Cousin Sarah called out, ‘Elizabeth! Agnes! Jenks! I want you all in here right away! You too, Beatrice!’
They gathered in the dining room. It was raining outside, quite hard, and Beatrice could hear the rain rattling through the branches of the apple trees. It was gloomy, too, for an early April afternoon.
On the polished dining table stood a tall glass confectionery jar half filled with tarnished brown coins, pennies and farthings, and a few silver sixpences. Cousin Sarah was standing on the opposite side of the table with her arms folded and her lips tightly pursed.
Beatrice had been brushing cobwebs off the bedroom ceilings and she was still holding her ostrich-feather duster. Agnes stood next to her, her sleeves rolled up and her forearms reddened halfway up to her elbows from plunging them into the washtub. Behind them stood Elizabeth, smelling of sweat and suet, and Jenks, a young man who did odd jobs around the house, dug the garden and tended the horses. Jenks kept swivelling his eyes around the dining room and sniffing. He was the oldest son of one of the local metalworkers, but his father had considered him too much of a liability to be working with molten iron and so had found him employment with Sarah Minchin.
Beatrice could see all of them in the slightly distorted mirror behind cousin Sarah’s back, and somehow the subtle flaws in the glass made them look like strangers pretending to be them.
‘I am deeply disappointed in one of you,’ said cousin Sarah. ‘All of you must be aware that I collect coins in this jar, which I donate every Easter to the destitute in St Philip’s parish. What you may not know is that I count them at the end of each week, after our Sunday meal.’
They glanced at one another sideways. Jenks was probably the only one of them who couldn’t guess what cousin Sarah was going to say next.
She picked up the jar and gave it a single sharp shake. ‘When I counted the contents of this jar last Sunday, it contained two pounds seven shillings and sixpence. When I counted them today, I found that I had only two pounds one shilling and twopence. Since I do not believe that coins can spontaneously evaporate, or that this house is haunted by thievish spirits, I have no option but to conclude that one of you has been stealing. Six shillings and fourpence, to be exact. Six shillings and fourpence! And what would any of you do with such a sum of money?’
Agnes instantly put up her hand. ‘If you please, Mrs Minchin, it weren’t me what took it.’
‘Oh, no? So why are you in such a rush to deny it?’
‘Because I don’t want you believing it might have been me, because it weren’t.’
‘So who else could it have been? It must have been one of you. That money didn’t disappear by magic. Elizabeth? Didn’t I hear you complaining that you needed new shoes? Six shillings and fourpence! That would buy you a good stout pair of shoes, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But I didn’t steal your money, ma’am, and I will swear to that on the Holy Bible.’
‘Jenks!’ snapped cousin Sarah. Jenks blinked at her and cupped his left hand around his ear to show her that he was listening.
‘Have you been dipping your hand into my jar of coins, young man?’
Jenks frowned at his hand, turning it this way and that. It was obvious that he didn’t understand what she meant.
‘Have you taken any of my money, Jenks? Have you been helping yourself from out of this jar?’
Jenks vigorously shook his head. ‘No, Mrs Chimney. Not me.’
‘Minchin,’ cousin Sarah corrected him, but Beatrice could tell by the way she closed her eyes that this wasn’t the first time, and wouldn’t be the last.
Then cousin Sarah said, ‘Well! Since none of you will confess to taking my money, but one of you must have done, then all of you will have to pay it back. Elizabeth, Agnes, Jenks – you will each have threepence deducted from your weekly wages until the loss is made up, and from you, Beatrice, I will take a shilling from the proceeds of your father’s business.’
‘But I didn’t steal any of your money, cousin Sarah!’ Beatrice protested. ‘Why should I have stolen it, when I have so much money of my own?’
‘You do not have money of your own, Beatrice. The proceeds from your father’s business are under my trusteeship now, to recompense me for taking care of you, and believe me, that money will not last forever. What then? Will I throw you out on to the street? Of course not.’
‘But I still didn’t take any money out of your jar!’
Cousin Sarah shrugged. ‘I believe that you probably didn’t, my dear. But if the true culprit refuses to come forward and confess, what choice do I have? Why should the poor and the hungry of this parish have to suffer because one of you is so dishonest? Why should they go without shoes, or food for that matter? Goodness me, six shillings and fourpence would buy them three whole pigs, or a dozen rabbits.’
