Being this day, Good Friday, April 1773
Biddy Leigh, her journal
Ducklings in truffle sauce
Kill and draw your ducklings and tie up with leaves of sage tucked about the bodies. Spit them and dust with flour and set them with thick slices of bread between. Baste with the pan drippings using a feather. Your sauce is made of onion, garlic, oil and a little ham and celery shredded fine. Add the duck gizzards and pinions, cook till enough and add a spoonful of flour and two fingers of sweet marsala wine. When thickened add slices of truffle and send to your table with the ducklings.
A very fine dish cooked for Biddy Leigh, by Signor Renzo Cellini, Easter 1773
I saw Renzo every night for two giddy weeks after we first met in the forest. I lived for the sight of him; love ran like poppy juice through my veins. Once the others were settled for the night, I slipped out and made my way to meet him, sheltering in the hedges that lined the moonlit road. Then at last the ruined tower would shine before me, looking like a ghost’s lair, its ancient stones rising pale against the black tangle of undergrowth. There I waited by the broken walls, my heart like a caged bird, my skin dusted by moths’ wings. I hearkened at the sounds of the night, until the hooves of his horse sent lizards and frogs scurrying through the dry grass. Then he would dismount from his horse, and a blissful moment later we clung to each other, lost to time and place. Only when the bell of Ombrosa church tolled one o’clock did we part with reluctant whispers of farewell.
Next morning I would face another endless day of half-life at the villa, of chores and drudgery, as I pictured a life of bliss with Renzo. I scarce heard what others said to me; my daydreams had the greater power. All day I listened for the sound of the messenger boy’s quiet knock at the kitchen door, for Renzo had found a ragged child to run with notes between us. When we met I deliberately shared few words with Renzo, save for murmured endearments. Then one night he pulled back from my kisses and spoke.
‘I have to tell you, I am leaving the count’s household. I have quarrelled with my master for the last time, Carinna,’ he said hoarsely. ‘He has said something I will never forgive.’
‘What has he said?’
He shook his head miserably. ‘He wants you, Carinna.’
It seemed a ridiculous jealousy. ‘Pay no attention to the ninny. But where will you go?’
‘I will find work, another position.’
I gripped his hands tight. ‘Where?’
We were seated on a low wall of stone, beneath a sheltering tree. I saw the gleam of his eye as he glanced away down the road. It was the first time I ever saw him impatient.
‘How can I say? Anywhere I can work,’ he said tightly. ‘My own city, perhaps.’
‘Anywhere,’ I said in a heavy voice. Then he turned back to me and slid his arms around me. ‘Yet I have an idea. It may be foolish—’
‘Tell me.’
‘To be with you I would do anything. May I not be your cook, Carinna?’
It was good that it was dark, for he could not see dismay slacken my face. The silence grew long. I scrambled for a reason, any reason, to say no.
‘My cook maid, Biddy,’ I said in a stumbling voice. ‘She is ailing. It would not be fair.’
‘She is only with child,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘So, after the birth? What then?’
‘Maybe she will cook again. I am sorry.’
‘She must be a very good cook to impress you.’
‘No, she has helped me. In the past.’ His arms stiffened. ‘I only want to be with you,’ I hissed.
‘Then tell me how, Carinna. For I am trying to prove that I will do anything to be with you.’
‘I wish to stay here,’ I said, brimming with sincere truth.
‘Then stay here at the villa. Or does your husband want you back?’
‘My husband?’ I felt myself under attack. ‘I care nothing for my husband.’
‘Yet you are mighty loyal to him.’ He said this bitterly, because I would not grant him the freedom of my person. I wanted to groan aloud, that he thought me a loyal wife, and not a desperate maiden.
