‘Frankie,’ exclaimed Thea, astonished to see her gardener in the doorway before she registered the panic on her face. ‘Frankie,’ she said again, moving towards her with concern. ‘You’re back. The baby?’
But Frankie dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. ‘Baby’s fine,’ she said, ‘just got back, but there’s a fire. Outside.’
Thea looked for Martha who was already heading for the door. ‘Take us,’ she said to Frankie, who set off down the corridor at a speed more suited to boots than dress shoes.
They kept up, however, down the elegant halls of Thea’s apartments, into the servant’s corridor and ducked through the outside door which led to the frame yard.
‘Not here,’ said Frankie, gasping a little. ‘There.’ She gestured to the walled garden where orange flames licked upwards over the coping stones.
‘Good god,’ said Martha.
‘The stove houses,’ said Thea.
‘It was him,’ said Frankie. ‘I saw him. By the pot bays.’
Thea took a breath and then started towards the doorway built into the wall. The thick oak and black studs shimmered gold and she feared what she would find on the other side. But she had to go, had to see it. As the beds of the walled garden stretched before her, she could see how far the flames had engulfed the structure of the glasshouse, stretched across the back wall. They were halfway along and gaining quickly. The tillandsias and zinnias would be gone by now, and all of the South African collection. Including the protea seeds, she thought with a sudden anger. Amazing how the mind quickened when the body froze, she thought.
‘Where are the men?’ she heard Martha ask Frankie behind her.
‘On their way, gathering water,’ she heard Frankie reply. But Thea knew that buckets, plunge pools and, when they ran out, the lake, would be no match for such heat on a wooden structure after a dry summer. As they watched, part of the roof collapsed in a shower of glass. She walked towards it, hopeful that there might be something she could do to help.
‘Oh, thank goodness, my wife is here.’ The slow and mocking voice came from closer to the flames and she froze, pulse quickening further. Her husband appeared from behind a stand of tall grass, still in his dinner shirt but with the neck open, no tailcoat and his wig off. He was half shadow and half acrid orange in the night air. ‘She always knows what to do,’ he said, stepping towards her. ‘She manages everything on my own estate while I just hunt and shoot and fuck the mistress I have to keep because my miserable wife is too frigid.’
Thea felt Martha’s presence flank her right, and Frankie her left. They stared at the figure before them. She knew this was only the start. Even if she placated him tonight it would happenagain and again. And what next when she failed in managing his moods and quelling his anger. For her sake, but mostly for that of the household and the children, she had to stand up to him.
‘You shouldn’t be too harsh on yourself,’ she said, squaring her shoulders. ‘As far as I understand you have exerted every political influence you possibly could–’ she paused ‘–to ensure that your mistress and your mother have quite the perfect tea from Mr Knatchbull.’ She looked him in the eye now and watched the fury grow in his eyes. The reflection of the flames flickered on the beads of sweat on his brow and she could feel the heat of his anger, almost as hot as the fire that still burned not thirty yards away.
‘Nothing you wouldn’t know about.’ He wiped his ash blackened face with a sleeve. Thea noticed for the first time that his breeches were smeared with dirt. ‘Don’t think I don’t know about your disgusting ways,’ he said, gesturing wildly between Thea and Martha. ‘I was so stupid. Pleased with her for keeping you out of my hair and bringing you plants I could share with the court. Grimston has opened my eyes to what you two are. I don’t mind you fucking her, but she puts too many ideas in your head. Everything about you is unnatural.’
Thea tried to still her heart that felt like it was beating out of her chest. ‘You knew I was not a conventional choice when you married me.’
He scoffed. ‘There is not conventional, and then there is a disgraceful embarrassment. Do you expect me to sit at my own dinner table while my own friends reference your degenerative nature? You are an object of ridicule and rightly so.’