Elizabeth said, ‘Threepence a week, ma’am? I have my own family to feed.’
‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but my mind is made up. Or would you rather I called for a bailiff? Please get back to your chores, all of you. If any of you wish to come to me privately and admit that you stole my money, you may do so at any time. In the spirit of Christian charity I will not have you arrested, but I will expect you to return it.’
They left the dining room and went downstairs to the kitchen. Elizabeth was shaking with anger. ‘I have never in my life done a single dishonest deed!’ she protested. She picked up her pastry-pin and clubbed the ball of pie dough that she had been rolling out on the kitchen table, as if it were cousin Sarah’s head, ‘For Mrs Minchin to accuse me of such a thing and then to take threepence out of my wages! It’s scandalous!’
‘Well, it weren’t me, nee-thuh,’ said Agnes. ‘If I thought that I could foind another jub, Oi’d walk right out of that door and not come back.’
Jenks scratched his head and shrugged. ‘I never took it. What would I spend it on? Besides, I didn’t even know she had it. Or did I? I can’t remember if I did or not.’
‘Perhaps somebody came into the house from the street and stole it,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The front door’s often left ajar, isn’t it, when Agnes is sweeping up?’
‘That doesn’t really make sense,’ said Beatrice. ‘If a thief had come in from the street, they would have taken the whole jar, wouldn’t they? I think it’s somebody in the house, because they thought they could take a few coins without them being missed.’
‘There’s nobody, is there, apart from us, and Mr Roderick, and Master Jeremy?’
‘Well, we shall have to see,’ said Beatrice.
‘And what does that mean, pray?’ demanded Elizabeth. ‘I’m still going to be short by threepence a week. And I can’t see Mrs Minchin explaining to my children why they have to go a day without milk.’
*
Cousin Sarah spent Thursday and Friday night away with friends in Edgbaston. A woman she had known since childhood was dying of typhoid fever. She returned early the following afternoon, and Agnes took her a cup of tea and some biscuits, but after less than an hour she called them into the dining room again.
The glass confectionery jar was standing on the table in front of her, but this time it was empty. She had counted out all of the pennies and halfpennies into shilling piles and stacked up ten sixpences to make a crown.
‘Are you mocking me?’ she asked them. None of them answered.
‘Are you deliberately trying to provoke me into having you dragged in front of a court and imprisoned?’
‘I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, ma’am,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Mocking? How?’
‘Can’t you guess, Elizabeth, or are you a noodle? The sheer barefaced impertinence of it! There is yet more money missing from my jar! Three shillings and sevenpence-halfpenny, to be exact! I insist on your telling me now which one of you has stolen it!’
Agnes started to sob. ‘I don’t know who took it, Mrs Minchin, and that’s the God’s honest truth.’
Jenks did nothing but blink and look confused.
‘I am at a loss!’ said cousin Sarah. ‘I have never known such barefaced dishonesty, not in all of my life!’
‘Your fingers, cousin Sarah,’ said Beatrice. ‘Look at your fingers.’
‘What?’
‘Look at your fingers. You see those stains?’
Cousin Sarah slowly raised her hands. Her right thumb and fingertips were speckled with purplish-brown blotches, and in the palm of her left hand there was a much larger blotch. She wiped her hands against her apron but the blotches wouldn’t come off. She wiped them again, much harder. If anything, though, they looked as if they were growing darker by the second.
‘What?’ she repeated. ‘Where did these come from? What have you done to me?
She wiped them even more furiously, again and again. ‘Beatrice! What is this? Did you do this? What have you done to me? Beatrice!’
Beatrice went up to her and took hold of her hands. ‘It’s lunar caustic, cousin Sarah. It stains your skin for a while, but it doesn’t harm you. The surgeons use it in the hospitals for healing wounds and papa used to sell it to people who wanted to get rid of warts.’
‘But, how? What? How did it get on my hands? How will I remove it?’
‘It comes from the coins. While you were away, I took them out of the jar and I soaked them all in lunar caustic, and then dried them, so that they were all covered in silver salts. I thought that anybody who tried to take them would get black stains on their fingers, like yours. I’m sorry. I was going to tell you what I’d done, I promise. I thought you’d think it was clever. I didn’t know that you would be counting them out so soon.’
