Til Death Do Us Part (25 page)

‘Fuckin' 'ell! There's somebody seen us!'

‘Cummon quick!' Her husband grabbed her hand and they hurried away from the house.

The grazing horse briefly lifted its head as they passed, then went back to its meal.

As the hours passed the horse slowly moved further away from the house and reached a junction in the lane where a hedge-layer was working.

‘Now then, my beauty, where's your rider? Has you bucked him off?' The man crooned as he secured the dangling reins and stroked the animal's neck.

‘You'd best come along o' me, my beauty, and we'll have a look-see for your rider.'

The hedge-layer led the horse back up the lane and when he came in sight of the secluded house muttered, ‘Have you come from there, my beauty? Let's go and find out, shall we?'

B
earing large jugs of hot and cold water, Pammy Mallot used her foot to tap on the bedroom door and called, ‘Geraint? Geraint? Are you awake?'

‘I am indeed, Pammy,' his sonorous voice called back.

‘I've brought your water, Geraint, can I bring it in?'

‘Please do, Pammy. I'm newly risen from bed but I can assure you that I am fully garbed and shall not cause you any shock or offence.'

When she entered she found Walter Courtney sitting in the armchair before the window.

He smiled roguishly at her and indicated the voluminous dressing gown that swathed him from neck to feet.

‘There now, did I not tell you that I was fully garbed, my dear? There is naught to shock you in my appearance, is there? Everything is well covered.'

She cackled with laughter and retorted, ‘I've been wed and widowed three times, and it takes more than the sight of a man's bits and pieces to shock me these days.'

He joined in her laughter. ‘I do declare, Pammy, your quick wit pleasures me so much, that should you choose not to accompany your mistress to India, then I shall offer you a position as my housekeeper.'

‘And if I hadn't got Phoebe to care for then I'd have jumped at your offer, Geraint, because in all my days I've never met a more agreeable gentleman than yourself. It's a pleasure to serve you, so it is. But truth to tell I shall never leave Phoebe's side, and shall go with her to India come Hell or high water. And if Joey Stokes wants to wed me he'll have to come to India and live there as well.'

‘Of course he will come to India, Pammy, and I'm positive that you will both be very happy there.'

She put the jugs on the wash stand and asked him, ‘What would you like for breakfast? I've got lamb chops, pork chops, ham, bacon. Eggs, new-baked bread, butter and cheese. Barley porridge, oat porridge, curds and whey. Plenty of fine onions. Sweet pickled pears, apples and gussgogs. And there's tea and coffee both, and fresh milk and sour or fresh cream.'

He beamed at her. ‘I do declare you sorely tempt me with such riches, my dear. And I fear that I am perilously near to committing the sin of gluttony.'

‘I'm sure the Good Lord will forgive you this once, Geraint. Now what's it to be?'

He sighed and shook his head dolefully. ‘Miserable sinner that I am, I shall force myself to have a bowl of barley porridge mixed with some pickled pear. Then a platter of pork chops with fried onions, to be followed with bread, butter, cheese, coffee and fresh cream.'

He mock-scowled and pointed to the door. ‘Now get thee behind me, Satan!'

Giggling delightedly she hurried away.

An hour later Courtney and the two women had just finished eating breakfast and the conversation turned to the day ahead.

‘You'll be feeling hungry after your shopping, Phoebe, but I doubt that Master Fowkes' establishment will be able to furnish you with any repast as wonderfully palatable as Pammy's always is?'

‘O' course it 'ull.' It was Pammy Mallot who answered the question. ‘The grub there is fit for a king, because it's me sister who cooks it, and she won't let Fatty Fowkes interfere with that side o' the business. She's cooked for more Lords and Ladies than I can remember, and they all praised her dishes to high heaven, so they did.'

Phoebe Creswell joined in, blushing girlishly as she told them, ‘I'm longing to see what progress has been made on my wedding gown and bonnet.'

‘They're both going to be lovely!' Pammy Mallot declared. ‘I'se known Lizzie and Sarah Henbath since they was nippers, and there aren't a finer pair o' dressmakers in this kingdom. Does you know 'um, Geraint?'

