The Quest of Miss Postlethwaite

Chapter Two

Arabella had turned eighteen, both apprehensive and excited she started the long journey to find her father. Elizabeth tried to persuade her not to embark on the venture telling her it may be too dangerous. 'Besides,' Elizabeth had stressed, 'your father may have gone abroad or at worse, he may be dead. I hope it will not turn out to be a fruitless journey.'

When her Aunt spoke this way, Arabella became introverted and unhappy. The thought she may never see her father again, was unthinkable.

Steeling herself against the biting March wind, she pulled her thick muffler tightly around her face. Her long winter coat protected her slight figure. Her chestnut brown curly hair was neatly combed to the nape of her neck and concealed under a large bonnet. Arabella was thinking of Mary her mother, who had brought her up on her own until Elizabeth, her aunt had stepped into the breach when her mother had passed away. She recalled the conversations they’d had while sitting by the coal fire in the cosy kitchen, which Henry once painted, in a soft buttermilk colour, later discoloured by the smoke from the fire. Her mother had stitched some pretty lace curtains for the small windows and embroidered cushions for the two wicker chairs, which Arabella and her mother sat in on cold nights. The small wooden table covered with crisp white linen stood in the middle of the room. An old Welsh dresser housing brightly patterned cups, and plates leaned against one wall. Despite its sparseness, everything was clean and shiny in the tiny kitchen as Mary scrubbed the surfaces and oil clothed floor every day.

'Henry's a good 'ard working man,' Mary would say as she brushed the brown tiled hearth harder. 'All ‘e wants is a safe and secure future for me and you, my little Arabella.’ Mary would ease her back and set to brushing again. 'Vowed he'd return a rich man and sure as eggs, one of these days, we'll see yer father walk through the door with a broad smile on his face and a pocket full of money.'

'Why did he go away mother?' Arabella asked.

'He needed to work love; the local grocers closed and in no need of an assistant. Farmers ‘ave their own hands; they didn’t send fer yer father, to ‘elp on the land, and he’d never go down the 'pit.'

Why not mother?'

'Well love 'e's a proud man, 'ad been brought up proper like until his parents disowned him.'

'What's disowned?' Arabella asked innocently.

Ignoring the question her mother went on, 'e would always be telling me he’d ‘ave his own business one day. He said to me more than once, Mary, I am not afraid of hard work. There is nothing for me here. I need to be away off to London to earn decent pay. 'So yer father up sticks and left us to find his fortune; not that he hadn't one before,' Mary sniffed, bitterly. 'Sometimes he'd say ‘ow, he didn't understand why his sister remained distant after their parents' death, thinking she may have at least sent a note to see 'ow, he and his family were faring. Still I suppose she 'ad her reasons,’ Mary added.

In her young mind, Arabella pictured her father wandering the streets of a big city alone and looking for work. She often wondered if he’d made his fortune, but if he had, then why had he not come back to them. She imagined when older she would go and find him. Her thoughts would stray, seeing herself riding in a carriage or on a train; venturing out into the wide world beyond Golborne in search of him.

The house they lived in, although small had a scullery where Mary could dry washing on a wet day. The tin bath hanging on the back of the door, taken down once a week and placed in front of the kitchen fire, so mother and daughter could have a hot soak all over. At other times, a stand-up wash using the washstand in the corner of the scullery, was all they did. A wooden shed stood at the end of the paved back yard. Housed in here was the 'privy' -toilet - next to this shed, a metal coal bunker.

Arabella sighed remembering vaguely how her mother, a skilled seamstress, had taken in work when her husband deserted them.

'Mother do you ever get lonely without father for company?'

'Yes love I do sometimes,' Mary said sewing the cambric carefully, 'but I 'ave you my little Arabella.' It was always the same reply.

Arabella recalled how she would spend hours reclining on the single iron bed with the flock mattress, covered with a clean white sheet and coverlet and a valance that touched the floor to hide the chamber pot held beneath, for it was always too dark and cold to venture down the yard at night to use the 'privy'. Pushed against the bedroom wall was a small oak chest that could house accessories and undergarments. On top lay some storybooks. Arabella's clothes and Sunday best dresses and coats hung in a matching oak wardrobe, almost reaching the ceiling; her shoes placed at the bottom on a wooden platform.The bedroom was kept warm in winter from the coal fire in the kitchen directly below. In summer, the sun's rays heated the room most of the day. Mary made two rag rugs; they lay on the oil-clothed floor either side of the bed.

Mary's room was similar to her daughters with a double bed and a large oak chest, which had housed both, her and Henry's accessories and garments. The oak wardrobe had much more room to hang her few dresses and coats now that Henry was no longer there. A small picture taken on their wedding day had faded in the sunlight, but it was still kept on top of the chest facing toward her bed. Sometimes Arabella would sneak into her mother's room to look at the picture, trying to recall her father's handsome face and tall stature. He looked proud and smart in his best suit.