Cousin Sarah looked down at her hands again. The blotches on her fingertips had darkened even more until they were almost black. ‘I suppose you went down to the cellar,’ she said. She was so angry that she kept twitching, as if she were about to have an epileptic fit. ‘I should have thrown all of your father’s bottles away, shouldn’t I? All of those potions and all of those powders and all of that – hocus-pocus.’
‘Ma’am?’ said Elizabeth, and then, ‘Ma’am?’ even more emphatically. She raised both of her hands, palms outwards, so that cousin Sarah could see that she had no black stains on her fingers. She nudged Agnes with her elbow and Agnes did the same.
‘Go on, Jenks,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Show Mrs Chimney your hands.’
‘Very well,’ snapped cousin Sarah. ‘It appears that I might have misjudged you. You can go now. Get back to your work.’
‘You won’t be taking threepence a week, then, ma’am?’
‘No, of course I won’t, since you appear not to be responsible. Beatrice – how can I remove these dreadful stains? It’s our parish sewing class tomorrow morning. I can’t possibly teach young girls embroidery with my fingers all black like this.’
‘Papa used to use spirit of hartshorn.’
‘In that case, I trust that you have some.’
‘I don’t know, cousin Sarah. I’ll have to go down to the cellar and look.’
‘And if you haven’t?’
‘The apothecary in the High Street will probably stock it. Or, when papa ran out, he used piddle.’
‘He did what?’
Beatrice blushed. Her father had always talked to her so straightforwardly that she often forgot that other people could be more prudish. Whenever his hands were stained with lunar caustic he would urinate into a bowl and wash his hands in it, so that the ammonia would bleach out the silver.
She was just about to explain this to cousin Sarah when Jeremy passed the dining-room doorway, very furtively, almost on tiptoes. He had almost reached the front door when one of the floorboards creaked.
‘Jeremy!’ said cousin Sarah, without looking round. ‘You’re not going out, are you, Jeremy? I need you to come to Mrs Jupp’s with me and carry those sacks of old clothing that we collected for the poor.’
Jeremy stopped, but kept his back turned. ‘I can’t, mama. I’ve arranged to meet Frederick.’
‘Frederick can wait. I can’t possibly carry all of those sacks by myself.’
‘You can get Jenks to do it, can’t you?’
‘I could, yes. But there’s another reason I want you to come with me. I very much want you to meet Mrs Jupp’s youngest daughter, Grace.’
‘Oh, please, mama! You’re not trying to marry me off again, are you? It was that hideous Rebecca Buckland the last time. I would rather have walked down the aisle with an Old Spot pig than with her! Get Jenks to lug your sacks for you.’
He carried on down the hallway, towards the front door, but cousin Sarah went after him. She caught up with him just as he lifted his hand to open the latch.
‘Show me your fingers,’ she said.
Beatrice went out into the hallway to see Jeremy jamming both his hands into his armpits.
‘Show me your fingers!’ cousin Sarah demanded.
Reluctantly, Jeremy held out both his hands.
‘You thief!’ she screamed. ‘Taking my money like that! How did you dare to do such a thing?’
‘I didn’t take your money! I’ll lay a wager it was Agnes! Jingled her pocket, have you? I’ll bet you it was her!’
Cousin Sarah clutched his wrist and forced him to hold up his black-stained fingers. ‘You can’t deny it! This is the proof! Your cousin Beatrice covered the coins with caustic! Look – see! – it stained my fingers, too! Now, give me my money back, this instant, you ungrateful devil!’
‘Ungrateful? Ungrateful? What do I have to be grateful for? You give me half a crown a week and expect me to live like a lord!’
‘If you didn’t spend every penny in the Old Crown, drinking ale with those feckless friends of yours, perhaps you might save some of it! Now, give it back to me!’
Jeremy reached inside his sagging coat pocket and brought out a heap of pennies and sixpences. He dropped them one by one into his mother’s cupped hands, but while he did so he was staring not at the coins but at Beatrice, unblinkingly, and the look in his eyes was one of fury.
