Being Advent, December 1772
Biddy Leigh, her journal
All Nations
A gross composition of all the different spirits sold in a dram-shop, collected in a vessel into which the drainings of the bottles and quartern pots are emptied.
One night someone was clattering about in the kitchen, so I lit a candle and came out of my sleeping quarters. It was that Mr Kitt, a handsome young fellow he was, so much that when he’d questioned me in the dining room I’d got in a right fluster. Now he was rummaging in the rotten baskets beside Meeks’s greasy chair.
‘Sir, you wanting summat?’
He looked up with a start.
‘Ah, it’s you, Biddy. Where does Meeks keep his liquor?’
I opened the iron doors of the range where Meeks hid the half-empty bottles kept for his own enjoyment. The young gentleman was looking at me hard, just as he had done when I first saw him. Lord, I wished I’d had time to dress my hair and put on more than my shift, which barely covered my modesty. When I’d found him a glass, he told me to get myself one, too.
‘Oh, nowt for me, sir.’
‘Come on, Biddy,’ he pleaded, ‘I’ve had a hellish night. Lost all my coin at the gaming table. Take a drink with me, won’t you?’
His tempting worked on me, but first I went to fetch a shawl and wrapped it about my person. When I came back he’d poured me a full bumper, and motioned me to sit at the table across from him.
‘It can’t be pleasant for you, Biddy, down here with Meeks.’
I wondered if he were mocking me, but he looked at me quite friendly-like.
‘That’s true enough, sir.’
‘To a change of fortune,’ he said smartly, raising his glass, and I raised mine too.
‘So,’ he asked, after emptying his, ‘you are off on this excursion to Italy with my sister. Surely that must be quite an improvement in your fortune?’
I knew he must think me a country numkin, so I said, ‘I think, sir, that however grand a body’s fortune, it might always be improved.’ He took a long measuring look at me. ‘I’ll toast that.’
He drained and refilled his glass. ‘Did you know, my sister and I have spent many an hour in this kitchen? This house has been refashioned now, but when we first came here our nursery was as cold as the grave and no more cheerful. Carinna was but four years old, and I an infant. It was a fearful place.’
In the light of the candle his eyes were quite liquid and most agreeably fine. And his confiding manner gave me the curious notion he wanted to win my trust. ‘Our uncle was scarcely a man of melting heart, even then. I’m sure you servants must talk of him. I swear never to be like him.’ He uttered these last words so fiercely that I thought what a boy he was in spirit, much younger than me and Carinna. He had a habit of making these small trials of manliness that I thought a little sad and sweet. ‘One night the rout was so loud that Carinna and I crept down and peeped through those same stair posts in our nightgowns. Down here sat a great gathering of servants supping my uncle’s leavings from a pot of All Nations, singing and toasting before the fire. So you must picture me and little Carinna, eating plum cake and drinking our first heady bumpers with fingers that could barely hold a glass.’ He laughed softly at the memory.
I nodded my head, quite taken by his mannerly, honeyed voice.
‘It was here I learned the great games of chance with the best of teachers – Catch-dolt, Tick-tack, Hazard. We even danced for them when the table was cleared, two little creatures jigging to a penny whistle. When I bowed and Carinna curtseyed the roaring near raised the roof.’
He paused and stroked the rough-hewn table, as if he might conjure those little ghosts. Then he opened a second bottle and poured himself more, while I took only an inch. It didn’t take long for the liquor to loose his tongue again as he stared into the darkness.
‘We were brought here from our family’s estate in Ireland. Carinna just remembers Ormond, a perfect thousand acres with a fine stone house. She used to talk of it, how grand it was. It is famous hunting country. It’s where I was born and where I swear I’ll take my last breath. Now my uncle, damn him, has set tenants on it. But I’ll get it back.’
He fell silent, staring into the fire.
I asked, ‘How’s that, sir?’
He looked up quickly. ‘Oh, fortunes pass from hand to hand every day. My luck at the tables will turn. And when it does, we’ll have Ormond again.’
He drooped again and stared into his glass. Suddenly, from nowhere it seemed, he asked, ‘Have you found out yet, why my sister is leaving England?’ He peered through his falling hair then combed it back with white-knuckled fingers.
I shook my head. ‘Sir, she don’t confide in me.’
‘You would tell me if you knew?’ He smiled uncertainly.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but do you truly not know why your sister is heading for Italy?’
He grimaced, bemused. ‘Perhaps to escape from her husband?’
‘But he is laid up sick in Ireland. She has no need to travel, sir.’
He gave a little nod, then bit his lower lip. ‘I thought you servants knew everything.’
‘It seems not, sir.’
‘But you do have the means. To listen at doors. And to search her things.’
I didn’t move an inch.
‘Biddy,’ he said most earnestly. ‘Would it be such a sin to take a little peek? To put my mind at ease?’
‘What makes you think I’d do such a thing?’
‘Don’t you like me a little?’ He patted my hand and then left his own lying upon it. ‘I feel we are well met. I like you. My sister has done well to find you.’
Then he fell into another silence. I sat there quite flummoxed, his hand still on mine. I was flattered all right, but thinking of the danger, too.
‘It is cold,’ he said blankly, stifling a shiver as if remembering some disaster anew.
‘I’ll stoke the fire for you, sir.’
I rose and found the poker, and the flare of orange warmth roused him. He stood up and slipped an arm loosely about my shoulders. I stiffened with alarm. He tried to pull me closer, closing his eyes and whispering in my ear.
‘Would you help me, Biddy?’
I pulled back away from him, bumping against the table. He grabbed at me from behind as I wriggled away, feeling his arm brush my jiggling breasts.
‘No, sir. No!’ He was as frisky as a young colt. But I was strong, and elbowed him hard in his guts. He doubled over. With another yank I was free.
‘Don’t be such a tease,’ he gasped. ‘I thought you liked me.’
I turned to face him, my shift all askew. ‘I liked you better when you did not maul me.’
‘Oh Biddy, do be kind. No one will punish you.’ He reached for my hand. ‘I swear I’ll not harm you.’
‘Aye, and I’m Queen Dick,’ I snapped, backing into the shadows. I was faster than him, and in three steps had reached the dark doorway of my quarters. He stumbled after me, but in an instant I had the door bolted fast. As I listened to his hammerings, I couldn’t help but laugh to think of him, lordly Kitt Tyrone, coming chasing after me.