Courtney smiled. ‘I've not met them, but I know of them, my dear. I've frequently passed by their establishment and read their splendid signboard.' He paused then intoned sonorously, ‘Mesdames Elizabeth & Sarah Henbath, Mantua Makers & Milliners To The Nobility.'

He winked roguishly. ‘Such credentials lead me to believe that their names will be emblazoned upon the annals of mantua making and millinery, and their fame will resound down through the centuries.'

‘What a wicked tease you are! I've a good mind to box your ears for you!' Pammy Mallot cackled with laughter.

‘If you do, I shan't loan you my gig to go to Redditch,' he mock threatened. ‘Because I shall undoubtedly need it myself to go in search of a doctor to repair the injuries you will have inflicted upon my defenceless head.'

Both women laughed delightedly, and Pammy Mallot chortled. ‘Well I won't box your ears for you this time, because Joey Stokes has just gone past the window and he'll have the horse in the traces in no time. So we'd best make ready to go, Phoebe.'

‘Are you sure that you'll be able to drive safely, my dear Pammy? My horse is a high-spirited beast,' Courtney asked with a concerned look.

‘Drive safely? Me? I been driving all manner o' teams since I was a young 'un, Geraint. Ask Joey Stokes how good a driver I am, and he'll tell you that he's never seen a better one.' Pammy Mallot jumped to her feet and, taking Phoebe's arm, pulled her upright as well. ‘Come on now, Phoebe, let's make haste and get ready. I'll clear this lot away and wash up when we gets back.'

‘And I shall now make haste to go up to the Master and take him some breakfast.' Courtney rose to his feet.

‘His bread and milk is in the bowl on the dresser, Geraint, and there's an opened bottle of port in the pantry. I've put the new rubbing potion you brought us on the table by his bed,' Pammy Mallot informed as she and Phoebe were leaving the room. ‘We'll be back well before nightfall, but if we're a bit later there's no call for you to worry about us.'

A little later in the bedroom Courtney smiled down at the almost comatose George Creswell.

‘Now before I feed you, my dear Master Creswell, I shall rub some potion into your back to ease the pain of the sciatica.'

He pulled on a pair of leather gloves, stripped back the bedclothes, gently turned the sick man over on to his front, lifted the long nightshirt and rubbed layer after layer of the potion into the shriveled skin of Creswell's lower back.

‘P
ammy, Miss Phoebe, come on through and set yourselves down. This is a nice surprise.' Gertrude Fowkes led her visitors into the rear parlour of the Fox and Goose, and told the man seated in front of the fireplace, ‘Shift your backside over, Harry Pratt, and let these ladies see a bit o' the fire.'

The Bellman jumped to his feet and immediately dragged two other chairs nearer to the flaming coals.

‘Good morning, Miss Phoebe. Morning, Pammy.'

‘Good morning, Master Pratt.'

‘Morning, Harry.'

When the visitors were seated, Gertrude Fowkes questioned curiously, ‘What brings you to Redditch on such a freezing day?'

Phoebe Creswell blushed and looked down at the floor.

Harry Pratt saw her embarrassment and offered, ‘Perhaps I'd better go. These ladies might want to talk in private with you, Gertrude.'

‘You can stay where you am, Harry Pratt,' Pammy Mallot told him firmly. ‘What we'em come to Redditch for aren't nothing we needs to hide from anybody. More like the opposite. We've just been having a look at Phoebe's wedding gown and bonnet.'

‘Well I never!' Gertrude Fowkes' plump red face mirrored her utter astonishment. ‘Who is it you'm going to wed, Miss Phoebe? Is he a local chap? One o' the Needle Masters? Does I know him?'

‘No fear!' Pammy Mallot preened triumphantly. ‘My Phoebe's marrying a sight higher up in the world than some Needle Master or other. Her's getting wed to an officer in the East India Company's army, and when him and Phoebe goes back to India, they'm going to live in a palace, and be like a King and Queen ruling over thousands and thousands o' them blackies.'

‘India, you say! Royal palace! Well I never!' Gertrude Fowkes was astounded. ‘And you'm going to be a Queen there, Miss Phoebe! Well I never!'

‘What part of India am you going to, Miss Phoebe?' Harry Pratt wanted to know.

‘To the Madras Presidency, Master Pratt,' she told him. ‘My betrothed Major Christophe de Langlois is presently serving in the Madras Native Infantry. But he is to be promoted to a much higher position in the administration department upon our return there.'