*
For the next three days Jeremy avoided her. When they did have to meet, passing each other on the landing or sitting together at the dining table for supper, he refused to look at her or speak to her. His fingertips remained stubbornly blotched with black, as did cousin Sarah’s. They had sent Agnes to the local apothecary to buy some spirits of hartshorn and for a whole afternoon the house reeked of ammonia. But they had left it too late to rub off the stains and they had become indelible.
Cousin Sarah wouldn’t say if she had also attempted to rub them off with ‘piddle’, and Beatrice didn’t dare suggest it again, but that probably wouldn’t have worked, either. They would just have to wait until they wore off.
On Thursday afternoon, after a fine rain had finished falling and a weak sun had begun to shine, cousin Sarah asked Beatrice to go with Agnes to the haberdasher’s in the High Street for green silk thread and needles, and then to the barber’s for a pound of orange-scented hair powder.
Beatrice and Agnes walked through the High Town arm in arm. The street was crowded and the sun was shining so brightly off the wet cobbles that they were dazzled. That was why Beatrice didn’t see Jeremy lurching out of the doorway of the Old Crown tavern and pushing his way through the throng of shoppers towards them. Suddenly, though, he appeared in front of them, with his wig tilted to one side and brown beer stains down the front of his camel-coloured coat. He was so drunk that he kept staggering to one side as if somebody were repeatedly shoving him.
‘You! You nose! Thought you were clever, did you, little Mistress Bea-hive, marking that money? The trouble you got me into! I could’ve swung for that if it had been somebody else’s money and not my own mother’s! I could’ve been twisted!’
Beatrice said, ‘I’m sorry, Jeremy.’
‘You’re sorry? You’re sorry? What good to me is sorry? She says she’s going to write me out of her will! What am I going to live on when she croaks? I thought you and I were going to be married! Some wife you turned out to be!’
‘Honestly, Jeremy, I didn’t know it was you who was taking it.’
‘Who the purple-spotted pig did you think it was? The servants would’ve have been too scared, or too stupid, or both! And my dear demented father wouldn’t know a bender from a button!’
Agnes pulled Beatrice away from him and said, ‘Leave her alone, Master Minchin. She only did what she thought was right.’
But Jeremy lurched towards them with his hand raised. He was shouting so loudly and so hoarsely, almost screaming, that shoppers were turning to look at him. Spit was flying from his lips. ‘You know what I should do to you for snitching on me like that? I should cuff you till your nose bleeds! That’s what I should do! A bloody nose for a bloody nose!’
Agnes tried again to pull Beatrice away, but when she stepped back, Beatrice lost her footing on the cobbles and almost fell over. She was saved, however, by somebody catching her from behind and helping her back up on to her feet again. She turned around and saw to her astonishment that it was Francis Scarlet, the boy who had been staring at her on Sunday morning.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her gently, and when she nodded, too surprised to speak, he turned to Jeremy and said, ‘Don’t you dare to touch her! Do you hear me? Go back to your beer and leave her in peace!’
Jeremy lurched sideways again and stared at Francis with unfocused eyes. ‘You—’ he slurred. ‘You, you whippersnapper! I shall have you!’
Francis let go of Beatrice’s arm. He took two steps forward and pushed Jeremy in the chest, very hard, with the heels of both hands. Jeremy lost his balance and fell heavily backwards, on to his shoulder, with his legs flying up in the air. He rolled over into the gutter, which was still running with dirty rainwater, and lay there, stunned, blinking up at the sky.
Beatrice pressed her hand over her mouth. She didn’t know what to say. Two of Jeremy’s friends had emerged from the Old Crown to find out where he was and when they saw him sprawled in the gutter they hooted with laughter.
‘Help me up, you cods’ heads!’ he shouted at them. ‘Help me up!’
Agnes was laughing, too, but Beatrice said, ‘Oh, no! Oh, this is terrible! He’s never going to forgive me for this.’
Francis smiled at her and shook his head. The look in his eyes was strangely old for his age. Beatrice could imagine that Jesus had looked at his disciples with the same kind of expression – caring, strong, but infinitely tolerant.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you always.’
With that, he turned round and walked off up the hill. Beatrice stood and stared after him until he had disappeared into the crowds of shoppers. Cackling with laughter, Jeremy’s friends had by now heaved him on to his feet and all three of them were zigzagging back across the street to the tavern. Jeremy didn’t even look round at Beatrice and Agnes. He was so drunk he had probably forgotten why he had crossed the street in the first place.
