A Place Called Home Page 7

  ‘I expect it’s them bits of paper with IOU written on them,’ Lucy said solemnly. ‘They was worth a lot of money, judging by the look on his face when he saw they was still in the wallet, and I still reckon they were worth more than what he give me.’

  Sir William sat back in his chair with a sigh. ‘You’ve been at the gaming tables again. Don’t you ever learn?’

  ‘I could ask you the same, sir,’ Linus said angrily. ‘Your good works will bankrupt you one day. I suppose that’s why you’ve taken this little street arab into your household. Did you know that her grandmother is a thief and a prostitute, and her daughter was no better? This is the child of Satan if you ask me.’

  ‘This child of Satan as you call her is the daughter of my late son, your cousin Julius, and as such is heir to my fortune. As to her mother, no one seems to know her whereabouts, but I’ve bought off the grandmother. We won’t be seeing her again, unless I’m very much mistaken.’

  This was too much for Lucy and she dropped her knife and fork with a clatter. She sprang to her feet, facing her grandfather with her small hands fisted. ‘Don’t say bad things about my granny. She’s done her best for me and I love her. I’d rather live in one attic room with her than stay in a big house with the likes of you. I’ve had about enough of you and your blooming toffee-nosed servants. I’m taking me dog and I’m going back where I belong.’ She stormed out of the room without giving either of them a chance to respond, but when she reached the entrance hall she realised that leaving was easier said than done. Mrs Hodges, James the footman, Susan and a parlour maid were joined by Bedwin, who followed her from the dining room. He clapped his hands together. ‘I have the matter in hand. All of you go about your business, except for Mrs Hodges. May I have a word with you, ma’am?’

  She sidled up to him, keeping an eye on Lucy as if she expected her to vanish into thin air or float up to the ceiling like a hot air balloon. ‘Yes, Mr Bedwin?’

  ‘See that the child is kept to her room for the next few days. I suggest you allow her to keep the animal with her, but she’s to have her meals brought to her. Sir William doesn’t want a repeat of today’s performance.’

  Mrs Hodges shot an angry glance in Lucy’s direction. ‘The master will rue the day he brought that one in from the streets. In the gutter he found her and that’s where she should have stayed. This is a respectable household.’ She beckoned to Lucy. ‘Upstairs, now. I shan’t tell you twice.’

  ‘I dunno why I’m copping it when that man Daubenay is to blame.’ Lucy yelped as Mrs Hodges grabbed her by the arm, pinching the soft flesh above Lucy’s elbow.

  ‘Be silent, you little worm. I’ve had enough of you and your tantrums.’

  ‘But it’s not fair,’ Lucy protested. ‘That Mr Daubenay is a gambling man, I saw the IOUs with me own peepers. I bet he’s on a losing streak, and he’s come to touch his uncle for a loan, so why am I the wrong ’un and not him?’

  Mrs Hodges swung her left arm, clouting Lucy round the head with a blow that made her ears ring. ‘That’s what you get for answering back and there’s more where that came from. It’s bread and water for you today, and you can sit in your room and think about what you’ve done.’ Puffing and panting, Mrs Hodges clambered up the stairs, dragging Lucy by the arm with Peckham bounding along ahead of them. She opened the nursery door and gave Lucy a shove which sent her sprawling onto the bare floorboards. ‘I don’t want to hear a sound from you or that blooming mongrel, so keep him quiet.’

  ‘He’ll need to go outside to relieve hisself,’ Lucy said defiantly.

  ‘I’ll send Martha up later. If it messes in the meantime, you’ll clear it up yourself and scrub the floor on your hands and knees. You need discipline, my girl. Let’s hope the master finds you a good governess who won’t spare the rod.’

  Lucy awakened on Monday morning to find Peckham lying on her feet, snoring gently. She had endured almost a week of incarceration in her room, and had suffered taunts and insults from Susan when she brought her food on a tray, and she had had to listen to Martha’s moans when she had to empty the slops or take the dog out. The enforced idleness was torture, and to make it worse the sun had shone every day and spring was in the air. The nearest Lucy could get to freedom was to open the window, but it was barred and she had only a limited view of the people down below as they hurried about their daily business.

