Mr Bishop and the Actress (13 page)

‘No, I’m no nursemaid. Apparently I let them get too dirty today.’

She makes herself busy folding a petticoat. ‘We shall all miss you. Mr Bishop will, I know.’

‘I doubt it.’ I rise. ‘I must do my own packing.’

I go back downstairs and find Harry Bishop and his footmen throwing holland clothes over the furniture in the dining room.

I stop in the doorway and look at him. His coat is unbuttoned. He carries a sheaf of papers in one hand and a pencil in the other and he has a smudge of dirt on one cheekbone. His hair is ruffled and I have the urge to smooth it into tidiness.

I step forward.

Harry

S
ir, I must speak to you about my bed.’

Oh dear God, not again. ‘What exactly is the problem, Mrs Marsden?’

‘I have given notice, sir.’

‘What!’ Sophie is leaving? I tell the footmen to continue and walk over to her, drawing her outside the room so we may speak in privacy. ‘But—but why?’

‘I think you know.’

‘No, I don’t. I thought you were happy here. Is it something I did? Is it—’ I feel my face heat. ‘I beg of you, tell me if there are consequences of our—that is—’

‘No, you fool, I’m not with child. I can take better care of myself than that, as I believe I once told you.’

‘I’m sorry to see you go. What will you do?’ My head is reeling. Despite my fondness for the family I cannot imagine this house without Sophie.

‘I shall find my father and go back on the stage. Apparently I’m not as good at respectability as I hoped.’ She smiles, ironic and sweet, and I want to kiss her. ‘But the bed. Will you store it for me here for a little while, Harry? Until I have a place for it?’

‘Of course. But why do you leave? May I assist you in any way?’

She shakes her head. ‘You’re a good man, Harry Bishop.’

‘His lordship wants to see you, Mr Bishop.’ Another of the footmen emerges from the depths of the house.

As I hesitate, she holds out her hand to me. ‘We should say our farewells now, Harry, for I doubt we’ll get the chance to speak to each other alone again. I leave for London tomorrow.’

‘But—’ I take her hand in mine. ‘Is it that Captain?’

‘Who?’

‘The Captain last night. Did—does he—’

‘No, no.’ She laughs. ‘I think his sister frightened him off any entanglement with me. No, it is – but never mind. You’d best go and see his lordship. He, better than anyone in this house, knows why I must leave. Wait.’ She licks a finger and rubs my cheek. ‘That’s better. Goodbye, Harry.’

Her other hand falls from mine and she walks away, going up the stairs with none of her usual grace and liveliness, her head bowed.

Lord Shad! She speaks of him? Surely she is mistaken. I have been in service nearly all my life, since I left home at the age of ten. I know why women, particularly pretty ones, leave positions in households; it happens all too often.

I find Lord Shad in his study where he is surrounded by heaps of paper, although at the moment he is busy packing his painting things.

‘What the devil have I done, Bishop? I’m surrounded by a house full of wailing women, none of whom will speak to me, not that Harriet can, although she screams half the night instead. So.’ He points to the papers. ‘These papers relate to the improvements on the house. Bulmersh the builder will be here with his men tomorrow. Pray make sure he knocks the wall out in the drawing room and no other. What the devil did you do to Mrs Marsden?’

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘Did you debauch her?’

‘My lord! I most certainly did not. It was another whose advances she feared and against whom she had no protection.’

I wait, expecting his lordship to sack me, but instead he places a handful of paintbrushes on to his desk. ‘Sit.’ His voice is icy cold.

I do so and he drops into the chair opposite and regards me for a long, uncomfortable moment, which gives me time enough to imagine my return to London and to the hotel and my parents’ disappointment and bewilderment. ‘From what you say, I can only deduce,’ he says after I have imagined the worst, ‘that Mrs Marsden believed that very handsome shawl to be a gift from me. Why is that so, Harry? No, I’ll tell you why. Because you had neither the courage nor sense to declare yourself to her.’

I clench my fists, longing, for the first time in my life, to punch someone. ‘I—I thought she knew.’

He shrugs. ‘Apparently not, although everyone else did. But who am I to judge you so? Everyone else except poor little Amelia knew of her true parentage and now I have yet another unhappy female casting me black glances. So what shall you do, Harry?’

‘I don’t know, my lord. She is determined to leave tomorrow.’

He bangs his clenched fist on the surface of his desk. ‘Declare yourself. Have the banns called. You do intend marriage, I trust?’