‘Well!’ said Agnes, still smirking. ‘I do declare!’
But Beatrice couldn’t speak. She had the most extraordinary feeling, as if the whole world had begun to revolve slowly around her – clouds, rooftops, trees, shops and people – but that she was standing totally still at its centre, suspended in time. She was deaf to all the noise in the High Street, shoppers chattering to each other and carriage wheels grinding and street traders shouting.
All she could hear in her head was Francis saying, ‘I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you always.’
*
The next time Francis spoke those words to her, those very same words, was on the day they were married, on Saturday, 14 May 1750, in Geoffrey Scarlet’s parlour over the Swan Tavern in the High Street.
According to law, their marriage banns had been read three Sundays in a row at St Philip’s church, but they exchanged their vows here, in front of Roger Fulton, justice of the peace, a large, overflowing man with the loudest laugh that Beatrice had ever heard in her life, and all of their friends from the Nonconformist congregation. Beatrice wore her best blue velvet dress and a new lace bonnet.
Geoffrey Scarlet made a long and complicated speech about devotion, and awakening, which nobody really understood, and then they all sat down to a cold supper of roast meats and pies.
Of all her relatives, only cousin Sarah came to see her married. None of the others had been ready or able to make the arduous journey from London, and Jeremy had gone late the year before to join his brothers in Manchester, where they had started up a shipping business to the East Indies. Jeremy had forgiven her long ago for the telltale stains on his fingers, but Beatrice suspected that he had never forgiven her for not responding to his advances.
Cousin Sarah came up to her and took hold of her hands. ‘I shall miss you, Beatrice. The house will be very empty without you, especially now that Roderick has gone, God bless his poor demented soul.’
She paused, and then she added, ‘I have been sharp with you sometimes, and expected much from you, but believe me I have grown to love you as my own daughter. There are fifty-two guineas left of your father’s proceeds, and you shall have them, as my wedding gift.’
Beatrice didn’t know if she should thank her or tell her how parsimonious she was – but it was her wedding day and she was so happy that she couldn’t find it in herself to be resentful. She kissed cousin Sarah’s cheek and for the first time she was aware of how withered she had become, and how bony she was, as if all of those years of being so mean-spirited had dried her out.
‘God thanks you, cousin Sarah,’ she said. ‘And I thank you for taking care of me.’
*
That night, when Beatrice came into the bedroom in her long white nightgown, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders, she found Francis standing by the window, staring at his own reflection. The spare bedchamber over The Swan overlooked the hills behind the city, so that the window was utterly black.
He turned round. Since she had first seen him on that Sunday morning all those years ago he had grown very thin, with a long, chiselled face and a straight, pointed nose. He put her in mind of one of those bony, attenuated saints painted by El Greco, especially because he still had those dark, compelling eyes. His eyes were both pious and understanding, but somehow sad, and when at last he had come to admit that he had loved her, ever since he first caught sight of her, she had been unable to resist the way he looked at her, as if he could see right into her heart – what troubled her and what aroused her.
Tonight, though, his expression was unexpectedly rueful.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him. ‘I haven’t done anything to upset you, have I, my darling? We’ve been married for less than half a day!’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s me. I have been a poor husband to you already.’
She came up to him and clung on to the sleeve of his nightshirt, frowning. ‘Francis, what’s wrong?’
‘I have done something without consulting you, because I was afraid that you would try to dissuade me. I’m truly sorry. I should have shown more courage, and more belief in you. But it is something that I have been burning to do for years now, and now that I have found a wife I believe that it is the right course for me to take.’
‘Francis, what on earth is it? Tell me! You’re making me feel frightened now!’
He gently wound one of her ringlets around his finger, around and around. ‘I have booked us passage to America. There is a small community in New Hampshire which is in need of stated supply – that is, a temporary pastor – and I have agreed to go.’
‘America?’ exclaimed Beatrice. ‘Oh, Francis! What have you done?’
‘If you really don’t want us to go, my dearest, I’m sure I could find a ministry here, in Birmingham.’
But then Beatrice thought of the time that she had been standing at her bedroom window, watching the sun go down behind the hills, and she remembered the feeling that one day she would follow it and find happiness.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I am your wife now, Francis, and where you go, I shall go, too.’