  She yawned and stretched, disturbing Peckham who leapt to the floor, cocking his head on one side at the sound of the key turning in the lock. Lucy tumbled from the bed as the door opened, landing in a heap on the floor.

  Mrs Hodges bustled into the room. ‘Not dressed yet? You’re a lazy little brat, but all that is about to change.’ She picked up Lucy’s tartan frock and tossed it at her. ‘Your governess has arrived. Put your clothes on immediately.’

  The words had barely left her lips when a formidable-looking woman of indeterminate age strode into the room, coming to a sudden halt and taking in the scene with a look of disapproval. She was dressed from head to toe in unrelenting grey which did nothing for her sallow complexion. Her hair, which was scraped back in an unflattering bun, was also grey and her eyes were the colour of snow that had turned to slush. ‘Stand up straight when an adult enters the room, girl.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to get acquainted,’ Mrs Hodges said with a grim smile. ‘Ring the bell if you require anything, Miss Wantage.’ She sailed out of the room with a triumphant look on her face.

  Lucy had only just managed to put her frock on and was attempting to do up the pearl buttons, but she stopped and stood to attention. This woman was the sort who had to be obeyed, she decided, looking at the thin lips drawn into a tight line, and the cold grey eyes that reminded her of the fish lying on slabs in Billingsgate market.

  ‘My name is Miss Wantage and I am your governess. Don’t slouch and stop fidgeting. You should have been up and dressed hours ago. I can see I am going to have my work cut out with you.’ She eyed Peckham with distaste. ‘I don’t like dogs. That animal should be kept outside in a kennel.’

  Peckham growled deep in his throat and Lucy bent down to pick him up. ‘Sir William says I can keep him with me.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’ Miss Wantage took off her cape and bonnet and laid them on a chair. She went round the room, examining everything in minute detail. ‘This isn’t how I like to organise my class room.’ She flung up the sashes on both windows. ‘Fresh air and exercise make a healthy body and a healthy mind. Put the animal on the floor and take a seat, Lucy. We’ll start by finding out how much you know.’

  There seemed little alternative but to obey the unsmiling stranger and Lucy sat down with Peckham curled up at her feet.

  ‘Sit up straight or I’ll have to tie you to a board. Poor posture cannot be allowed.’ Miss Wantage opened the desk and took out a cane. She swished it through the air. ‘Let this be a warning to you, Lucy Marriott.’

  ‘Me name’s Lucy Pocket.’ She could not let this pass. ‘I ain’t a Marriott.’

  ‘You are according to your grandfather and that’s how you’ll be addressed in future.’ Miss Wantage walked round the chair, prodding Lucy in the back. ‘Head up, don’t slouch. You will do exactly as I say. I don’t put up with idleness, rudeness or disobedience. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Wantage. Repeat after me.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Wantage,’ Lucy muttered. It seemed sensible to humour the grumpy old woman.

  ‘Good. We have the basis of an understanding. Now stand up and recite the alphabet.’

  Lucy managed to get through her letters without too many mistakes. She had learned to add and subtract at a young age, which Granny had said was important if you didn’t want to be cheated in the market. Lucy had the satisfaction of seeing Miss Wantage look faintly disappointed by her new pupil’s abilities, but she still managed to find fault with everything from Lucy’s grammar to her posture, and in particular she remonstrated with her on her lack of
manners and her appalling accent.

  After a gruelling morning of lessons, Lucy had to walk round the nursery with a book balanced on her head for half an hour, which Miss Wantage said would improve her deportment. When luncheon arrived that proved to be another trial, only this time it was table manners, and Lucy failed miserably. The day was going badly, but then Miss Wantage decided that it was time for their constitutional, and she donned her bonnet and cape. ‘Where is your bonnet, child?’ she demanded. ‘You cannot go out bareheaded.’

  ‘I had one once, but the rats ate it.’

  Miss Wantage uttered a shriek. ‘Heavens, what sort of family did you spring from?’

  ‘Granny was good to me. I want to go back and live with her.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You know that’s out of the question. Your grandfather explained the circumstances of your birth and early life, and that is what I am being paid to eradicate.’

  ‘I dunno what that means,’ Lucy muttered. ‘But I ain’t got no bloody bonnet.’