‘Of course, my lord.’ I suppose I do. I hadn’t really thought much beyond seeing her wear the shawl. ‘I bought her the shawl on a whim, because she liked it, and because I thought she should have something pretty, my lord. I—’

‘You’re in love.’

‘I—’

‘Go, Bishop, and repair the damage. Tell her she may join us at Brighton if she wishes to stay in our employ. And this is a wedding gift unless she refuses . . .’ He produces a soft leather bag and places it in my hand. ‘Pray give it to Mrs Marsden, for I shall not see her go penniless if you blunder further. She may turn you down for not speaking before. I am not a rich man but I am an honourable one. She may think what she wants of me, but you are the one who must prove himself.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

He comes around the desk and claps me on the shoulder. ‘I expect this to be all settled upon my return, and the house still standing.’

Sophie

‘What shall we do without you?’ Lady Shad is in tears. She has retired to her bed with her three children and a battered copy of
Gulliver’s Travels
from which she was reading aloud when I knocked at the bedchamber door.

‘Forgive me,’ I mumble, overcome with guilt.

Another knock at the door and John slouches in, followed by the dogs. ‘I don’t want you to go, either,’ he says, and flings himself on to the bed. The dogs follow, one of them stretching its head to give the infant Harriet’s face a thorough licking. Lady Shad swats the dog away.

‘I came here for some peace,’ she says, looking with dismay at her bed full of children and dogs. She blows her nose. ‘The thing is, my dear Sophie, I am not the sort of woman who indulges in fantasies of ill health but I find myself quite out of sorts after Harriet’s birth. I hope the sea air will do me good. I had hoped to have you with us at Brighton. If you are determined to leave us, you must write to us, my dear, and tell us where you are, and we shall send you word how Amelia does in Bath.’

‘I am afraid it is impossible for me to stay, ma’am.’

‘I am sorry for it. I believe I know the source of your discomfort.’

I am shocked that she speaks so calmly of her husband’s infidelity. ‘Ma’am, I assure you I gave him no encouragement whatsoever.’

‘Naturally it would not be an easy situation for you. I wish you had spoken to me of it before.’

‘How could I?’

‘Quite easily, I should think. I am very fond of Harry, but he should have behaved with more propriety. Shad or I could have set him straight had you asked.’

‘Harry!’ I echo.

‘He has very good taste. That shawl must have set him back a pretty penny and it suits your complexion exceedingly well.’

Oh, what a fool I have been. Harry!

‘Are you engaged yet?’ Lady Shad continues with a kindly if inexorable air.

‘No. No. He has not asked me.’

‘I’ll have a word with him.’

‘Ma’am, I beg of you, do not.’

‘Mama, read now.’ George tugs at his mother’s sleeve.

‘Manners, George,’ I say, sounding for all the world like a governess.

‘If you please, Mama,’ he says with great docility. ‘Mama, Mrs Marsden let us get dirty. I like her. Tell her she is not to go.’

She hands the book to me. ‘If you will, Mrs Marsden. You have such a pretty voice.’ She pushed the dogs aside and places Harriet on her lap to make room for me on the bed.

We dine in the bedchamber, as it is one of the few rooms not affected by the servants’ preparations for the family’s departure. John leaves to join Shad and Harry, who are to dine in milord’s study. Amelia eats her dinner with Mr and Mrs Price and their other daughter.

After dinner, buckets of hot water are brought upstairs and Lady Shad subjects her small sons to a vigorous scrubbing and lets them run around the room completely undressed, after which, dressed in clean nightshirts and looking like small angels, they climb back into the bed.

Harriet wakes and babbles quietly to herself, clad in a clean napkin and full of good humour, and submits herself to tickling from her brothers. ‘It will not last,’ Lady Shad says. ‘At one in the morning she will scream until dawn. You are lucky you do not hear it at your end of the house. Let us send for another bottle of claret.’

What with the claret, a further chapter or two of
Gulliver’s Travels
, and the example of the children falling asleep beside us, Lady Shad and I are rudely awakened by the entrance of her husband.

‘Good God!’ He places a candlestick on a tallboy and regards the occupants of the marital bed. ‘Everyone, leave!’

‘Even me, my dear?’ Lady Shad murmurs.

‘I suppose you and the children may stay. Mrs Marsden, charming though it is to find you in my bed, I must ask you and the dogs to depart. Beg your pardon, ma’am, that was most unmannerly.’ His lordship carries a faint whiff of brandy about his person. As he speaks he removes his coat and waistcoat.