Soon afterwards I headed for the road, protesting I must hurry back to Biddy. Biddy indeed! And what a notion – for him to be my cook. Impossible of course, but even so, it rattled me. For the thousandth time I asked myself if he would care for me at all if he knew I was neither noble nor wealthy. He was modest enough when he spoke of his own reputation, but I knew he held high office in his Guild. He read books, owned a house, and directed dozens of men in the count’s kitchen. How could he love a common kitchen servant like Biddy Leigh? Yet what did it matter? Carinna would have her child soon and we would all pack up and go home to England.
* * *
On Good Friday I sat outside the villa’s kitchen door plucking a brace of ducklings, for to drown myself in hard labour was the only way I knew to ease my churning thoughts. Yet even sitting in the morning sun making a long list of chores – scrub the floors, pick lemons, make a jelly, whip a syllabub, clean my mistress’s chamber, roast the ducklings, sand the pans – even all of that could not stop my misery from bubbling up like a pot of bitter aloes.
Holding the drake above my wooden pail I started the butchery that always turned my stomach. First I peeled the skin off the carcass like thick pliant silk. Then I twisted off the bird’s head with a hard crack. Finally, I slung the ruby carcass in the pail, attracting a circle of buzzing flies.
What was I to do? What if I were forced to leave and never see Renzo again? A little whimper of pain escaped my lips as I pictured being alone on this earth without him. Could I bear to live?
I reached for the hen that hung from the fence by her stretched neck. The drake had been a shimmering peacock of a creature, but his little mate was drab brown. Foolishly, I stroked her brow and marvelled at its velvet smoothness. Then I tugged at the hen’s neck till it came away in my hand, a torn gobbet with hanging strings like red wool. I stifled a sob. Why was love always denied me? I had thought I loved Jem once, and had him taken from me. And now I had found a worthy man, a true love whose every notion ran just like mine. A man, besides, whose art in cookery was the greatest I had seen. I could not bear to leave him.
Slitting open the dead hen, I unfurled her zigzag of guts. Then I searched for her heart, digging inside the tiny cave of her chest. There it was, naught but a lump of dead flesh. With claggy fingers I lifted the bullet-torn heart and felt my face crumple with tears. Such was my own heart. I loved Renzo so much that the pain of losing him would break me for ever. I wanted to wail my misery to the heavens, but feared being overheard. Then I damned my being a servant, condemned to eternal obedience. I wanted to punch someone hard, to break my fist on a solid wall. Instead, I rinsed my hands and marched off in a temper to pick some lemons.
At first I took Mr Loveday’s path, for I knew he went to the stream and sometimes caught a trout or two. I fought my way through a tangle of bushes, cursing the briars that snarled my cap and gown. After hurrying past the grim little graveyard I smelt the refreshing scent of lemons and picked a fat crop. Perhaps it was the sight of that bountiful fruit, but I wondered if I had been too hard on old Pars and I even thought of searching for a receipt for lemon pickle in The Cook’s Jewel. I recollected all the scoldings he had given me, and reminded myself that while he was a grousing skinflint, he maybe did have my own good at heart. I hoisted a knobbly jumble of lemons in my apron and decided it was time to make my peace with my old Mawton steward.
Before I set the ducklings to roast I knocked gently at his chamber and called his name. I thought I heard his voice, but when I opened the door I startled him at his desk. The shutters were closed and the room had a dark and festering air.
‘What do you want?’ The secret way he set the crook of his elbow around his scribblings made me wish I had left him alone after all. I had thought to make idle chat with him, but grew tongue-tied instead. So I made a bob and said, ‘When Mr Loveday goes to town shortly, could he fetch you aught, sir?’
‘Me? Let me think now.’ He leaned back and stretched his elbows. I noticed the state of his clothes, that his Paris duds were all grubby and stained.
Then the hawked look returned to his eyes. ‘’Tis not money you’re after, is it?’ he added in a cratchety growl.
‘It is not, sir.’ A few coins would not have gone amiss, but I would not let him think I had come begging. ‘Maybe a joint of beef for Easter? What do you say?’
At that he nodded and rubbed his grey bristles with his hand. ‘Beef and proper English pudding. None of those mackeroni slops.’