'What does my father really look like, mother?'

‘He’s very ‘andsome, with dark hair and brown eyes and a wonderful smile and so tall and slender.’ Mary described Henry with affection. ‘He loves us both my little one.’

Arabella remembered how their home was pleasant and welcoming. Mary was always cleaning to keep the house free from the constant dust emitting from the local coal mines. Occasionally, her mother would take visitors into the sitting room where father used to sit in his rocking chair by the fire on cold evenings warming his stocking feet and smoking his pipe. Mary would be on the sofa knitting or sewing always keeping her hands busy while Arabella played with her dolls.

Only after years without so much as a postcard to tell them Henry was alive and safe, did her mother stop saying she was certain he would come back. Instead, she refrained from mentioning his name at all. Moreover, there had been no sign of his return since his departure and now her mother had passed away without ever having set eyes on her husband again.

In the earlier years Arabella, was educated at St Thomas Church School. A red-brick building, surrounded by heavy iron railings, with high steel-framed windows, kept open all year round. There was no heating in the classrooms in winter. Never-the-less, Arabella accepted this is where she would attend until the age of sixteen. Luckier than most, she had a keen mind and willingness to learn, despite the austere surroundings. Some of the teachers were nuns. Arabella remembered how strict they had been; often smacking the children hard on the back of the hands or legs with a wooden ruler, if they did not pay attention or talked in the classroom. Arabella would hide her sore red hands from her mother, not wanting to worry her about the ill-treatment of her educators.

A sharp contrast to her early life, Arabella recalled how the great house on top of the hill had differed so much.

Her aunt Elizabeth, whom she had grown to love, had patiently taught her to become a lady. Although Arabella had basic manners, she had a lot to learn.

'Sit up straight dear; walk as though you have a poker up your back; keep your head upright and your eyes focused,' Elizabeth would encourage ensuring Arabella learnt, correct deportment. She showed her niece how to welcome company and become a good hostess; the correct procedure for pouring tea and playing cards.

Many soirées were held at Aunt Elizabeth's' home. Arabella was encouraged to join the ladies for afternoon tea and soon knew how to receive visitors, keeping a steady conversation going throughout, on all manner of subjects. Some of the ladies, despite the fact they knew her father, at first looked down their noses, at Arabella, having been aware of her mothers' socio-economic status; most acknowledged though, Mary Postlethwaite was a highly acclaimed seamstress and some even owned garments that she had helped to make, in the shop where she had worked. They soon warmed to Arabella, as she rapidly grew into a young lady.

Daughters of the ladies would accompany their mothers, sometimes. Arabella looked forward to chatting to these girls of her own age. Clarissa Greenwood, with her jet-black hair and ebony eyes was polite and kind with a good sense of humour, a favourite of Arabella's. Margaret Browning, a plump girl with golden curly hair and green eyes, had a timid nature, often found blushing at the slightest jest, was a little younger than Arabella and Clarissa.

Arabella's governess Miss Brown, a kindly middle-aged woman, who had never married, but been pursued by a few suitors when she had travelled extensively in Europe as a nanny to an ambassador's children, educated Arabella to a high standard. Miss Brown often supplied books from personal private stock. Her charge soon became proficient in German and French and her own native English. History was Arabella's favoured subject, and she excelled in it, together with needlework and art. Despite the privileged up-bringing, she insisted in keeping her feet firmly on the ground showing no signs of snobbery or indifference to those less fortunate than herself. Arabella mixed with both rich and poor, alike.

Elizabeth had been putting aside a small amount of money for some years, and presented her niece with a sizeable amount, before she left; more than enough for a carriage fare to London and any ancillary expenses Arabella may need on the way. Thanking her Aunt for her kindness, she told Elizabeth of her intention to pay her own way. She accepted the gift gratefully though, as she had no other private means, until she secured some sort of paying position.

Stopping overnight at various places on route to rest, Arabella was more than half way to her intended destination of London, in Oxford, a city of spires and gargoyles. Extremely different to the rolling hills and landscape she'd left behind. Early evening, the cold more intense, and her mood gloomy, Arabella hurried along the cobbled street, in Headington, east of the city, sniffing at the pungent smell of horse dung dropped in the street and not yet shovelled by the manure boys. Noticing the shiny brass doorknobs and whitewashed steps of imposing houses she passed on her way towards Jermin Street where she had taken lodgings, Arabella was startled when a well-dressed figure appeared from nowhere.

Chapter Three

‘Oww!' she screeched, steadying herself, and smelling alcohol.

'Charles Linton, at your service ma'am.'