  Miss Wantage clutched her hand to her throat, rolling her eyes in horror. ‘Such language in one so young!’ She reached for the cane. ‘Hold out your hand.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because I say so. Hold out your hand now.’

  Reluctantly, Lucy obeyed and was rewarded by six sharp blows across her palm. Tears sprang to her eyes but she bit her lip and tried hard not to cry even though the pain was almost unbearable.

  ‘When we return from our walk you will write out one hundred times I must not use bad language. As for the bonnet, I will speak to Mrs Hodges. Something must be done about your wardrobe. My reputation is at stake here, and I cannot be seen with a charge who is not properly attired.’

  ‘Can we take Peckham, miss?’

  ‘May we take Peckham, Miss Wantage?’

  Lucy repeated the sentence, but inwardly she was rebellious. She would escape from this prison one way or another. She just needed to find a way.

  ‘Yes, Lucy. We will take the animal, but only if a collar and leash can be found.’

  The sun was shining and narcissi nodded their creamy heads in a warm breeze as Lucy and Miss Wantage walked through Green Park. Peckham trotted along beside Lucy, behaving impeccably, as if he had been trained to walk at heel. Lucy raised her face to the sun, trying to forget the hideous straw bonnet that Mrs Hodges had found for her. It was wonderful to breathe fresh air after being imprisoned in the nursery for so long, but it would have been even better had Miss Wantage not been striding at her side like a wardress. They did a complete circuit of Green Park, and seeming to think they had not had sufficient exercise Miss Wantage took them into St James’s Park, where they walked twice round the lake and then back through Green Park to Piccadilly. By this time even Peckham was showing signs of slowing down, but Miss Wantage it seemed could go on forever. When they arrived back in Albemarle Street she took off her lace mittens and bonnet. ‘I was raised in Yorkshire,’ she said with a slight curl of her lips that almost stretched her features into a smile, but not quite. ‘I used to love walking on the moors. The parks in London cannot compare with the wildness and sheer beauty of the moorland.’

  Lucy’s feet ached, and although the borrowed boots had been replaced by a new pair she was certain she had blisters on both heels. Peckham sank down on the floor with a sigh and closed his eyes.

  ‘This will be part of our daily routine from now on,’ Miss Wantage said firmly. ‘Mornings will be spent doing schoolwork and in the afternoon we will take our constitutional. Now you will sit at your desk and write out your lines. You will not get any tea unless they are neat and correct. After tea, assuming that you are allowed any, you will sit with a board strapped to your back to improve you posture, and this will remain in place until dinner, which will be taken in my presence and we will concentrate on table manners and etiquette. You are a street urchin at present, Lucy Marriott, but you will be a young lady by the time I have finished with you.’

  Peckham raised his head and licked Lucy’s hand.

  The routine was relentless, as was Miss Wantage. Lucy was kept occupied from the moment she got up in the morning until she went to bed at night. She was hardly ever alone. Miss Wantage took her duties seriously, and if she left Lucy for even a few minutes the nursery door was locked, making a further attempt at escape impossible, but Lucy was still determined to find her grandmother and beg her to take her back. She could sell the clothes that Miss Appleby had made for her, and then Granny could return the money to Sir William.

  When she was strapped to the backboard Lucy played the game, only this time she was with Granny in Rosemary Lane. She could smell the fried fish that Pearl was hawking round the market, and hear Carlos shouting the delights of Astley’s Amphitheatre and Cremorne Gardens. Miss Wantage brought her abruptly back to the present by rapping the cane on her desk. ‘Don’t slouch, Lucy. You’re the only child I’ve ever taught who could sit badly when strapped to a board. Sit up straight. Young ladies with round shoulders are not attractive.’

  Lucy sat up straight and returned to the game: Miss Wantage had no authority in her make-believe world.

  The days turned into weeks and Miss Wantage was firmly established in the household and deeply unpopular, if what Martha whispered in Lucy’s ear was true. She had no reason to doubt the stories of how her governess had offended everyone from Bedwin and Mrs Hodges down to the parlour maids, and in particular Cook. Miss Wantage had her own ideas about diet and frequently sent dishes back to the kitchen if they were not to her liking. Lucy ate anything that was put before her. Having come close to starvation on many occasions she had a great respect for food and was not about to waste the smallest crumb. What she could not manage was given to Peckham, who was equally unfussy.