‘As you wish, sir. Anything else?’
He knocked his pipe against the desk and it pained me to see the ash scatter on the floor. ‘Some twist tobacco. And an ounce of coltsfoot if they have it in this infernal place. And the usual comfrey for your mistress.’
‘Yes sir. While I’m here shall I give your room a tidy?’
He started and held up his hand to prevent me. I could see he’d been writing much, for his fingers had turned quite blue from the smearing of ink. There were scattered piles of paper on his desk, but I could make out nothing but rows of numbers.
There was no use to it; I took my leave and called it a peacemaking, and went directly to my chamber to wash my hands clean.
* * *
I was sitting back in the garden peeling onions when Mr Loveday came back from town with my purchases. He had a letter in his hand and my spirits leaped for a moment.
‘Is it for me?’
He shook his head and squatted down beside me, lifting his face to feel the warmth of the sun. Lord, it was sweltering hot by noon; the weather baked the earth like an oven.
‘Jesmire not know yet, she got news. You want read it?’
I nodded, grateful for the entertainment, and we budged up close on the bench. It was a reply to one of the string of letters she was always sending off to find herself a new place.
Captain William Dodsley, Retd,
Casa Il Porto
Leghorn
8th April 1773
My dear Miss Jesmire,
It was with the greatest surprise and pleasure I received your charming inquiry forwarded to me at the kind behest of the landlady of the Albergo Duomo, Pisa. My dear lady, you may scarce comprehend how timely was the arrival of your modestly expressed greetings. To explain, I am a sober, steady Gentleman who has passed the principle part of his time at sea, a Gentleman of good reputation and large profit who finds himself in a most commodious billet in the finest quarter of Leghorn town with eight bed chambers, kitchen, cellar & etc. It is now two years I have lodged here, and though the town’s company is tolerable, I confess to you that rattling alone in such a large establishment leaves an old fellow somewhat in the doldrums. What I am in need of, as you so astutely observed, is a Lady of propriety, order and good sense to manage my household, and get my establishment running in a proper English style. It most especially would satisfy me if that person were a genteel English lady, a woman such as yourself, of age and experience, who would know best how matters may be accomplished. I have no taste whatsoever for these young flibbertigibbet maids—
I turned to Mr Loveday and gawped. ‘I never would have believed it.’
‘Jesmire got place sound like paradise for her. Order ’bout other servants all day.’
‘Maybe. But will she take it? What else does he say?’ I snatched the paper from his fingers.
—whose manners suit me not at all.
Pray Madam, do take the liberty of taking possession of Casa Il Porto at your soonest convenience, sending word ahead of your proposed arrival. I trust I may welcome you to your new home with the good speed so heartily longed for by both yourself and,
Your soon to be friend and obliged servant,
William Dodsley, Captain (Retired)
‘But surely she will not go,’ I said. ‘She will fancy herself too refined to keep house for an unmarried gentleman.’
Mr Loveday shook his head. ‘I think she want be grand lady more than anything. And tell Lady Carinna go to devil.’
‘But she cannot go before the baby comes, surely?’
‘You think she care one whit for Lady Carinna baby? No, sir. After all that shouting?’
* * *
Mr Loveday was right, of course. He had scarce delivered the letter into Jesmire’s hand before she started flapping about, packing and unpacking her box and insisting that Mr Loveday’s livery be cleaned and patched if he were to walk behind her. She even came down to the kitchen to boast of her good fortune, dressed like mutton as lamb in her green silk gown. She could not stand still, she wandered up and down, picking up pots and preening herself.
‘So when are you off?’
‘Tonight. I will call on Captain Dodsley at eleven in the morning.’ She sniffed the cheese and pulled a disgusted face.
‘You seem mighty sure you will be suited to this Captain Dodderer.’
