A day or two later Nell Grey, Mrs Hucker and I are at our chores when Mr Tuffnell calls me to the parlour.
Mr Wharton and Mr Espinosa are there, and I expect to be told to fetch three glasses and a bottle of sherry wine. Instead he bids me stand before him.
Mr Espinosa brings across a chair and smiles. ‘You had better sit, Miss Amesbury, I think.’
My heart patters. ‘Is it my sister, Sir? Is there bad news?’
Mr Tuffnell beams. ‘By no means. I have good news for you, Amesbury—extraordinarily good news.’
I look from face to face. Mr Wharton, usually so stern and solemn, has unbent enough that he is grinning. Mr Espinosa takes a sealed packet from his frock-coat. If I am not mistaken his eyes twinkle.
‘You’d better spit it out, Sir,’ I say.
Mr Tuffnell draws breath. ‘Remember the prize that I and several other merchants put up for anyone discovering the murderer of my stable boy? Twenty guineas were lodged with Mr Sampson, and Mr Espinosa has them here. Aaron?’ Mr Espinosa hands the packet to Mr Tuffnell. ‘With the grateful thanks of the Merchant Venturers’ Society of Bristol, I hereby present Mistress Coronation Amesbury with twenty guineas, a reward for her brave, determined and shrewd pursuit of the person hanged for the murder of a servant belonging to my household. Here.’
He presses it in my hand. I think it would be ungracious if I were to ask why the packet feels so light, but fortunately Mr Espinosa guesses my train of thought. ‘It’s a bill of exchange, Miss Amesbury. If you go to my master’s shop, he’ll give you the sum in gold.’
‘Of course. Thank you, thank you kindly, Sirs. Though I only sought the truth, Mr Tuffnell.’
‘Of course you did, Amesbury. Virtue is its own reward. But a little gilding don’t come amiss, eh?’
The gentlemen chuckle, and so do I, too surprised to make a pretty speech of thanks to the Merchant Venturers for their generosity, or to wonder why they are willing to reward me though the other murders remain a mystery. My eyes are moist. ‘I always dreamt of owning my own shop, Sir. I never thought I should.’
It may be my fancy, but Mr Tuffnell looks a touch put out. ‘Well now, shop-keeping can be profitable, to be sure. But it requires an outlay, and the hours are long and returns exceeding variable.’
‘I have my capital now, Sir. I can work hard. I expect I will turn a profit by and by.’
‘I for one don’t doubt it,’ Mr Espinosa says. ‘I wish you the best of luck, Miss Amesbury. You deserve a chance to be independent.’ He catches sight of Mr Tuffnell’s face. ‘Though you are most fortunate in your current situation, of course.’
‘And you may wish to continue here for now, Amesbury. In which case I recommend that you allow Mr Espinosa to retain the bill of exchange for safe-keeping. He can ask Mr Sampson to look after it for you.’
‘Thank you, Sir, but I will keep it if you don’t mind. I may take it to Mr Sampson to be exchanged on my next half-holiday. Or I may not.’
‘Oh.’ My master speaks a trifle stiffly. ‘Well, it is yours to do with as you wish, of course.’
‘Meanwhile I thank you and had better return to carrying in the coal pails, if you don’t mind, Sirs?’
Off I go to share my good news with Nell Grey and promise her two new pairs of stockings when my ship comes in, and I smile, remembering the looks on the faces of those gentlemen, when they hardly knew how to speak to me, a servant and a woman of property at one and the same time.
***
That evening Mr Tuffnell calls me to the parlour again, and this time I find two glasses of sherry wine on the table.
‘I’m sure you agree we should celebrate, Amesbury,’ he says, waving me to sit in the Turkey-work chair that his wife preferred when they shared the parlour. Not that they shared it as often as they might have done. ‘I must work tonight, but a glass of sherry don’t go amiss.’
‘Sir?’
‘To toast your new-won wealth, and my new house. Mr Wharton has been busy these past two weeks, when I was occupied with the assizes. He’s bought a plot of land on my behalf and hired an architect. In little more than a year I will be removing back to Bristol, to a fine new mansion.’
The sherry wine is sweet and spicy, and I am happy to clink glasses with Mr Tuffnell. ‘I’m pleased to hear it, Sir.’
‘Queen-square,’ he says. ‘My dear late father would have been astonished. But I’ve worked hard for my success, as he did for his.’