‘Then perhaps you should find different friends,’ she said as calmly as she could. The fury flared again in his eyes, and he moved towards her. She smelled paraffin on him and fleetingly understood why the fire had gone up so fast, before his rancid breath was in her face. She felt Martha and Frankie shift closerto her, protectively, but she moved towards George, determined not to back down.
‘I will do no such thing,’ he said. ‘You are my wife and from now on you will behave as such. Your floozy, here, will go away from Hawkdean and you will desist from all activities which bring shame on this household. This should help you to take the first step.’ He nodded at the burning glasshouse, now being doused in water from a shouting staff.
‘And what if I refuse?’ asked Thea, raising her voice above the noise of cracking and shouting and annoyed to hear her voice tremble. ‘You forget I have a family home.’
‘I forget nothing,’ he shouted, the spittle now in her face. ‘I fund that home, if you remember. It would take only a word from me to expose who you really are. Your fraternising with that Henry woman who everyone knows is a rubster. I shouldn’t let any of you, or that Fenwick near my children.’
‘Ourchildren are safe from everyone but you,’ she said, feeling a rising fear. He could threaten her and her reputation, but not the welfare of her children.
‘My children, in law,’ he said. ‘They would stay with me.’ She briefly considered pushing him in the fire. He would go, she thought, he had clearly imbibed more drink since dinner and was unsteady on his feet, but she decided against it. ‘There will be no more of these ridiculous notions of science for the girls. They will learn deportment and music and dance. And they will go away to study, lest they turn out like you.’
The rage rose inside her hotter than the fire still blazing beside them. ‘And how do you think you will take them from me?’ she asked, quietly.
He stepped forward and placed a hand around her jaw, squeezing gently. ‘I am the master of this household, and I can do anything I like,’ he said, his grimy face inches from hers. He turned her and began to walk her backwards towards the fire.‘Either you comply with your husband’s wishes, or I will put you in that fire. I will not be made a fool of.’ She could see the pink of his bloodshot eyes but stood steady, daring him to push her further with every step they took.
But he didn’t. Because Martha’s hands came from behind him, grabbing his waistcoat and trying to drag him away. Frankie joined her, but he struggled, turning and flailing his arms. He pushed Martha, sending her flying over a cold frame and landing heavily on the path beyond. Then he wheeled around, connecting his fist directly with Frankie’s chin. After looking down at her with satisfaction he spun to face Thea, advancing quickly. Before she knew it, she had slapped him. Right across the face in a contact that would smart for a couple of days, she knew as soon as it connected. But it didn’t deter him for long. He came at her again, almost snarling now, with his hand raised. Now she backed away herself, feeling the heat of the fire burning her back just before she tripped over something on the path and fell. He raised his boot, and she braced for the impact, staring him down defiantly, but instead all she heard was a dullpop. His eyes glazed and he crumpled to the floor sideways, and particularly inelegantly. Behind him stood Mrs Jenkins, holding a shovel aloft, and Mrs Phibbs with her hands on her hips.
‘Time he learned some manners,’ said Mrs Jenkins, as Thea saw her vision grey.
Chapter 33
Thea slipped into George’s room and regarded him. It was two days after the fire, and he still hadn’t roused from his bed. It wasn’t so much that she was worried for him, but she felt that she should visit. He had regained consciousness briefly on the night of the incident, enough to grumble about the situation, complain about the pain and take more laudanum for it, but he had been unresponsive since. Although she wasn’t itching for him to wake up, two days was apparently quite a long time to still be abed after a blow to the head, and she didn’t think Mrs Jenkins had hit him that hard.
Dr Cope’s best guess was that the combination of liquor, laudanum and smoke inhalation had combined to leave his body with a need to rest, and so that’s what they allowed. Thankfully, Harriet had taken charge the day after the fire and had seen to it that most of the guests had left after breakfast. Only she remained as extra support for Martha and Thea, along with Dr Speckle who Thea kept on to tend to wounds and burns sustained by the staff and household.
