting.

‘
Ma’am, she needed to take some fullness from the skirt so as to add panels in the side to let it out enough.’

The mistress face
pinked up and she turned to me, her hand raised to slap. ‘You told her! You promised me to keep the secret, and that meant below stairs as well as above, but you told her! This no-good, common little girl whom we appear to be feeding and sheltering.’

‘
She is a good worker, ma’am…’ I began to defend Maria but the mistress was in such a rage she wasn’t listening. She snatched the gown bodice from Maria, and I heard a rip.

‘
Look!’ she screamed. ‘Your
good worker
has ruined my gown! Why could you not alter it yourself, as I asked? You stupid girl! What will your master say when I tell him what you’ve done? He’ll throw you out, that’s what he’ll do. You and your little friend. Oh, I had such good servants in London. Why must I put up with you provincial little thieves and vandals?’

Well, I won’t be called a thief
nor a vandal, because I am neither, and nor is Maria. I started to say, ‘Now, ma’am, that’s unfair…’ but she wouldn’t listen, she was pulling Maria up from the floor and flying at her like a cat in the night. I ran to hold the mistress back, and Sultan he bark bark barked at her and Maria squealed and the mistress tried to slap her and slapped me and we covered our heads and then Sultan stopped barking and started to growl, a warning sound like he had lost his patience.

‘
Stupid dog!’ the mistress shouted. He looked about to jump at her but she kicked him hard. He backed off with a whimper and then she grabbed a pan from the table and hit him on his head which knocked him out. She was still not finished for she kicked him then, over and over until Maria and I hauled her away and made her sit down.

‘
Stop, ma’am, stop, do!’ I begged her. ‘The master is so fond of the dog, don’t hurt him any more. I never told Maria the secret, I promise, nor will I. I told no one, honest, ma’am.’

She
was breathing heavily, her hand on her belly. I was scared then she could lose the baby. ‘You’re not well, ma’am, let Maria get you something and get you to bed.’ She was calming down, so I nodded at Maria who was sobbing, but she got a hold of herself and went to put a kettle on the range to make tea. The mistress laid her head down on the table, and I went to Sultan who had crawled over to his blanket beside the fire and was laying there whimpering.

‘
Miss, is he all right?’ whispered Maria.

I d
idn’t know if he was all right. I gently stroked him, and he gave a little tail-wag and tried to lift his head. He whimpered when I touched his chest, like he had broken ribs. There was a cut too on his head where she caught him with the pan. I fetched some water and a cloth and bathed it, gentle as I could. Sultan licked my hand, and laid his head on my lap. Out the corner of my eye I saw the mistress stand up from the table and stare at me and the dog. I pressed my lips together ready for her next shouting but I didn’t look at her. She spoke to Maria instead.

‘
You. Bring that tea to my room for me. And some cake. Tell your master I am not well, and will not be able to attend the dinner after all.’ She left the room then, and we all three of us breathed out with relief.

Henry

‘
Sultan! Sultan! Where are you, boy, it’s time for a walk. Jemima!’ Henry Cavell strode through the house shouting. It was the day after the cancelled dinner date. Caroline was still in her bed and likely to remain there. She really hadn’t seemed at all well either the previous evening or this morning when Henry had knocked on her door to see how she was. She was complaining of a headache, indigestion and backache, and wanted only to lie still and drink chocolate.

She’d also taken against the servants, and insisted Henry bring her the chocolate himself. After half a morning of running up and down stairs waiting on her, Henry was longing to get out of the house. Where was that dog? He normally came bounding to his master, ready for a run outside, as soon as he was called. And it was unlike Jemima not to come running as soon as she heard his call.

He turned at the sound of scurrying feet, but it was Frances. ‘Where’s Sultan? May I come to the beach too, Papa?’

‘
Of course, my little one. Just as soon as I can find him and Jemima. Why don’t you fetch your bonnet and wait for me in the parlour.’ The little girl ran off happily.

He
nry supposed he would have to go hunting for Sultan, and made his way down to the kitchen. He was met at the kitchen door by the new maid. He’d barely seen her – she’d mostly kept to the kitchen so far. Presumably she was shy, just as Jemima had been when she started work here. Well, if the new girl was anything like as good a servant as Jemima was, she’d be a grand addition to the household.

‘
Maria, isn’t it?’ he asked the girl. ‘Is Jemima in there? I’ve been calling for the dog. Has she taken him out already perhaps?’

‘
Sir, they’re in beside the fire…’ said Maria.

‘
Beside the fire on a day like this! It’s time to be out in the fresh air, on the beach!’ Henry began to push past the girl who was still blocking the doorway, but she wouldn’t move.

‘
Sir, please…’

‘
What? Come on, girl, out of my way.’ He took her shoulders and moved her to one side. In the kitchen a fire was burning brightly and Sultan was curled on a blanket on the hearth. Beside him, Jemima lay sleeping, the dog’s head draped across her thigh.

