Open Writing

*

December 31, 1853

Rebecca Jackson looked out of her front window. It was very grey and bleak outside. It would be such a pleasure to sit in front of the fire and play cards with her best friends – and forget that it was the middle of winter and a miserable day.

Anna Maria Ramm was the first to arrive, as usual, and Polly, the maid, let her in and took her cape. She came into the lounge where Rebecca had set the card table up in front of the roaring fire. Anna Maria smiled and said, “Well, Rebecca. What do you make of this weather? Cold, windy, wet, just about as bad as it could get, I should think.”

She is the youngest of the foursome, only about 48 – married to John who is a mariner, with three children, John, 18, Emma 16 and Walter now 10. Rebecca was pleased to have her as part of the group as she is probably the wealthiest and best connected. It was quite a feather in her cap to be able to count her amongst her friends. While most of her friends did with one servant, she had three.

“Nothing much we can do about it, but ignore it,” Rebecca says. “Please have a seat. I’m sure the others will be here shortly. Can I get you a small sherry to take away the chill from your walk?”

“I am always happy to have a small sherry – but you know as well as I that I only had to walk past half a dozen houses, and I didn’t get all that chilled in the two minutes it took me.”

“Never mind that. Here is a bit of cheer for us both. And what do you hear from your husband, John?”

“Oh, he is most likely in Amsterdam having a good time before the return passage. He does enjoy his time there. I shall have to go myself one day and see what it is that interests him so. He says the area near the church in the middle of town, called the Oudekirk, has many places of great interest – and he makes a point to visit them each time he is in Holland.”

“Ah, here come the others. Late as usual – but at least we four are all here now and we can start playing soon. I do so look forward to these weekly whist afternoons. It makes a change from my long and lonely afternoons the rest of the week.”

Polly let in the other women, Hannah Lee, a widow of 55, and Judith Fisher, still sprightly at 84, and they give her their cloaks and umbrellas and come into the sitting room. “Hello to your both. How are you? Let me provide you with a glass of sherry to warm your insides before we start our game,” says Rebecca.

“Oh, drinking in the middle of the day! I don’t know if I should. I still have to be getting the supper when I get home later.”

“Oh, one sherry won’t make you tipsy – and your daughter Hannah is old enough now to do some of the household chores. What is she 24? Besides we will have tea and cakes later anyway, which should dispel any after effects of the sherry.”

“I won’t say no, that is for sure. My hands are like ice. Can I sit as near to the fire as possible so that I can unthaw a bit?” asks Judith.

“Yes, of course, move your chair as near as you want. Will you have a top up, Anna Maria?” to the others Rebecca says, “She was hear on time and shall reap the benefits of a second glass.”

“I’m sorry we were late – but you know how it is. You start to get ready and then remember something else you should do, and then forget what you are supposed to be doing. Getting old is not very entertaining and sometimes a great nuisance."

The women sit and sip their sherry for another 10 minutes, and then Rebecca indicates that they should cut for partners. She herself draws the Ace of Spades, a very good omen. Judith draws the Jack of Hearts, Anna Maria draws the 7 of Clubs, and Hannah, the 2 of Diamonds.

“Ah, so it is Judith partnering me, against you two, and I am the first dealer. Shall we begin?”

So for the next hour or so, they concentrate on making tricks and contracts, or trying as best they can to keep the others from doing so. Judith, despite her advanced age, is by far the best player of the group, and Rebecca is so pleased that she had drawn her for a partner. She knew they would win without a doubt, but it was always fun to play, whether they won or not. There are no prizes, just the self satisfaction of having done a good job in exercising one’s brain and proving to all assembled that you aren’t quite ready for the grave.

At just 4 o’clock, Polly came in with the tea things, and the ladies put the cards away, and the table was laid with a beautiful pale yellow embroidered tea cloth with a floral design and lace edging. There were four matching napkins. The fine pale green and white bone china cups and plates were laid, and the silver tea service placed on a table near Rebecca’s right hand and then Polly left the room.

