Vintage Love (179 page)

The actress said, “I’ve noticed that fat oaf is continually bothering you!”

She nodded. “It’s dreadful. I can’t think what to do!”

“Don’t worry yourself,” Peg Waddington said with a wise look on her attractive face. “I’ve discussed it with Hector and he has agreed I should sit by you for the rest of the journey.”

Mary was grateful. She said, “That’s far too kind of you!”

“Not at all,” the older woman said. “The fat youth can sit next to my husband. Perhaps Hector may be able to improve his mind.”

Mary smiled ruefully. “I doubt if Mr. Waddington will find him an interested student.”

“No matter!” Peg said. “It is all settled.”

They enjoyed an ample repast of mutton, brown bread and ale under the elms of the inn yard. The stout youth gorged himself in a revolting manner and leered across the plank table at her. She ignored him and spent all her time chatting with the Waddingtons.

Hector Waddington told her, “We shall give you our address and when you are settled in London you must come and visit us. And we shall take you to the theatre to see the performance.”

“I would love that!!” she said enthusiastically. “Though I’m not at all sure when I’ll get any time off.”

“They are bound to give you a day to yourself sooner or later,” Peg Waddington said. “And when they do, come and see us.”

“We shall be appearing in a melodrama ‘Lady Granby’s Peril!’ A good modern piece in which dear Peg will play Lady Granby and I the villainous Squire,” the elderly actor said.

Mary grimaced. “I have had some experience with villainous squires,” she told him. “It was one, Squire Gordon, who brought me to my present precarious state!”

Peg was sympathetic. “Pray tell us about it!”

Mary did, ending with, “So now I must accept this lowly post our village Parson found for me in London.”

Hector Waddington evinced anger at her story. “Your Squire Gordon is a proper bounder! And the tale you’ve told us much like a play we did a year or more ago, The Innocent Orphan’. A girl like you was left in much the same circumstances in this play.”

“Touching!” his wife said, recalling the play with a look of sorrow. “There is so much wickedness in the world!”

“I have only begun to learn this,” Mary admitted.

“See that you remember it,” Hector Waddington said in his impressive fashion.

When they returned to the stagecoach to complete their trip Peg Waddington settled herself next to Mary. She’d barely been seated when the fat youth arrived. He glared at Mary and then plunked himself down next to Hector Waddington.

The actor greeted him pleasantly with, “I was just thinking what a Falstaff you would make!”

The fat man murmured something unintelligible and turned his back on the friendly older man. Hector shrugged and looked out the window.

The journey at once became much more pleasant for Mary. She and Peg Waddington chatted. Some of the passengers were set down at various stops along the way. They lost the farm lad and his young wife in a village outside London. In their place they took on two rather grim-looking characters with stubbles of beard on their swarthy faces.

The actress told her in a low voice, “The highways have been plagued with outlaws again!”

“Really?” Mary whispered fearfully.

Peg Waddington nodded. “Yes. Some of the men discharged from the army have become highwaymen. They know how to use a pistol and when they can’t find work they turn to crime. I’m not sure I like the look of those two.”

Mary agreed, “They don’t appear at all trustworthy.”

“Let us hope I’m wrong,” Peg Waddington said. “I have not much money to lose but I would not want to have Hector and me robbed of the little we have!”

“I have only a pound or two of my own,” Mary said. “And a letter addressed to Sir John Blake.”

The actress continued to watch the two disreputable looking men who did nothing but argue back and forth in low, angry tones. When they reached an inn on the outskirts of London they left the stagecoach. To Mary’s relief the stout youth also left the stage at this stop. The three were replaced by a couple of young men with pale faces and steel-rimmed glasses who looked as if they might be clerks and a portly woman with a broad red face.

The big woman with the red face regarded them all with interest. She was carrying a wicker basket and from it she drew a printed handbill and offered it to Mary. She read it and saw that it described the woman as, “The Strongest Female in all Europe!” She passed the handbill on to Peg Waddington.

The actress read the handbill and smiled at the big woman, saying, “So you are an entertainer? My husband and I are actors.” She gave the handbill to an interested Hector.

