Deadlight-Hall(62)

It is a pity that the likes of Sir George Buckle take such notice of Mr Hurst’s opinions, although I dare say Hurst’s contributions to the Parish coffers will have much to do with that. But then Sir George seldom knows what goes on in his own household, never mind the wider world beyond. I know for a fact that one of his maidservants has regular assignations with young men whom she meets in the buttery at Buckle House, and is acquiring a very undesirable reputation among the drinkers at the King’s Head. Sir George would be shocked to his toes if he knew he was employing such a hussy in his house, although he will probably find out eventually, on account of it becoming common gossip not only in the King’s Head, but also the Coach and Horses. Not that I have ever frequented either place.

I dare say you will recompense me for the cost of sending the carrier to Salamander House to bring Douglas Wilger back to Deadlight Hall after the accident in your kiln room. A matter of one shilling and sixpence, which I feel is not excessive since the carter lifted the boy on and off. I am sending the note of fee with this letter.

Respectfully yours,

Maria Porringer (Mrs)

Deadlight Hall

November 1882

My dear Mr Breadspear

Regarding your enquiry about Douglas Wilger’s injuries, he is recovering, although his behaviour leaves much to be desired. I have pointed out to him how fortunate he is to have been saved a worse fate, and how he might well have lost an eye in the accident, but he is disobedient and ill-mannered. The two Mabbley girls are his constant companions. I do not care for particular friendships at Deadlight Hall as these can lead to all kinds of trouble among the older ones (I will not give further details of the kind of troubles these might be, being one as was brought up to consider reference to such things indelicate, but you will take my meaning). However, at least Rosie and Daisy Mabbley push Wilger’s wheeled chair around, which is fortunate, since I have no time for it.

I intend to send the Mabbley girls to you, as Wilger’s replacement in the kiln room. It will separate those three, and it is high time those girls started to earn their keep. I must warn you that both have a rebellious streak and will need a firm hand.

Very truly yours,

Maria Porringer.

Deadlight Hall

December 1882

Dear Mr Breadspear,

During the last few days, the children have been behaving rather strangely, and I am becoming somewhat uneasy. I will write to you with more details, being a touch hurried at the present, since the kitchens are awaiting a delivery of dried goods, and I like to oversee such things. Mr Porringer always held that a good master (in this case mistress) ensures honesty at all levels of the establishment, and most especially in the consignment of supplies. To my mind this is true whether it is laudanum and mercury for the apothecary’s shelves, or lentils and pudding rice for the larder.

Very truly yours,

Maria Porringer.

Deadlight Hall

December 1882

Dear Mr Breadspear

The children’s behaviour is becoming very worrying indeed. I hesitate to use the word sinister, but it is the word that comes to my mind. They have taken to gathering in small groups, in the darker corners of the Hall, whispering together. I have tried to overhear what they are saying, but so far I have not managed it.

Last night I was wakeful, which is not a thing as normally happens to me, having a clear conscience and a healthy mind, not to mention a very good draught which was Mr Porringer’s own mixture, and which I usually take on retiring. I heard some of the children tiptoe past my room and go quietly down the stairs, so I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and crept out to see what they were about. There they were, huddled together in the hall below. The Wilger boy was with them, of course – he would have been carried down by two of the other boys, since he is no longer able to walk up or down stairs for himself.

Now, I am not a great believer in poetry and such – although Mr Porringer sometimes read a volume of poems and was inclined to quote a verse over supper if one had taken his attention – but seeing those children last night brought back the line I had heard John Hurst read – you may remember I wrote to you about it. Milton’s Paradise Lost, so I believe. The line stayed with me, and I thought of it, seeing the children:

‘When night darkens the streets, then wander forth the Sons of Belial, flown with insolence and wine …’

There was no wine involved, of course, but insolence – my word, there was insolence in those children’s manner, and there was sly, cunning devilry in their faces. A terrible thing it was, and very frightening, to see such bitter hatred in the faces of children. Indeed, it was so strong that this morning I can almost believe the hatred still lies on the air like greasy smoke.