Pratt's eyes narrowed fleetingly, but he nodded and smiled. ‘Does you know, I reckon I might ha' met with the gentleman last Monday week. He asked me directions for the Creswell house. A fine, handsome-looking gentleman as well, so he was, and wearing a grand uniform.'

‘Last Monday week, you say,' Pammy Mallot put in. ‘That's got to be him then.'

‘The officer I met was wearing a gold-banded black shako wi' a green cockade on its front, and a big shiny bugle-horn cap-plate,' Pratt offered. ‘Would that be him? Or might I have spoken to another soldier who was wanting to call on you as well?'

‘Oh no, there's no other soldier called on us. And that was the hat our Major had on his head alright, no doubt about it,' said Pammy Mallot.

‘You was a soldier, warn't you, Harry?' Gertrude Fowkes joined in. ‘Didn't you tell me that you'd been in India for a good many years?'

The clock on the mantle shelf whirred and chimed, and Harry Pratt exclaimed in dismay, ‘My oath! Is that the time? I'm running very late!' He jumped to his feet. ‘I beg your pardon, ladies all. I'd love to stay, but I've got to attend to me rounds, else my boss 'ull be having my guts for garters. Good mornin' all.'

As he exited, Lily Fowkes, Maisie Lock and Amy came into the room, more greetings were exchanged and when that was done, Lily immediately went into the adjoining kitchen, heated a skillet on the range and began to cook a pancake.

‘I'd best get back to the lock-up and do my housework,' Amy smiled.

‘Not before you've ate some of my pancakes, my wench,' Gertrude Fowler told her and ushered them all back into the parlour. ‘And while we'em eating 'um, I wants to hear everything there is to know about your intended, Miss Phoebe. And what you means to do when you'm living like a queen in India.'

When Amy finally left the Fox and Goose more than two hours had passed. Walking across the Green towards the lock-up, she sighed enviously as she compared the mundane household tasks awaiting her with the exotically glamorous life awaiting Phoebe Creswell in India.

In the lock-up, Tom was sat by the kitchen range fire, rummaging among his father's large chest of files and medical records. Amy stared at his uncombed hair, stubbled chin, workaday shirt, breeches, gaiters and boots, made a mental comparison of his appearance with the miniature portrait of Major Christophe de Langlois, and clucked her tongue disparagingly.

Tom looked up and smiled uncertainly. ‘Is anything amiss, my dear? You're looking rather grimly at me.'

‘I don't mean to look grim,' she told him. ‘I was just trying to picture you in Scarlet and Gold, that's all.'

‘Scarlet and Gold?' he queried. ‘You mean you were trying to picture me as a soldier?'

‘Yes, I was. Phoebe Creswell is to marry a Major in the East India Company's Army, and she showed me a miniature of him in his uniform. Oh, he's ever so handsome and dashing looking! And she's going to India with him as soon as they're wed, and they're going to be living in a great big palace and ruling over thousands and thousands of blackies, just like a King and Queen.

‘And you should see the betrothal ring he's given her! It's all diamonds and gold and worth a fortune. He's told Phoebe that it's been in his family for centuries, and that their tradition is that the first-born son must always present it to his wife-to-be. And now it's been presented on to Phoebe.'

A note of wistfulness entered Amy's voice. ‘He went down on his knees when he asked her to wed him and gave her the ring. Isn't that truly romantic, Tom? It would have been lovely if you could have done that when you asked me to wed you.'

These reminders of his own self-perceived inadequacies as a romantic lover did nothing for Tom's morale, and he could only sadly reply, ‘Yes, it was truly romantic, Amy, and I truly regret that I wasn't able to do such. But I do truly love you.'

Instant remorse struck through her as she saw the sadness in his eyes, and she rushed to clasp his head and kiss his lips and tell him, ‘I know you do, my darling! And I love you truly, and I wouldn't change you for the world.'

It was some time later before Tom gave any more thought to Phoebe Creswell's forthcoming marriage, and knowing by repute the secluded life her domineering, tyrannical father had enforced upon her, his curiosity was roused.

‘How did Phoebe Creswell come to meet this Major in the first place?' he asked Amy.