‘His name is Dodsley and well you know it. And one thing I will tell you now before I leave—’ I glanced up from scouring my pans. ‘I know you think I am just some fetch-me carry-me, but I was a person of stature once, and I will be again.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘So might we all.’
‘I know your schemes, jade. Do you think I don’t know that you creep about at night? Do you think I don’t hear your – ridiculous attempts to sound genteel? Just because you have men dancing at your apron strings—’ Her voice wobbled and finally choked to nothing.
‘It is not that,’ I said firmly. ‘You have always disliked me.’
She gave a mocking cough of a laugh. ‘Dislike? I loathe you, you low creature. Just as much as I loathe her,’ she said, nodding in the direction of the stairs.
‘Enough to leave her just before her confinement?’ I couldn’t help it, my voice rose in anger. I near scraped the iron raw in that pan, I was that grieved with her.
‘Oh yes. Certainly that much. I glory in this day. A prisoner with reprieve never felt such joy.’
‘But you will be back tomorrow night for supper? Mr Pars wants a proper roast for Easter. And I need Mr Loveday back.’
‘We shall see what Captain Dodsley’s wishes are. I suppose Loveday may return when it is convenient. Captain Dodsley no doubt has a fine set of footmen of his own.’
I huffed a moment over my pans, then looked up at the old toady.
‘Well, go and be happy then,’ I said, with less sharpness than I intended. ‘I am fagged out from all these squabbles. If this is your great chance of happiness, go and take it.’
Her jaw dropped slack for a long surprised moment. Then she lifted her skirts and marched away, leaving only a waft of her sickly Cologne waters in her wake.
* * *
Just before they left, Mr Loveday came running with a letter. Jesmire had re-laced his coat with gold, and given his old wig a new dose of powder.
‘Message boy just bring this, Biddy. Waiting you answer. I go now.’
I clasped it to my bodice for I knew Renzo’s hand right off.
‘Mr Loveday.’ He hesitated at the door. ‘You will come back tomorrow, won’t you?’ I spoke in a low voice so no one else might hear.
He looked like a cat with his tail caught in a larder door. I knew it was a terrible temptation for him to get away and never come back.
‘Please.’ I touched his arm and the old shine returned to his eyes. ‘Just until Her Ladyship’s back on her feet.’ I could tell he was thinking about it very hard. ‘Please, for the sake of our friendship. I cannot manage alone. Then I’ll help you on your way.’ He licked his lips and grinned, the old half-worried, half-happy grin.
‘I come back tomorrow, Biddy. For you. Last time, perhaps. Then go.’
‘Thank you. Come at six and I’ll get everything ready.’
He paused again, then nodded. ‘I go now.’
‘God speed,’ was all I said, and patted his shoulder. Then, with a clatter and creaking of harness, they were both off into the dusk down the white road to Leghorn and the sea.
* * *
Once the silence returned I opened the letter and took in Renzo’s words like the very air that kept me alive.
My Darling,
My master has gone to the Easter festival in Rome after ordering me to be gone when he returns. Nothing keeps me here save you. Carissima, I must speak with you. I beg you, please meet me tonight at ten. I love you darling, I love you more than words can say. In your heart you know we were made to share our lives. Somehow we will conquer our difficulties and live as we should – in each other’s arms, sharing one heart,
R
I scribbled a message back to say I would see him, and hurried out to the ragged boy who waited at the gate. The urchin smiled up at me in the dusk as I handed him a coin and told him to make all speed.
The villa was mighty quiet once Jesmire and Mr Loveday had left. Slipping Renzo’s precious letter in my pocket I got supper ready, lighting a lamp to see by, for the sky had turned dark for such an early hour. I escaped my worries for a while by doing my best to cook the duckling just as Renzo had, striving to possess his art if I could have nothing else of him.
At half after seven o’clock a loud knock came at the door. Another messenger stood outside; I confess I was terrified that Renzo had changed his mind. This letter, however, was addressed to Mr Pars and had come all the way from Mawton. I studied it hard, but I did not know the hand at all. When I took the duckling along with fresh peas up to Mr Pars, I brought the letter with me. But when I knocked he shouted impatiently for me to leave it at the door. I sighed and set the tray and letter down.
