He was just back from Corsica.
‘Blockading the French,’ he said. ‘Keep ’em out of Corsica, we keep ’em out of ships’ timber. Extraordinary island. Impossible to subdue. But we had excellent boar hunting. I’m very glad to see you, Nellie. I suppose you are married by now?’
‘No, not married.’
He said, ‘Then I can apply to you without fear of crossing an irate husband. Concerning my parrot. You remember Milady?’
He said it had been very much on his mind that he should make provision for her, that he was a serving soldier with no close family and death might come at any moment. He had been told by those who knew about parrots that she was young and might live another forty years.
‘I have a niece and a nephew,’ he said, ‘but the one has never seen Milady and the other is terrified of her. And as you showed an interest … I realize it is a considerable thing to ask.’
‘But a compliment too.’
‘Then when I revise my will I should like to name you as Milady’s next guardian, if you are willing. You’ll need time to consider.’
I said, ‘No, I don’t need time. I’m willing. But God keep you safe for many years anyway.’
It was as warm as I dared to be.
He said, ‘And you’ll visit Dorset often, I’m sure, with the Royal Highnesses. With time your ward will come to know you well.’
A silent smile sufficed. My horror at the thought of Ilsington House was more than matched by pleasure at the honour he had done me. Sofy quizzed me endlessly to know the reason for my sudden lightness of mood.
‘Then don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘I have already guessed it anyway. Your ardent admirer sent a message with Old Garth.’
16
I did not see Sofy again for a full year. Jack took a lease on the apartments above the Pink Lemon and we were married on January 10th 1797, during the lull in trade that always comes after Twelfth Night. The marrying was at Hammersmith, at the church where my sister lay buried, so Mother remained at home to help Twyvil prepare the wedding breakfast for she could never bring herself to see Eliza’s grave.
Miss Tod trimmed my bonnet with Honiton lace; Sofy sent me six silver spoons; Papi showed me the bond he had invested for me in the three percents, and Mother gave us Morphew, just as she had threatened.
I said, ‘But what shall we do with him? We have Ambrose to drive the cart.’
Mother said, ‘Papi vill giff him liddle pension. Take him, Nellie. I kennot heff him here. He makes big commotions viz Twyvil.’
Morphew had proposed marriage to Twyvil but Twyvil wouldn’t have him. She said he only wanted her for a chamber nurse in his dotage but I’m sure that wasn’t true. I had certainly heard him remark that she had very handsome quarters and it was only a pity her first husband hadn’t trained her to the bit.
Jack said, ‘Don’t fuss. Let him come to us. I won’t see a man put out of his place in the middle of winter. He can paint the cart for a start.’
So it was agreed that Morphew would drive us to Chelsea where we were to spend our wedding night at The Man in the Moon. Then he would continue on to Oxford Street and we would make our own way next day by hackney.
‘Just think,’ Jack said, ‘he can light the stove for us. We can go home to a warm house.’
Which was more than they kept at The Man in the Moon. The wind blew so hard that bed was the warmest place to be, and there we burrowed from ten that night till nine the next morning, the longest time I ever knew Jack to keep his head on a pillow.
He said, ‘I’m no good at speeches, Nellie, but I do love you.’
I said, ‘I know it.’
I couldn’t fault him as a lover. He was neat and quiet, just as he was at his work, and when he was done he seemed contented. If there was still a small part of my heart I couldn’t let him have he didn’t know it so no harm was done.
I said, ‘We should send a letter to your people. Tell them we’re married.’
Jack was from Croxton Kerrial in Leicestershire. He was the middle child of nine, with four girls either side of him. His father had worked in the kitchens at Belvoir Castle and his father before him, and Jack and all his sisters had found work there too, except for the one called Beatie who had a harelip and so had made away with herself, only twelve years old.
‘She walked to Knipton,’ he told me, ‘to find water deep enough to drown in. Here you see all sorts but Croxton Kerrial’s not London, Nellie. And Beatie hadn’t the strength for bearing such a cross. She wasn’t like you.’
I said, ‘Is that why you were kind to me? For Beatie’s sake?’
‘No, you daft woman,’ he said. ‘I did it to get my hands on your money.’
We laughed, but the tears still stood in his eyes from telling me about Beatie.
‘We’ll send a letter to your family tomorrow. I’ll write it and you can sign it.’
‘If you like,’ he said. ‘You’re the scribbler. Only don’t make it too high blown. They’re not big readers.’
We were well set up in our new home. Jack went to an inch-of-candle sale at Garroway’s auction house and bid for a bedstead with a good hair mattress and chairs, two carvers and two ladies, all with hide seats. The trestle table was his too, and four cane rout chairs, also a number of skillets and tinned stewpans, a service of creamware plates, an eight-day clock and a brass fender. I brought with me a mahogany bookcase, a secretary, two silver-plated candlesticks, three pairs of sheets stitched by my sister, a cotton counterpane, four goose-feather pillows, a Wilton carpet, a japanned tea kitchen with a spirit stove, six bone-handled knives, a pewter standish with writing quills, raven and goose, and four quire of cut foolscap paper.
On the matter of the box room, Morphew and Ambrose couldn’t agree. Each hoped the other would take it. Morphew said he abhorred an attic room for it suffocated him. Ambrose said he’d count it an honour to continue sleeping in the dry store, to guard the sugar from mice, and so they rearranged such space as there was in there and lodged together peaceably, with Morphew snoring like an old bear and Ambrose falling into such a dead sleep every night he heard nothing.
Some weeks after we were married a small package was delivered to the shop. It was addressed to Mrs John Buzzard and the carriage was paid by Lieutenant-Colonel T. Garth, but the card inside was signed Milady. I didn’t show it to Jack till evening, till I could trust myself to pass it off as nothing of consequence.
‘One of the King’s equerries,’ I told Jack. ‘He’s an old gentleman, and he has the very same mark on his face that I have. Milady’s his parrot. He means to leave her to me.’
He looked at the bracelet.
‘Pretty,’ he said. ‘Lieutenant-Colonel, eh? Best keep in with him. He might leave you more than a parrot.’