  On a particularly hot day in the middle of June, Lucy was sitting by the open window trying to learn the poem that her governess had set for her. Miss Wantage had complained of a headache first thing that morning, which had gradually worsened to the extent that she had gone to lie down in her room adjacent to the nursery. The door had been left ajar so that she could keep an eye on Lucy, but her muffled groans had gradually subsided into slow breathing, punctuated by snuffly snores. Lucy waited until she was certain that her governess was asleep. She had planned her escape in her head countless times, and now she had her chance. It was the best present that anyone could have given her. No one in the house knew that it was her birthday, not even Sir William, whom she seldom saw.

  Leaving the nursery did not present a problem. She picked up Peckham and made her way downstairs slowly, stopping to listen, and when satisfied that no one was coming she carried on until she reached the bend in the stairs above the entrance hall. She leaned over the balustrade and felt a gust of warm air. The front door was open and she could see James polishing the lion’s head knocker. There did not seem to be anyone else about, but as she was about to descend further she heard the sound of a woman’s voice and the deeper response from James.

  Lucy’s breath hitched in her throat. She knew that voice – she loved that voice. She raced downstairs, forgetting caution, and crossed the marble-tiled hall to push past the startled footman. He reached out and caught her by the arm but Peckham snapped at him and wriggled free from Lucy’s grasp to stand his ground, snarling at James.

  ‘Keep that brute under control, miss.’ James thrust a small parcel into Lucy’s hand. ‘A person left this for you. Get that cur away from me, if you please.’

  ‘Peckham, sit.’ Lucy ripped the brown paper, revealing the silver locket that contained a lock of her mother’s golden hair entwined with her own baby curl. There was no note, but it was the one thing of value that Granny had never sold or pawned, not even when they were in their most urgent need of funds. Lucy curled her fingers around the locket. ‘Where did she go?’ she gasped. ‘That was my granny, where did she go?’ She grabbed James by the hand, tugging him out onto the street. ‘You must have seen which way she went.’

  He shook
his head. ‘I don’t know where she was headed, miss.’

  Lucy looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of her grandmother. She ran to the corner of Albemarle Street and Piccadilly, but she could not see anyone who remotely resembled Eva Pocket. She retraced her steps, but as she was about to pass the house James stepped out onto the pavement, followed by Bedwin. The chase was over, and she was lifted off her feet and carried indoors with Peckham snapping at James’s heels. ‘Let me go,’ Lucy sobbed. ‘I must find her.’

  ‘Where is Miss Wantage?’ Bedwin demanded angrily. ‘What is she thinking of, allowing the child to wander?’

  James set Lucy back on her feet. ‘It wasn’t my fault, Mr Bedwin. I couldn’t stop her, and that animal was trying to bite me.’

  ‘He wasn’t,’ Lucy protested angrily. ‘He was just protecting me. You let her go, you stupid man. You let my granny get away.’

  Bedwin took her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘That’s enough of that talk, Miss Lucy. Where is your governess?’

  ‘She’s not well.’

  ‘You should have remained in the nursery, Miss Lucy. You know you’re not allowed to go out on your own.’

  ‘My granny was at the door. He let her go and now I’ve lost her again.’

  A flicker of what might have been sympathy softened Bedwin’s stony features, but only for a moment. ‘It is for the best.’

  ‘But it’s my birthday and now she’s gone forever.’ The tears that Lucy had been holding back flowed down her cheeks and her small body was racked by sobs.

  ‘Come with me, miss.’ Bedwin led her along the corridor that led to the green baize door and down the stairs to a room near the kitchen. He opened the door and ushered her inside. ‘This is my pantry, Miss Lucy. Sit down and compose yourself. I won’t be long.’ He left, returning minutes later with a steaming cup of chocolate. ‘I always find this extremely comforting in times of stress.’ He placed it on the table in front of Lucy and handed her a clean white handkerchief. ‘Happy birthday, miss. Drink your chocolate, and then I’ll take you back to the nursery.’