‘
Sir, please,’ whispered Maria again. ‘She was up all night tending to the dog. She needs to sleep now.’

‘
Tending to the dog, why, what is wrong with him?’ Henry took a step forward. Maria’s hand was on his arm, gently restraining him.

‘
Sir, the dog is hurt, he has a cut on his head, but it’s clean and Miss Jemima says it will heal.’

Henry turned to the girl.
‘How did he get cut?’

‘
Sir, I…’ Maria blushed and stammered. ‘I… couldn’t say, sir.’

‘
Can’t say, or won’t say?’

The girl blushed even more furiously, then looked down at her feet. Henry felt an inexplicable pang of pity for her. She looked the honest type, so if she was hiding something it must be for a reason.

‘Well, perhaps I’ll speak to Jemima about it when she wakes,’ he said quietly. ‘Now go about your business, Maria. I’ll not wake her.’

Maria looked grateful as she ducked under his arm and up the kitchen stairs. Henry turned to look back at the sleeping girl and dog. Jemima’s face looked drawn but peaceful. Her arm was curled along the animal’s back, her hand gently resting on his haunch as though to comfort him. A bowl of milk was on the floor beside them. Henry could see the cut now, above the dog’s right eye, a gash of about two inches long, some fresh blood matting the fur around it.

‘Oh, my poor boy,’ whispered Henry. The dog stirred and whimpered, waking Jemima. Henry stepped back into the shadows of the doorway.

Jemima sat up, and picked up a cloth
. Henry watched as she used it to wipe the blood from Sultan’s cut. ‘There now,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll soon be right. Will you take some milk now?’

She dipped a second cloth into the bowl of milk, then squeezed it into the side of the dog’s mouth. Sultan tried to raise his head and whimpered again, finally relaxing back onto her lap and allowing her to drip the milk onto his tongue. Jemima once again soaked the cloth and fed him more milk.

Henry took a step forward into the room. She was so completely absorbed in nursing the dog that she didn’t even look up as he approached. And she looked so beautiful – her love for the dog lending a beguiling softness to her face. Henry felt a jolt, almost painful, as he realised that here, in front of him, tending to his injured dog, was the one woman he would ever truly love with all his heart, for all his life. The realisation came to him so suddenly, so strongly that he gasped, and leaned on the kitchen table to support himself.

Jemima started, and looked up at him.
‘Sir, tis Sultan, he’s hurt but I think he will get better…’

‘
You’re nursing him. You’re so… kind. Thank you.’

She opened her mouth to reply, but caught his eye. Henry held her gaze, looking into her deep brown eyes, wondering if she could read the truth in his. After what seemed like an eternity she bent her head back to the dog, and gently stroked his head. Henry smiled to see Sultan give a feeble wag of his tail at her touch. He wanted to go to Sultan himself, but could he trust himself so close to Jemima? Shaking, he slowly made his way around the table and crouched down beside them. He put his hand by Sultan’s nose to sniff, and was rewarded by a lick and another tail-wag.
Close up, he could see the size of the cut. Sultan’s breathing seemed laboured too. He reached out to stroke the dog along his body but Jemima caught his arm.

‘
Sir, sorry, best not to touch him, I think his ribs may be broken,’ she said.

Henry barely heard her words – his attention was focussed almost entirely on the touch of her hand. Her fingers were long and slim, unadorned. Her hand looked strong and able, yet gentle. How would it feel to be caressed by that hand?

He shook his head slightly and stood up, took a step back. There was a wooden chair tucked under the kitchen table. He pulled it out and sat down, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

‘
Jemima, I must ask you,’ he said, quietly, ‘how did this happen? Who did this to Sultan?’

She didn’t answer, just kept stroking the dog gently.

‘Jemima, you must tell me what happened,’ he insisted. ‘Was it m—’

‘
Wasn’t Maria, no, sir, no, she’d never do such a thing!’

‘
My wife, I was going to say.’

Jemima ducked her head back down again, and picked up the milk-cloth.
‘Sir, I can’t say….’ she whispered.

Her embarrassment, her loyalty to her mistress told him all he needed to know.  Despite what Caroline had apparently done, despite the bullying Jemima herself received at the hands of her mistress, she was still the mistress and Henry knew Jemima would remain loyal to her, just as she would to him. She was beautiful, kind and gentle, steadfast and loyal, able and practical.
A perfect woman. He felt a surge of love for her, followed by a wave of revulsion for Caroline.

‘
It’s all right, Jemima. I won’t push you. I admire your loyalty. Please, go and take some rest now. I will sit here with Sultan.’

‘
Oh, no sir. I don’t want to leave him. I don’t need rest, sir, but thank you.’

‘
And now I
do
insist. You’re to go upstairs to your room now. Take some bread and cheese, eat and then sleep. Please, Jemima. You must remain strong so you can continue nursing Sultan. I can sit here for an hour or two, I have no appointments today.’ He settled back in the chair and poured himself a glass of water from a jug which was on the table, to show that he meant to stay.