Rebecca poured the milk into the cups and then the tea. The others were left to serve themselves with sugar cubes if they wished from the bowl with the silver sugar tongs. The raisin scones and cream cakes today were ones that Rebecca had bought when she ventured down into the village that morning. She bought them from the Bastards’ bakery (such an unfortunate name, she always thought) and although there were several bakers in Cley, she felt that young Mrs. Biddy Bastard made the best cakes. Sometimes it appeared as if her shop was less than immaculate and once Rebecca thought she had seen some cockroaches as she looked towards the wall of the kitchen, but certainly the baking was such that one could not but exclaim as to the talent of the baker. While they drank their tea and ate their cakes, the women discussed their families and the usual topic, the weather.

“Mr. McGilivray, my lodger, fears that there might be flooding the night. He came home briefly at noon and told me not to expect him in at the usual time, as if any ships were in trouble due to the storm, he would be needed. Being the comptroller of customs he needs to be on hand to prevent any looting if there are problems due to ships breaking up in the rough seas.”

“Oh, I am so pleased that I don’t live on the High Street. How tedious it must be for those poor people to have to deal with putting the storm boards in place and moving upstairs each winter when the floods come. We have never had that problem here on the Fairstead, and of course I always keep a good supply of food in, in the winter, just in case we can’t get down to the shops for several days.”

“And how is your daughter, Rebecca? Has she come home this weekend?”

“No, but she sent word with Mr. Tomm that she would be staying in West Runton this weekend, not feeling like risking coming with the bad weather. I shall miss her. I so look forward to our weekend visits.”

“And your lodger, John Steward Dewar from Perthshire, the painter, is he around at the moment? I think he is very attractive. Does not your daughter find him to her fancy?”

“I believe he has a wife he has left in Scotland while he gads about painting our seacoast. He comes and goes as he pleases, and as he has his own key and is quite independent, I am never quite sure where he is or what he is doing. I haven’t seen him today.”

“Well, now we have finished with our tea, I will ring for Polly to take the things away and we can have a few more hands of whist. I believe it is your deal, Judith.”

So the afternoon progressed and by 5.30 when the ladies resumed their cloaks and made their way home, it was completely dark. “See you again next Saturday at the same time,” Rebecca called after them, “and make sure, Hannah and Judith that you come on time if you please.” They put up their umbrellas as the rain was coming down quite steadily and the wind had picked up.

Rebecca sat before the fire, feeling very alone again, even though she had had her friends in the house not ten minutes before. She felt uneasy, restless. “I so wished that my daughter had come home this weekend,” she thought. She was very fond of her daughter, who taught English at West Runton School for Girls. Rachel was 35 years old now – and her only child. Since her husband had died, 8 years ago, she now wished that her daughter would settle down, marry and start a family of her own. How she longed to see grandchildren before she died. Not that she intended to die for some time. She was 64, and many died long before that, but she had her health and her brain was active, thanks to her reading and her card playing.

Rachel did have a young man, Richard Banyon (well not all that young as he was in his mid thirties). She brought him home one weekend. He was also a teacher but at the boys school in Holt – Gresham School. He had come here to Norfolk because his family who now live in Axbridge in Somerset, had lived here half a century ago, and he wanted to see what it was like. He wanted a change of scenery before he settled down, but he had always told Rachel that he intended going back to Somerset – and that he would expect his wife to be pleased to settle in that area and raise their children there.

Rachel does not want to leave Norfolk, where she has lived all her life, but mostly, she does not want to leave me on my own entirely, she mused. Having neighbours and friends for whist is fine and useful, but it would not substitute for having kin near by. When Richard mentioned moving to Somerset, Rachel put it to her mother that if she married him and went there to live, she would like it if Rebecca moved with them. She told her, “I could never do that. My husband is buried in the Cley Churchyard. I shall be buried here too. Our family have long roots and they are all in this area. I am too old to uproot and go to a strange place, no matter how attractive he makes it sound.”

“I suppose if I died,” thought Rebecca, “she would go with him. Perhaps it would suit her very well if I should die quickly enough for her to still be of childbearing age when she married him. I’m not ready to die, but I know that it won’t be all that long before I join my husband in St. Margaret’s churchyard. Perhaps it might come even sooner if I caught a chill and developed pneumonia.”

She was feeling so unsettled and anxious that she felt she must just go out for a walk. No matter that it was dark and wet outside, she was not worried about that. She put on her warm cloak and took her large black umbrella and set off Fairstead towards Church Road.