The red face under the yellow bonnet showed pride. In a coarse voice the woman said, “I’m the Female Hercules, Madame Goubert. With my teeth I can lift a table five feet long and three feet wide with several people seated on it!”

“Remarkable!” Hector Waddington said as the coach roiled on in the dusk. “I should like to see you work.”

“You can do that, sir,” the big woman said. “I’ll be at the Palace Park Amusements for the next week or two. I’ll be carrying a barrel containing three hundred and forty full bottles of ale, and an anvil that weighs more than four hundred pounds!”

“Indeed,” Hector said. “Have you always been so strong?”

“Since I was a lass,” Madame Goubert said in a hoarse voice. “Once I was in a travelling caravan weighing two tons. On the road from Harwich to Leonminster, we sunk in the mud, nearly up to the box of the wheels, owing to the neglect of the driver, and the badness of the road. The two horses couldn’t pull us out but I went out there and dragged the caravan free myself!”

“Amazing!” Hector Waddington said. “And is your husband equally strong?”

The red face became sad. “Rest his soul sir, he is dead!”

“I’m sorry,” Hector sympathized.

“And in answer to your question, he never did have my strength,” Madame Goubert observed with a sigh. “He was what you might call a man of small stature. And he took a wasting disease! Was a mere skeleton at the last and too weak to lift his teacup!”

“What a sad experience for you,” Peg said in her kindly way.

“The balance of the world if you see it that way,” the big woman said. “We were perfectly matched though he was weak and I am strong. I’ll never marry again! But when I have enough earned I’ll retire to the village of my parents in the country.”

“Good luck!” Hector Waddington said, handing her back the playbill. “And we shall surely come to the Palace Amusements and see your performance.”

“Thank you, all,” the big woman said with a contented smile.

Peg confided to Mary in a low voice, “You find every sort of person in our profession but most of them are hard-working and of a kindly nature.”

“I’m sure of that,” Mary agreed.

The actress took a scrap of paper and a pencil from her pocket and wrote down an address which she gave to Mary saying, “We shall soon be in London and going our separate ways.”

“Yes,” Mary said, “I’ve asked the driver to let me off near Benjamin Square.”

“I’ve given you the street name and number of the house where we have our permanent rooms.”

“I’ll keep it by me,” Mary promised.

“Be sure you do,” the older woman counselled her. “You never know what turn your fate will take. You might need help and if so you can always count on Hector and me.”

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely. “I consider myself most fortunate to have found such kind new friends.”

Hector beamed at her from across the carriage. “We shall consider it a pleasure to hear from you, Miss Scott.”

The big, red-faced woman spoke up, “And if you come to see me at the Palace Amusements, Miss, I’ll see you get a free bit of pastry and a cup of tea!”

She smiled at the strong woman. “I’m much obliged,” she said. “I’ll remember your kind offer.”

The coach now began to make more frequent stops and the first person to leave was the massive Madame Goubert who lumbered out into the chill darkness. A few blocks further on it was the turn of Hector and Peg Waddington to take leave of Mary. Peg kissed her warmly on the cheek and Hector shook her hand. They stood waving at her as the coach continued on. She felt quite dismal as she watched their figures recede into the distance.

Now there were just the clerks and the two elderly women remaining in the coach with her. They rode on a distance and then the coach halted and the coachman shouted in to her, “Benjamin Square! Out for Benjamin Square!”

She hurriedly opened the door and stepped out to have the burly coachman thrust her satchel at her. “That way!” he said, jerking his head to the right. Then he quickly jumped back into the seat and the vehicle drove off into the night.

Mary was left standing by the curb with her satchel in hand and only a vague notion of which way to go to Benjamin Square. In addition, it was now fairly late at night, and she had been warned that the London streets were no fit place for a young girl alone after dark.

She started along the brick sidewalk in what she hoped might be the proper direction to the famous Square. She’d only gone a short way when she was terrified to see someone coming down the sidewalk towards her. And by the weaving manner of his walk whoever it was had to be intoxicated!