Alarmed that my employer is about to undress before me, I search for my shoes, abandoned somewhere on the floor near the bed. Lord Shad says, ‘I have set Bishop straight, Mrs Marsden. I trust you’ll reconsider your resignation and now I wish you joy and goodnight to you.’

The dogs yawn and stretch and decide they will accompany me to my own bedchamber, where they settle upon the covers leaving me a meagre space at the edge of the bed. They may be large and uncomfortable bedfellows (they have frequent dreams of the chase, paws scrabbling at the covers) but they are of some comfort, for that night I do not dream of murdering Jake Sloven.

The next morning Harry Bishop and I stand on the front steps of the house, waving as the family’s carriage drives away. I quite envy them going to the sea, for I must return to London and its summer stink. My bag is packed and I intend to walk to the crossroads in the village to catch the stage.

‘Mrs Marsden?’

Harry stands before me, polishing his spectacles, thus impeding my entry back into the house.

‘Yes, Mr Bishop?’

To my astonishment he drops on to one knee before me and replaces the spectacles on his nose. ‘Madam, I offer you my hand in marriage.’

‘What? Oh, do get up, Harry, you look ridiculous.’

‘I believe it is the customary position.’ But he gets to his feet.

‘You don’t really want to marry me, do you?’

‘Of course I do. Lord Shad said I should and I assure you—’

‘Lord Shad has nothing to do with this. Why did you not say something to me? Why did you let me think Lord Shad had given the shawl to me and had designs upon my person?’

He scratches his head. ‘I thought you knew it was from me. Who else could have given it to you? And I am surprised you would think Lord Shad so dishonourable.’

‘He is a man. I have low expectations of your sex.’

‘Lord Shad advised me to marry you, ma’am. After all, with your scandalous past a respectable match is unlikely.’

‘How dare you!’ I slap his face and he steps back, looking shocked and hurt, and I see my refusal of his offer has injured more than his vanity.

‘I beg your pardon.’ He reaches inside his coat and brings out a bag. ‘At least, I beg of you to accept—’

I dash the bag from his hand and guineas clink and roll down the steps, sparkling in the sunlight. ‘Could you be any more insulting, sir?’

‘It is from his lordship. It is customary to give a departing servant a gift.’

‘Indeed.’

A cough nearby makes us both turn to see a cartload of men, holding carpentry tools. They are watching us with avid interest on their faces and I wonder how long they have been there. ‘Mr Bishop, good morning, sir,’ cries their leader. ‘Beg pardon for the interruption, sir, but where do you want us to start work?’

‘Ma’am.’ Harry bows to me and goes down the steps to direct the workmen to the side of the house. The last glimpse I have of Harry – and I hope it will be the last indeed – is of him picking up guineas from the steps of the house as I walk back inside.

I feel like weeping and I do not want him to see the tears in my eyes. To be sure, our meeting was unfortunate, although I had felt that more recently we had a certain understanding with each other; certainly we could tolerate each other’s company. Not to mention that startling and wonderful kiss. At any time he could have gone to Lord Shad and told him who I really was, for despite my threats, I would have had little credibility thereafter.

Worse, I had thought he liked me. That he should consider marriage with me to advance his career, as it almost certainly would, and out of pity for me – he has injured me deeply.

My bag stands in the hall, a pathetic collection of my worldly goods. I walk up the stairs and tap on the door of Amelia’s bedchamber, but when I push open the door, the room is empty, the bed stripped. So she has left already. There is nothing more to keep me in this house.

My foot bumps against something in the shadowed area beneath the bed and I bend to pick it up. It is a familiar, leather-covered notebook which I recognize as Amelia’s diary, lying facedown and discarded in the dust. I brush off the cover and turn it over.

Distress has made her normally neat handwriting ragged and her sentences erratic.

I am so unhappy I think I shall die. But I do not know why. It is as Lord Shad says, I am still of the family and he too is a son of the monstrous old lord, but all my life I have heard stories of how the man I now know is my father whipped dogs and bullied people on the estate and his wife died of a broken heart. They say he was in league with the devil. Yet when I first met Lord Shad and he took me from that place where the woman beat me and asked if I would live with Mr and Mrs Price I thought he was my papa. I was only six and people were either children like me or grown-up men and women. I should not mind being Lord Shad’s bastard. Why did he not tell me before?