Jemima gave a small smile, and gently eased the dog’s head off her thigh. She stumbled slightly as she stood up, as though she’d been sitting in one position
for too long. Stretching and yawning, she sliced herself some bread and cut off a piece of cheese. Henry watched every move she made.

‘
Sir, are you sure?’ she asked, as she bundled the bread and cheese into her apron.

‘
Go. Sultan will be perfectly all right with me.’ He smiled reassuringly and waved her away, though he really wanted her to stay, stay with him, now, tomorrow, always.

After she’d left, Henry cut a slice of bread and cheese for himself, and settled down to watch over Sultan. The dog sniffed the air as he cut the cheese.
‘You want a piece, boy?’ murmured Henry. He cut another sliver and held it out on the tips of his fingers. Sultan licked it but did not eat it. ‘Not ready to eat yet, then. Sleep, it’ll do you good.’ He stroked the dog’s head gently, away from the cut, as he’d seen Jemima do, and soon Sultan’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed to a regular rhythm.

As the afternoon wore on, Henry found he had plenty of time to think. It seemed clear to him that Caroline had some
how hurt the dog, even though he guessed neither Jemima nor Maria would ever tell him exactly what had happened. He shook his head in disbelief. What kind of person could do this to an innocent animal? He didn’t doubt that the attack had been unprovoked. Sultan was not a dog who’d ever lunged at anyone, and surely if he had, Jemima would have told him.

He thought back over his
two years of marriage to Caroline. It had not been what he’d expected and hoped for. They were not soul-mates, they were not a partnership, they were barely even friends. It had been a long time since they’d even shared a bed. Although in the early days she’d beguiled him with her flirtatiousness, he’d long since found himself bored and slightly revolted by her. All she seemed to care about was fashion and gossip and society. She wanted London, he liked Worthing. She wanted money and clothes and the high life, he wanted fresh air, simplicity and a quiet life.

He sighed. Marriages could be so easily entered into, but were so difficult
, if not impossible, to dissolve. You could fire a servant and hire a better one, but your wife was with you for life. If only it was the opposite way around. Jemima was such a perfect servant, he knew he would never want to fire her. No, indeed, he wanted… he wanted… He shook his head. Impossible. Don’t even think on it. She was a maid, a servant, and he was a married man. She was too good, too pure to sully in any way. He realised what he felt was love – not the lust Caroline had inspired in him two years ago, but a purer, higher, better emotion. He would have to keep it boxed and hidden. There was no question. As long as she stayed here, with him, and didn’t leave to marry some fisherman or farm labourer… He shuddered. The thought of Jemima leaving him….

The kitchen door eased open and Maria’s shy face appeared around it.
‘Sir, excuse me sir but…’

‘
What is it? Is she all right? Is she resting?’

‘
She’s looking for you, sir, I told her you were down here and she wants you up in the drawing room, asked me to tell you, sir. Sorry, sir.’

Caroline, summoning him. How dare she? Henry suppressed a grimace.
‘Maria, tell my wife I shall not leave Sultan. If she wants to speak to me, she must come down here to the kitchen.’

Maria curtseyed and scurried out, looking terrified. Henry felt a pang of pity for her.

A few moments later, Caroline appeared at the door. ‘What are you doing sitting down here in the kitchen, darling? Oh! Is the dog hurt? The poor thing…’

Henry stood up, placing himself between her and Sultan.
‘You know very well he’s hurt, Caroline. Tell me how it happened.’

‘
I, tell you? But why should I know what happened? Was it that new maid? We must dismiss her at once!’

‘
It was not Maria. Caroline, I’ll give you another chance. Just tell me what happened. I know it was you…’

‘
Who told you? Was it that Jemima? She can’t be trusted, I always knew it!’ Caroline took a step forward, towards Henry and the dog. A low rumble came from Sultan’s throat.

Henry gripped the back of a kitchen chair.
‘Listen! Sultan’s telling me now who did this to him. Don’t come any closer.’

‘
He’s vicious, that dog. Growling at me, leaping up at my throat…’

‘
Never! He’d not leap at anyone’s throat. You are lying, woman. Get out of the kitchen, I want you out of my sight.’

‘
Out of your sight? That’s a fine thing to say to your wife. I suppose that’s why you’re down here, to keep away from me?’

‘
I’m here to care for Sultan, while Jemima rests,’ Henry said quietly.

Caroline snorted.
‘Working while the servants sleep? What kind of a man are you, doing the servants’ work? You’ll be boiling the sheets next I suppose, and blacking the grates!’

‘
Enough! I told you, madam, to leave this room.’

Caroline rounded the table and snatched up her gown, still in pieces.
‘I’m going.
You
may like to sit in the servants quarters, but
I
certainly don’t.’