Her heart was in her throat as the figure came nearer to her and she saw it was a young man in a caped overcoat carrying a walking stick. When he came opposite her, he halted and bowed.

“May I be of some assistance?” he asked in a slurred voice betraying his drunkenness. He was about twenty-five and had a rather handsome face with strong, even features.

Nervously, she asked, “Where is the home of Sir John Blake?”

The young man chuckled. “You are but a step from it!” He took her arm. “Let me show you.”

Frightened, she tried to escape his firm grip without success. She said, “Just tell me! I can find it!”

“Indeed, you can,” the young toff said. “For here it is!”

And he halted before an imposing stone house with a half-dozen steps leading up to it.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I will accept thanks in the manner to which I’m most accustomed,” the young, drunken dandy said. And he took her by surprise, sweeping her into his arms so that she dropped her satchel, as he kissed her firmly on the mouth. He held her for an instant and then with a burst of laughter released her.

She stood there dumbfounded as he vanished in the night. Then she picked up her satchel and mounted the steps and pulled on the handle of the draw bell.

After a moment the door was opened by a gloomy-faced bald man in livery. He addressed her with some hauteur; “Well, young lady?”

Uneasily she thrust out the Parson’s letter. She said, “I’m Miss Mary Scott. I’m expected. Parson arranged for me to have employment here.”

The butler’s heavy brown eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ah, you are the young woman from the country.”

“Yes.” She was still standing on the outside steps, satchel in hand.

“I am Bellamy, chief manservant in this house,” the bald man said importantly. “I will take you to Mrs. Higgins, our housekeeper, just step inside and follow me.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

He stood back for her to enter and told her, “You shall call me
Mr.
Bellamy.”

“Yes, sir, I mean, Mr. Bellamy,” she said.

“Come along,” the bald man ordered her, starting down a long dark hallway without making any move to carry her satchel for her.

She followed him in awe, having only the briefest glimpse of the majestic reception hall, the fine curving stairway and the ornate, large rooms on either side of the hall. Since it was late the house seemed deserted.

After a long march down the dark hallway the butler knocked on a door and then opened it. The room proved to be a small parlor with a table and an easy chair. In the easy chair, reading the Bible by lamplight was a short, stout woman with a cotton night cap on her head. She glanced up calmly from her reading.

“Yes?” the older woman said.

Bellamy handed the woman the Parson’s letter. He said, “This is the young person from the country. I’m turning her over to you for instruction and assignment of a room.”

The stout woman closed her Bible and stood up to study Mary with a sharp glance. “You got here late enough!” she said accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The stagecoach was late leaving.”

“They usually are,” the older woman said irritably. “My name is Mrs. Higgins and that is how you will address me.”

“Yes, Mrs. Higgins,” she said, tense with all this new formality.

Bellamy had withdrawn and closed the door after him so she was alone with the stern Mrs. Higgins. The woman put down her Bible and opened the Parson’s letter and read it while Mary stood by respectfully.

When she’d finished reading the letter the housekeeper gave her a sarcastic glance. “From what your Parson says you are a proper lady. I must say you don’t look or sound it. You dress common enough and you have a country accent.”

She said, “Will those things interfere with my work?” She had not meant a sarcastic reply but it seemed to come out that way.

Mrs. Higgin’s broad face crimsoned. “No, it will not,” she said. “You will be a kitchen maid and there is no job lower than that. So we needn’t worry about your lacking manner or clothes.”

“Yes, Mrs. Higgins,” she went on politely, through clenched teeth.

“There’s a vast difference between country gentle folk and city gentle folk as you’ll soon discover,” the older woman went on severely. “You know what your wages are to be. Along with them you get board and room. Sir John and Lady Blake are kind, considerate employers and if you work hard you’ll be sure to be promoted and treated will.”

“Yes, Mrs. Higgins,” Mary said, feeling more nervous every moment.

“Mind your manners and work hard, that’s the answer,” Mrs. Higgins went on. “Now I’ll take you to the cellar where you’ll share a room with Emma, one of the parlor maids. Staff sleep either in the cellar or the attic. That is, except for myself and Mr. Bellamy. We have our quarters here on this floor at the rear.”