the way across Europe, right to the French defeat at Waterloo. Not a few in the village had family blood poured out on those battlefields, so you can imagine the sentiments. It’s a wonder Miss Marianna allowed the man here at all, really, but she always was one for doing things her own way, or so my aunt Daniels said.”
“But these ill feelings do not seem to be present now, Mr. Aldridge.” Now they are all reserved for me , I thought bitterly.
“Very true. Perhaps as time went on and Jean Moreau was gone they forgave the son the sins of the father. But that change would have been after my time. My own father was at sea with the Royal Navy — protecting the coasts from those ‘dirty French frogs,’ to quote Aunt Daniels — and it was relative to relative for me, until I was sent away to school. So only a short stay, I’m afraid. Though I never forgot it.”
I digested these things as we walked, a small barge moving along the canal above my head. It occurred to me to wonder how a French soldier could have come to live and marry on an English estate. It also occurred to me that if the housekeeper Daniels was the unmarried sister of Ben’s father, then Ben did not bear that father’s name. But perhaps it was an indelicate matter to mention. Ben pointed ahead.
“And here are the gasworks, Miss Tulman.”
I looked up to see a handsome brick building on the canal bank, the coal smoke from its chimneys borne high and aloft in the wind, and then to the storage structure beside it, a familiar sight to one who had spent all her days in London: round, red-bricked, and metal-domed, utterly dwarfing the first building in size. The metal dome ascended slowly within tall wrought-iron supports, rising little by little if one watched carefully, pushed upward by the pressure of the gas vapors inside it. I watched as I walked, realizing that the ground beneath me had also risen. The canal wall was gone, and we were once again on the same level as the water.
“G’day, Ben Aldridge.”
I turned to see a wizened old man leading a cow down the path. He was gap-toothed and grinning until he met my gaze. Then his wrinkles turned downward and he looked right through me, as if he had come across cast-off entrails or horse dung, something too vile to be taken notice of. I looked away.
“Good day, Mr. Turner,” Ben replied gravely, hands behind his back. I watched the slow-moving water, listening to the cowbell move away down the path. “This circumstance,” Ben said, “is not one in which I’d like to find any sister or acquaintance of mine. Are you … certain, Miss Tulman, that you wish to do what you’ve come for?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “I always do what I have to, Mr. Aldridge, no matter how unpleasant.” Thirty days I had agreed to; I had twenty-eight of them left. “I think … I’ll go back to the house now, if you don’t mind. The heat, you know.”
“Miss Tulman,” he continued, as if I had not spoken, “if you find yourself in need of help, or advice, I am always here.”
I pressed a bead of sweat from my temple into the sleeve of the worsted, hoping my silence would not be taken for lack of manners. Responding to kindness was something I had no experience with.
When I crested the rise, I saw Mrs. Jefferies at the bottom of the slope, leaving through the door in the garden wall. She had her basket over one arm, and with the other made sure the garden door closed slowly and without noise behind her. Then she glanced left, right, and left again, and hurried straight out into the empty grass of the moors, at a surprising speed for so stout a woman, never once looking to the top of my hill.
I was glad to see her go. I trotted down the slope, through the door, and into her cabbage patch. After much pulling and soiling of my hands, I had managed to twist a new cabbage from its leaf bed. I placed the cabbage on the steps to the greenhouse, where I trusted a boy with a rabbit might easily discover
“But these ill feelings do not seem to be present now, Mr. Aldridge.” Now they are all reserved for me , I thought bitterly.
“Very true. Perhaps as time went on and Jean Moreau was gone they forgave the son the sins of the father. But that change would have been after my time. My own father was at sea with the Royal Navy — protecting the coasts from those ‘dirty French frogs,’ to quote Aunt Daniels — and it was relative to relative for me, until I was sent away to school. So only a short stay, I’m afraid. Though I never forgot it.”
I digested these things as we walked, a small barge moving along the canal above my head. It occurred to me to wonder how a French soldier could have come to live and marry on an English estate. It also occurred to me that if the housekeeper Daniels was the unmarried sister of Ben’s father, then Ben did not bear that father’s name. But perhaps it was an indelicate matter to mention. Ben pointed ahead.
“And here are the gasworks, Miss Tulman.”
I looked up to see a handsome brick building on the canal bank, the coal smoke from its chimneys borne high and aloft in the wind, and then to the storage structure beside it, a familiar sight to one who had spent all her days in London: round, red-bricked, and metal-domed, utterly dwarfing the first building in size. The metal dome ascended slowly within tall wrought-iron supports, rising little by little if one watched carefully, pushed upward by the pressure of the gas vapors inside it. I watched as I walked, realizing that the ground beneath me had also risen. The canal wall was gone, and we were once again on the same level as the water.
“G’day, Ben Aldridge.”
I turned to see a wizened old man leading a cow down the path. He was gap-toothed and grinning until he met my gaze. Then his wrinkles turned downward and he looked right through me, as if he had come across cast-off entrails or horse dung, something too vile to be taken notice of. I looked away.
“Good day, Mr. Turner,” Ben replied gravely, hands behind his back. I watched the slow-moving water, listening to the cowbell move away down the path. “This circumstance,” Ben said, “is not one in which I’d like to find any sister or acquaintance of mine. Are you … certain, Miss Tulman, that you wish to do what you’ve come for?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “I always do what I have to, Mr. Aldridge, no matter how unpleasant.” Thirty days I had agreed to; I had twenty-eight of them left. “I think … I’ll go back to the house now, if you don’t mind. The heat, you know.”
“Miss Tulman,” he continued, as if I had not spoken, “if you find yourself in need of help, or advice, I am always here.”
I pressed a bead of sweat from my temple into the sleeve of the worsted, hoping my silence would not be taken for lack of manners. Responding to kindness was something I had no experience with.
When I crested the rise, I saw Mrs. Jefferies at the bottom of the slope, leaving through the door in the garden wall. She had her basket over one arm, and with the other made sure the garden door closed slowly and without noise behind her. Then she glanced left, right, and left again, and hurried straight out into the empty grass of the moors, at a surprising speed for so stout a woman, never once looking to the top of my hill.
I was glad to see her go. I trotted down the slope, through the door, and into her cabbage patch. After much pulling and soiling of my hands, I had managed to twist a new cabbage from its leaf bed. I placed the cabbage on the steps to the greenhouse, where I trusted a boy with a rabbit might easily discover
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