‘Was he a merchant too, Sir? Did he sell Africans in the Indies?’
‘On a small scale.’ A pause, as Mr Tuffnell muses on his humble roots. He returns to the present. ‘Of course, I shall need a helpmeet when I am master of so substantial a household.’
My heart flips. ‘Will you, Sir?’
He eyes me playfully. ‘Come, Amesbury, what’s your answer?’
‘To what, Mr Tuffnell? You haven’t asked me anything.’
He fidgets. ‘Now then, Amesbury. No call to make this difficult. You are a young woman with many attributes, but your portion is small.’ He smiles to himself. ‘You must be wondering why you were awarded twenty guineas though certain of the murders continue unexplained. Let us just say, I took it upon myself to ensure you were remunerated—never let it be said I am niggardly to my servants. Quite the opposite. Hang it all, Amesbury, you cannot need persuading—no over-sentimental declarations of undying love and so forth—to accept my proposal.’
‘Proposal as to what, Sir?’
‘Great God! Are my needs not obvious? Nor my feelings plain? When my wife was alive of course I stifled those feelings—dismissed them as animal urges. But my wife, may it please God to rest her soul in peace, is dead, and although in the ordinary course of things I might have chosen to wait before remarrying, I am very happy to embark on a fresh chapter of my life without delay.’
‘You are asking me to be your wife, Sir?’
‘What else? To be sure, it is a vast leap from your station to wife of a man of my wealth and standing, but you will adapt, I think. You are,’ he beams, ‘a young woman of resourcefulness and intelligence. I beguile myself with the prospect you may in time be of assistance to me in my business.’ He drops to his knees and reaches for my hand. ‘Think of it, Amesbury—Coronation. Member of the powerful Society of Merchant Venturers in all but name. Helping to send vessels round the world. Judging what to sell and what to buy. Involved in all I do, and adding your wisdom and common sense to every one of my business decisions. I’ve one to make tonight.’ He nods to the pile of papers waiting on his desk. ‘A proposal from Mr Osmund, who wishes to be my equal partner in a voyage to Guinea in the spring.’ Mr Tuffnell taps my hand flirtatiously. ‘What do you advise, Coronation? He’s a novice investor in the slave trade, but a man of influence in Jamaica. Shall I take the risk?’
He means to be humorous, and I respond accordingly. I am not really expected to give an opinion on the matter. I smile. ‘You ask me to marry you but I’d rather you asked me to be your housekeeper, Sir.’
His expression is amazed and crestfallen. ‘Housekeeper? You’d rather remain a servant than become my wife?’
‘A nest egg such as mine in combination with an upper servants’ salary is a good foundation for a young person, Mr Tuffnell. A few years’ service will set me up very well for establishing my own business. I should like my own business, as I believe I told you earlier, Sir.’
‘Miss Amesbury, I can scarcely believe what I hear.’ His expression is comically disappointed. ‘Well, this is a salutary correction to my pretensions as a suitor. I had not thought myself quite so undesirable.’
‘A housekeeper is head of the household, saving yourself, Sir. With responsibility for all the indoor servants and keeping the accounts for the kitchen and other expenses, such as lighting and fuel. She plans menus, and sends items for repair. Hires tradesmen, and keeps a tally of such of your stock as is kept at home, Sir, and not in your warehouse. She ensures your house is clean and in good repair. She acts as moral instructress to her fellow servants, and is trusted to inform of any indiscretions committed by them.’
My master begins to look anxious at this recital. ‘You might be capable, in time, Amesbury—you are a little young for some of the duties you mention.’
‘I am quick to learn. As you said so yourself, I am resourceful.’ I pause. ‘It would be an honour to serve you in such a capacity. After all, the role of housekeeper is hardly as exacting as a wife’s. You offered me the greater, Sir.’
Mr Tuffnell’s palms must be damp, for he wipes them surreptitiously on his coat-skirts. ‘Well, I suppose you make a good point, Amesbury. Indeed you do. That’s settled then. Housekeeper.’ He coughs hastily. ‘At least, when my new house is ready. Until then perhaps you will consider yourself housekeeper-in-waiting. Who knows, you may change your mind given time,’ he adds, murmuring to himself rather than to me.
‘Housekeeper-in-waiting. That will do very well. Thank you, Sir. Now then, shall I clear these glasses and leave you to your papers? You did say you have a great many papers to read and sign tonight. I have kept you over-long.’
