flared into life, from ashes he had long thought cold.
What of her? he thought. What of Mary?
He pulled the coarse blanket up around him. Forget it, he told himself. The business is what I am here for. The rest can wait, for it has already waited long enough. He felt the tension leave him, his back unfurling. He was practised at pushing away his worries and tonight his exhaustion assisted him. As he lay still his eyelids drooped as though weighted down with lead.
He slept deeply, and dreamed many dreams. When he woke the next morning, all he could remember was the sound of a child’s laughter.
CHAPTER FIVE
15th May, 1792
A most disagreeable encounter today. No, I am wrong to say that, though I do not wish to cross it through and spoil the page. It was source of both pleasure, and pain. Whilst on Bond Street, seeing Mrs Jacobs into her carriage, I glimpsed a lady I once knew, who – it pains me even to write it – I once thought would be my bride. Her name then was Miss Laycock, though I hazard to say I knew her as Sarah.
She was the daughter of a wealthy mercer, but she had charms beyond her father’s money. Miss Laycock had such grace and softness, that within a week of knowing her, I formed the strong intention of making her my wife, though there were scores of suitors buzzing around her at the time.
All did not proceed as I wished, though she looked kindly upon me. Her father was a rough man; he pretended that his uncouth manners were a virtue, calling himself a ‘plain speaker’. He and I could not agree on the terms of the marriage, or anything else, if truth be told. Not long afterwards, she married a mercer approved by her father, his name being Blackwell, and I met the woman who is now my wife. Mary’s father, a maker of gold and silver boxes, was desperate to be rid of her. He persuaded me, and I, still raw with regret for my lost love, made the marriage more quickly than I should have done.
You can imagine with what regret I saw the former Miss Laycock, now Mrs Blackwell, come down from her carriage followed by a little train of children, two boys and two girls. She looked most devoted to them, and they were a pretty picture: dressed in the finest clothes, all of the children most handsome and well formed. Although she looked a little older than I remembered, there was still that softness of expression that I had once cherished and hoped to make my own. When she saw me, she moved quickly on through the crowds. I did not wish to follow her and trouble her; and I needed a moment to regain my composure; so I was able to inspect the equipage. I have not seen such a fine pair of horses for many a day, both dappled grey, and perfectly matched. All of these things added to my keen regret.
As she watched her mistress sleep, Joanna longed for a rummer of something to take the chill off: garnet-coloured liquid, potent and purifying, rolling down her throat into the depths of her empty stomach. It would be something to satisfy the hunger: a sop to throw to the black demon roaming its way around her belly.
It had been a bad day. As she had carried in the breakfast tray she had found Harriet, pale and still, sitting straight up in bed, her eyes wide open, her stare fixed. Joanna had almost cried out with fear, and set the tray down heavily. But once Harriet was roused by the clatter of porcelain and silver, she had begun to weep.
‘What is wrong, madam?’ said Joanna.
‘I am forgotten so soon,’ said Harriet. ‘I did think he would return, and yet he has not.’
Joanna said nothing; she was concerned with rearranging the tray. She wondered how Harriet had such a wrong-headed notion of what a wife was; had she really thought she would be the subject of constant devotion?
Later Joanna had taken the tray downstairs. ‘When I first came here, there was talk of us going to Reismore for Christmas,’ she said to Mrs Holland, the housekeeper. ‘A change of scenery would be welcome to me.’
‘That decaying
What of her? he thought. What of Mary?
He pulled the coarse blanket up around him. Forget it, he told himself. The business is what I am here for. The rest can wait, for it has already waited long enough. He felt the tension leave him, his back unfurling. He was practised at pushing away his worries and tonight his exhaustion assisted him. As he lay still his eyelids drooped as though weighted down with lead.
He slept deeply, and dreamed many dreams. When he woke the next morning, all he could remember was the sound of a child’s laughter.
CHAPTER FIVE
15th May, 1792
A most disagreeable encounter today. No, I am wrong to say that, though I do not wish to cross it through and spoil the page. It was source of both pleasure, and pain. Whilst on Bond Street, seeing Mrs Jacobs into her carriage, I glimpsed a lady I once knew, who – it pains me even to write it – I once thought would be my bride. Her name then was Miss Laycock, though I hazard to say I knew her as Sarah.
She was the daughter of a wealthy mercer, but she had charms beyond her father’s money. Miss Laycock had such grace and softness, that within a week of knowing her, I formed the strong intention of making her my wife, though there were scores of suitors buzzing around her at the time.
All did not proceed as I wished, though she looked kindly upon me. Her father was a rough man; he pretended that his uncouth manners were a virtue, calling himself a ‘plain speaker’. He and I could not agree on the terms of the marriage, or anything else, if truth be told. Not long afterwards, she married a mercer approved by her father, his name being Blackwell, and I met the woman who is now my wife. Mary’s father, a maker of gold and silver boxes, was desperate to be rid of her. He persuaded me, and I, still raw with regret for my lost love, made the marriage more quickly than I should have done.
You can imagine with what regret I saw the former Miss Laycock, now Mrs Blackwell, come down from her carriage followed by a little train of children, two boys and two girls. She looked most devoted to them, and they were a pretty picture: dressed in the finest clothes, all of the children most handsome and well formed. Although she looked a little older than I remembered, there was still that softness of expression that I had once cherished and hoped to make my own. When she saw me, she moved quickly on through the crowds. I did not wish to follow her and trouble her; and I needed a moment to regain my composure; so I was able to inspect the equipage. I have not seen such a fine pair of horses for many a day, both dappled grey, and perfectly matched. All of these things added to my keen regret.
As she watched her mistress sleep, Joanna longed for a rummer of something to take the chill off: garnet-coloured liquid, potent and purifying, rolling down her throat into the depths of her empty stomach. It would be something to satisfy the hunger: a sop to throw to the black demon roaming its way around her belly.
It had been a bad day. As she had carried in the breakfast tray she had found Harriet, pale and still, sitting straight up in bed, her eyes wide open, her stare fixed. Joanna had almost cried out with fear, and set the tray down heavily. But once Harriet was roused by the clatter of porcelain and silver, she had begun to weep.
‘What is wrong, madam?’ said Joanna.
‘I am forgotten so soon,’ said Harriet. ‘I did think he would return, and yet he has not.’
Joanna said nothing; she was concerned with rearranging the tray. She wondered how Harriet had such a wrong-headed notion of what a wife was; had she really thought she would be the subject of constant devotion?
Later Joanna had taken the tray downstairs. ‘When I first came here, there was talk of us going to Reismore for Christmas,’ she said to Mrs Holland, the housekeeper. ‘A change of scenery would be welcome to me.’
‘That decaying
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