Then I took a dish of lemon syllabub, well sugared, to my lady. She was lying awake, weeping into her pillow.
I banged about a bit, then went to her and stroked her shoulder.
‘What troubles you, My Lady?’
She rolled a tear-stained face towards me.
‘I miss him,’ she croaked. ‘And I cannot send for him.’
I didn’t know what to say to that. Then the temptation was too great and I whispered, ‘Who?’
She shook her head and sniffed. No doubt it was that fortune-hunter Napier, I cursed.
‘He cannot be worth it,’ I said gently. She gave a sort of wild-eyed laugh at that, and raised herself up in her bed.
‘So Jesmire has gone,’ she said, scrubbing her tears away with the backs of her hands.
‘Yes, you must put up with me till tomorrow night.’ I sat down beside her and she made a go of the syllabub. I flattered myself that the food put her in a better mood.
‘Having you as a maid will be no trial. I doubt you will stick pins quite so spitefully into my scalp.’
‘I’ll do my best not to, My Lady.’
‘Do you think Jesmire will stay with this fellow?’
There was no point in sweetening the truth. ‘I think she will. I’ve no doubt you’ll find a new maid when we reach Turin or some such place.’
‘And Loveday?’
‘He’ll come back tomorrow, My Lady. He gave me his word.’
Afterwards, not wanting to leave her, I fiddled about awhile. A battered wooden box that had once held blankets stood beside her bed. I lined it with a blanket and cloths; it was a shabby sort of cradle, but was all I could muster.
‘It will be over soon,’ was all I could think to say.
‘Thank the stars for that. I’ll pay this foster family any sum they want. Do you think they would write to me, about the baby’s health? I’ll pay more for that.’
I nodded. She truly was quite alone. I remembered her brother’s letter and my folly in destroying it. I should have written to him, however mithered I was. The very next day, while the house was so quiet, I determined to write him a letter and tell him his sister would soon be home. I crossed to the window and pulled the shutters tight, for a wind was starting to rattle them.
‘There’s a break in the weather coming. At least this heat may drop.’
‘Good. Oh for a spell of English rain. Come here, Biddy,’ she said. I crossed to her and she held out her hand. There was a stirred-up, yearning look to her. ‘You will stay with me, won’t you?’ I took her hand and it was hot and damp to the touch. ‘I’m so frightened of the birthing.’
‘I promise I will, mistress. How do you feel? Any pains yet?’
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘All the same as ever.’
I could feel Renzo’s letter stiff in my pocket. For the first time I realised just what a pretty pickle Jesmire had left me in. I would be tied to my lady every second of the day, from the moment of her first birth pangs. Renzo would never understand why I could not leave her.
She was starting to yawn again, so I fancied it a good time to ask her a favour.
‘My Lady, if you settle to sleep, I should like to go out for a while at ten o’clock.’
She half opened her eyes. ‘Where are you going?’
I could have made up any nonsense about the count, but the time for pretences was over. ‘I have a friend. Another servant. I won’t be long.’
‘I suppose Mr Pars will be here if need be.’
I remembered the ill-tempered shout from behind his door, and wondered if I should tell Renzo to wait until morning. Then I reminded myself that our precious time was running out; that my chance to talk freely to him would soon disappear entirely. When I returned to collect her dirty pots she was fast asleep, her head tucked down beneath the sheet.
It was easy to lift a gown from the wooden stand. I had my pick of all the rainbow gowns hung about the room or folded in boxes. The dress I chose was the one I loved best, pale gold with spangled violets and gold lace trim. I cast my mistress’s indigo cloak upon it, fearful of being seen. I waited as late as I might before leaving, then took a last peep at my mistress. She was still fast asleep and breathing steady.
She was safe when I left her. I swear it on my life.