I collect the tray and the flask of sherry, and my hand is on the door knob when a thought strikes me. ‘If you are sincerely interested in my view of Mr Osmund’s offer, Sir, I advise you to decline it.’
He blinks.
‘Mr Osmund is not an honourable man. You can take it as certain, for I have met him and found him boorish and ungentlemanly, and his own friends hold him in low esteem. Don’t trust him, Sir. Good night.’
Mrs Hucker and Nell Grey are seated by the kitchen fire. Cook looks at me concerned. ‘Corrie, if Master makes a nuisance of himself, don’t endure his attentions in silence. When he asks to see you of an evening, Nell Grey or I will come too, or I’ll go in your stead. His fancy will wander elsewhere in time, I’m sure. He misses his wife, poor fellow.’
Making no reply, I set down my tray and refill the glasses to the brim with Mr Tuffnell’s best sherry. Then I place the glasses on the tray and offer it to my companions. Nell Grey looks shocked, and hesitates to help herself, but Mrs Hucker draws a breath and taking hold of the glass nearest to her, bursts out laughing.
Nell Grey stares at her in puzzlement as the cook exclaims. ‘I knew it. I knew he couldn’t hold out any longer. When’s it to be?’ She swipes Nell Grey’s knee. ‘He’s asked her to marry him. I’m right, aren’t I? I’m delighted for you, girl. I venture to say he’s a lucky man. Congratulations. I hope you’ll be happy and all your troubles will be little ones. Mrs Coronation Tuffnell, eh? Well, you have the right Christian name for a lady, that’s for sure.’
Though she makes me laugh I can’t let her run on any longer. ‘You’ve leapt to conclusions, Mrs Hucker. Mr Tuffnell made me a proposal which I have gladly accepted, but it is to be his housekeeper when he removes to Queen-square.’
The good old soul sinks back into her chair. ‘Oh, bless me, is that it, after all? I beg you forget what I just said, both of you. I was dozing before you came in, I daresay I was half-asleep. You must think I’m daft.’ She titters, and falls silent.
‘Housekeeper?’ Nell Grey repeats, frowning. ‘Are you sure, Corrie? You’re a clever girl, and capable, but you’re not yet fifteen years old.’ Then she tilts her head and looks at me kindly. ‘Do you think it possible he may change his mind? He’s all at sea at present. It must be hard to keep a cool head so soon after a loss like the one he’s suffered. You mustn’t be disappointed if he bethinks himself, Corrie, dear. He does have a high regard for you, and I’m sure he’ll want you to stay on in his new house. Let’s say a toast to all of us. May our wages be raised in the next twelve months.’
‘Hear hear,’ says Cook, and the two of them sip solemnly and Nell Grey offers me her glass that I may share it.
But by and by the sherry takes the edge away from Mrs Hucker’s awkwardness, and chases off Nell Grey’s doubts about my advancement, and they begin to speculate about my life as housekeeper, the pleasant small room I shall call my own, how it will have a mantelshelf and a feather bed, and a chair and table and a sideboard with plates and cups for my own use, and they agree that if they butter me up I will be sure to invite them in to share a dish of tea and a baked apple now and then.
‘She’ll be good to us, Cook,’ says Nell Grey, taking a sip of her sherry wine. ‘She’ll remember who her best friends were when she first came into Mr Tuffnell’s service.’
They run on until I decide it is time to rein them in. ‘I confess that whatever Mr Tuffnell believes, I may not remain in his employ long enough to be his housekeeper. But I enjoin you two to keep that to yourselves.’
Mrs Hucker shakes her head. ‘Not another surprise. I doubt my old heart can stand any more shocks tonight. Don’t say you’re about to run away to sea. Or is Mr Tuffnell sending you to Africa to barter for some slaves? Or maybe you’re going back to Wiltshire to marry your childhood sweetheart?’
Nell Grey watches me closely. ‘Come on, Corrie. Tell us.’
I shan’t tell them everything, of course. But they are my nearest thing to friends in Bristol.
‘When I have enough saved, I intend to buy my passage to the West Indies. I may stay there or I may come back. But there’s someone in Jamaica I must find again before I die.’
Mrs Hucker is at a loss for once, and looks at me round-eyed. The kitchen is quiet save for the puttering of the fire. Then Nell Grey speaks.
‘Go, Corrie. Follow your heart.’
