smiling still when I turned and closed the door on my life at Furnival’s Inn, forever.
CHAPTER NINE
April 1837
48 Doughty Street, London
The delivery of furniture, rugs, curtains and paintings was announced daily by the frequent ring of the doorbell. Some days these items seemed to arrive faster than they could be put away or arranged and Charles would complain upon his return home that the house looked like a pawnbroker’s shop. To my mind it was not a thing to be rushed, the placing of furniture, the hanging of curtains the positioning of paintings, but Charles could not abide disorder; it appeared to distress him deeply and he would complain repeatedly.
‘Kate, I thought I had told you yesterday where I wanted the table and chairs.’ Or, ‘Didn’t I say, Kate, that that picture would look well above the fireplace in the sitting room?’
‘But, my love,’ I would argue, ‘it is a huge task to arrange a house, especially with a young child to see to.’
Narrowly avoiding a collision with a potted plant, Charles exploded.
‘For heaven’s sake, Kate! There are to be no more excuses. You have Cook and Emily to assist you now and you could call upon that young brother of mine. He cannot seem to find gainful employment. Surely he could do some of the lifting and moving for you?’
Young Fred Dickens had become such a regular visitor to ourhome, that I had set aside a bedroom especially for him.
‘You should not encourage him, Kate. He should be out seeking work, not idling his hours away at my expense.’
I defended Fred saying that as we did not have a male servant, he was such a help to us, sharpening knives, seeing to the garden. But, in truth, Fred spent his days teasing Cook and Emily, smoking Charles’s cigars and drinking his brandy. I often had to send out to replenish supplies before his irascible brother returned from work. But how could one reprove him? Fred filled the house with laughter and mischief and was such good company when Charles was away all day.
In sharp contrast to the trail of impedimenta littered over the three storeys was Charles’s study. He had spent hours positioning and repositioning his desk, setting out his writing implements and arranging his growing library of books. Within two days of our arrival at Doughty Street, the room shone as a very model of good order and was now strictly out of bounds to the servants. Even I had taken to knocking tentatively before going in there.
Cook and Emily had been a real blessing. Cook, sensing that I was not organized by nature, instinctively knew where a tactful suggestion would be welcomed, and yet, it was always offered with the utmost respect and humility. Emily had taken to her duties well, thankfully with little direction needed from me. Cook put her right when necessary and had no doubt taken on the role of a maternal figure to the young girl.
Sensing the return of my own equanimity, baby Charles had become a contented little soul and had settled down into a healthy pattern of feeding and sleeping. Georgina loved him like her own little doll and walked him about the garden whenever she visited. I had become more used to Charles’s mercurial temperament and as for Mary, well, Mary continued to bless everything and everyone with her gentle air of calmness. Life in the Dickens household was good.
One evening in May, Charles returned home and announced that he was taking us all to the theatre. Fred who had been on theverge of making a hasty exit due to the fact that he had smoked Charles’s last cigar, suddenly decided that his misdemeanour might not be discovered after all and concluded that he too would enjoy an evening’s entertainment if his brother were paying. We strolled across the City passing a dingy collection of pie shops, butchers and old book stalls. The smell of cooked beef emanated from a coaching inn and Charles noticed a small boy who was being carried over his father’s shoulder and the look of hunger
CHAPTER NINE
April 1837
48 Doughty Street, London
The delivery of furniture, rugs, curtains and paintings was announced daily by the frequent ring of the doorbell. Some days these items seemed to arrive faster than they could be put away or arranged and Charles would complain upon his return home that the house looked like a pawnbroker’s shop. To my mind it was not a thing to be rushed, the placing of furniture, the hanging of curtains the positioning of paintings, but Charles could not abide disorder; it appeared to distress him deeply and he would complain repeatedly.
‘Kate, I thought I had told you yesterday where I wanted the table and chairs.’ Or, ‘Didn’t I say, Kate, that that picture would look well above the fireplace in the sitting room?’
‘But, my love,’ I would argue, ‘it is a huge task to arrange a house, especially with a young child to see to.’
Narrowly avoiding a collision with a potted plant, Charles exploded.
‘For heaven’s sake, Kate! There are to be no more excuses. You have Cook and Emily to assist you now and you could call upon that young brother of mine. He cannot seem to find gainful employment. Surely he could do some of the lifting and moving for you?’
Young Fred Dickens had become such a regular visitor to ourhome, that I had set aside a bedroom especially for him.
‘You should not encourage him, Kate. He should be out seeking work, not idling his hours away at my expense.’
I defended Fred saying that as we did not have a male servant, he was such a help to us, sharpening knives, seeing to the garden. But, in truth, Fred spent his days teasing Cook and Emily, smoking Charles’s cigars and drinking his brandy. I often had to send out to replenish supplies before his irascible brother returned from work. But how could one reprove him? Fred filled the house with laughter and mischief and was such good company when Charles was away all day.
In sharp contrast to the trail of impedimenta littered over the three storeys was Charles’s study. He had spent hours positioning and repositioning his desk, setting out his writing implements and arranging his growing library of books. Within two days of our arrival at Doughty Street, the room shone as a very model of good order and was now strictly out of bounds to the servants. Even I had taken to knocking tentatively before going in there.
Cook and Emily had been a real blessing. Cook, sensing that I was not organized by nature, instinctively knew where a tactful suggestion would be welcomed, and yet, it was always offered with the utmost respect and humility. Emily had taken to her duties well, thankfully with little direction needed from me. Cook put her right when necessary and had no doubt taken on the role of a maternal figure to the young girl.
Sensing the return of my own equanimity, baby Charles had become a contented little soul and had settled down into a healthy pattern of feeding and sleeping. Georgina loved him like her own little doll and walked him about the garden whenever she visited. I had become more used to Charles’s mercurial temperament and as for Mary, well, Mary continued to bless everything and everyone with her gentle air of calmness. Life in the Dickens household was good.
One evening in May, Charles returned home and announced that he was taking us all to the theatre. Fred who had been on theverge of making a hasty exit due to the fact that he had smoked Charles’s last cigar, suddenly decided that his misdemeanour might not be discovered after all and concluded that he too would enjoy an evening’s entertainment if his brother were paying. We strolled across the City passing a dingy collection of pie shops, butchers and old book stalls. The smell of cooked beef emanated from a coaching inn and Charles noticed a small boy who was being carried over his father’s shoulder and the look of hunger
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