Another silence, more solemn than the first, then Nell Grey grins. ‘Promise you’ll remember us, when you’re mistress of a hundred acres. Send us a letter now and then, a parcel of sugar at Christmas-time, and a cask of rum.’
She is unfathomably generous to speak in this merry way when her own lover is cold and dead. I could retort that I would never wish to be mistress of a plantation were I to live a thousand years, but instead I rise and kiss her.
Then, when the fire is banked, we retire to our garret, leaving Mr Tuffnell in his parlour to weigh Mr Osmund’s offer and reflect more generally on partners and their usefulness.
Time enough to reveal who it is I seek. That is a story for another night.
***
Thursday, April 3rd 1704
One morning Mr Tuffnell is working at his writing table and I am dusting the ledgers when a sound of hooves draws both of us to the window that overlooks the drive. Mr Wharton and Mr Espinosa are come from Bristol on a pair of hired horses.
Having had a proposal of marriage from my master I find I cannot linger unnoticed as I used to do when visitors arrive. Mr Tuffnell dismisses me when Nell Grey shows the gentlemen in so I take care to leave the door open a crack, and station myself directly outside, broom in hand lest anyone suspect me of that well-worn servant’s trick of eavesdropping.
‘The news is grave, James,’ Mr Wharton begins. ‘The sailor with the information is one of Captain Stiles’s most trusted able seamen. Wilks provided a detailed account, plausible in all respects. The Prudence ran aground just past the 38th degree, precisely where it should have been when the storm struck on December 6th. There were two survivors, the other man died a few days later. Wilks stayed in Lisbon until a Bristol skipper took him on.’
‘Sunk without trace? The crew lost, including William Stiles? I apologise, gentlemen.’ There is a pause; Mr Tuffnell’s voice is strained, and I hear a chink as Mr Wharton pours his employer a glass of sherry.
‘James,’ says the agent after a moment, ‘matters could be worse. You recollect the letter I sent Captain Stiles before the ship set sail? His answer never reached you, but I alluded to the original document when we spoke at the All Hallows feast.’
Mr Tuffnell clears his throat. ‘Spare me the memory, please.’
A moment’s silence; I picture Mr Wharton gripping Mr Tuffnell’s arm in sympathy. ‘Mrs Tuffnell, God rest her soul, never set out to deceive you about the Prudence. She was only concerned you might discover that her claims of owning property in Jamaica were—shall we say—exaggerated.’ A further tactful pause, and Mr Wharton continues. ‘The point is this. When Captain Stiles set sail without replying to my letter regarding Cheatley’s altered terms I took it in my own hands to ensure your share in the expedition was adequately underwritten.’
A rustle of papers, and Mr Espinosa, who has been silent until now, presents Mr Tuffnell with a sheaf of papers.
He riffles through them, bewildered. ‘But how did you pay for this additional insurance?’
Mr Wharton’s voice betrays a certain wry amusement. ‘Since you ask, I borrowed from Mr Josiah Cheatley. We shall have to reimburse Cheatley, and pay his terms of interest, but the policy has paid out, so we have the capital. In fact, I’ve paid off Cheatley already, just this morning. I thought it wise to pre-empt any situation where Cheatley might seek to revise his terms, given his record in such matters.’
Through the chink between the door and the jamb I glimpse Mr Tuffnell’s baffled face. ‘Let me get this straight. You come to tell me that the ship on which my security depends has sunk with virtually no survivors. Then you tell me that thanks to your offices I am better off than I would have been if the ship was now in Guinea bartering for slaves with iron bought at prices which rendered success at best unlikely?’
‘That is the sum of it,’ Mr Wharton admits. ‘Aaron has a draft for you, signed and sealed by Mr Sampson. When you subtract the value of the ship and its cargo, the notional value of the slaves it would have carried, and the value of the sugar and tobacco you would have imported when the Prudence docked in Bristol, you have made a profit clear of eleven hundred pounds.’
A sound of racing footsteps, astonished laughter, and I peep in to see Mr Tuffnell seize Mr Wharton by the waist and spin him round and round in giddy delight. All three gentlemen are grinning, even Mr Espinosa, who surely feels some pity for poor Mr Sampson.
‘Christ’s blood, gentlemen, this calls for more than a thimbleful of sherry. Let me find Cook, and order us a celebratory dinner.’
Mr Tuffnell strides across the parlour, and I am just in time to whisk behind the door before he discovers me and subjects me to a grope and a fumble in his joy.