Arabella detected a well-educated voice. Unlike the broad dialect of Lancashire people, she was used to. She had been taught to soften her own vowels, affording her a melodious tone with only a slight twang to her Northern accent. 'You nearly had me over in the street Sir, and if you pardon my saying, you aren't in a fit state to be at my service.'

He took her arm to steady himself. 'You are quite right Miss. I sincerely apologise.'

Momentarily, she felt excited at his warm touch. Casting him a sideways glance, she saw that he was handsome and his large dark-brown eyes lit up, when he smiled.

He proceeded to walk alongside her, concentrating on each step he took.

'Excuse me for asking Sir, is this the way to your home?'

'Why no Miss I live in Kerden Street, Summertown, North side of the city, but I thought it only right to accompany you on the rest of your journey,' he said slurring his words.

'I really don't think that is necessary,' Arabella stated curtly, making him frown, his facial expression showing hurt. 'I'm unaccustomed to walking along with strangers, especially those who almost knock me down,' she laughed.

'Forgive me, I thought I had apologised for our altercation. As you may be aware, I have had too much to drink this evening and was not looking where I was going. By way of a proper apology, I thought it only correct to ensure your safe passage to your destination. Of course if you would rather continue on your own -'

Arabella shook her head. She wanted this young man to carry on walking with her. 'It's good of you to be so courteous.'

'Well if I am to walk with you, may I ask your name?'

She smiled, 'It is Arabella.'                       

'What a beautiful name and befitting to one so lovely.'

 Blushing she hid her face under her bonnet. 'You said your name was Linton.'

Putting his hand inside his coat pocket, he pulled out a card showing his full name and address and proffering it to Arabella, as he gave a slight hiccup. 'As you can see my first name is Charles. You may call me Charlie or Charles, whichever you prefer,' he tittered.

'I think Charles suits you best.'

'To which destination are you headed?' he asked.

'I was on my way back to my room in Jermin Street before continuing on my journey.'

'Your room, you mean you are only here temporarily?' Charles sounded upset.

'Yes I am afraid so. I will go on with my travels in a few days' time, when I am rested.'

'May I enquire as to where you are headed?'

'You may. It's to London that I'm bound.' Arabella sounded as far away as the destination.

'Ah the allure of old foggy London town, eh?' he teased. Feeling concern for the young woman, who seemed unaware of the dangers she may encounter in the undesirable city, with its vagabonds, thieves, and unsavoury characters roaming about. London was not the sort of place Arabella should be considering travelling to alone, Charles mused.

Arabella deep in thought, wishing she could linger in Oxford, imagined Charles could make her brief stay, more pleasant.

'So Arabella, your room, which house is it in?' Charles asked as they turned into a street lined with big Victorian town houses.

'It's that one with the blue door. My room is at the top and quite modest, all I could,-' she stopped embarrassed, before revealing anything more.

'It has been a pleasure to walk with you, Arabella. Perhaps,' - he hesitated, 'would you think me too forward if I were to ask if you would have lunch with me tomorrow?’                                                                                       

Blushing, she paused - 'That would be very pleasant. Thank you.'

'I shall call here for you, at noon then.'

'My landlady is quite deaf, so I wouldn't bother to ring the bell. I will meet you on the porch.'

'Very well Arabella, I’ll bid you goodnight,' Charles added, bowing exaggeratedly, making her giggle.

Arabella climbed the stairs, to her cold dreary room. What was she thinking of, making a luncheon date with a stranger, her Aunt would not approve she was sure of that. Now she was alone she would have to make her own decisions. A feeling of apprehension and exhilaration washed over her as she reflected on the events of the evening.

She slept soundly and awoke to the ticking of the brass clock on the mantle.

Relaxing in the bathtub, Arabella's mind wandered off to Charles. She had liked his company. He seemed charming and polite even in his 'Cups' - drunken state - and had made her smile with his forward questions and invitation to lunch. Now though, in the cold light of day, she was feeling anxious at the thought of meeting him again.

As she descended the steps leading from the front door, Arabella could see Charles was waiting on the covered porch.

'Good day Arabella and how fine you look.'

Her head high and back straight Arabella was like any young lady, who could have been to finishing school in Switzerland. 'Thank you, Charles,' she said, averting her gaze.

He proffered his arm, and she let her hand rest slightly on his elbow.

'Well I hope you are hungry Arabella. The eating house I am proposing serves hearty lunches.'

'I am quite; I feel I haven't eaten for days.’

'Then I am pleased to be of service.'

They walked on in silence. Stopping in front of an Inn with a heavy oak door, Charles declared they had arrived and led her into a dimly lit room.                                                        

She felt the warm and smoky atmosphere and smelt delicious aromas coming from the kitchen. A pang of hunger ceased her.

They sat by the steamed up window. Charles asked if she would like a drink.

She declined.

He ordered a glass of beer. 'So tell me what brings you on this journey?'

At that moment, the waiter appeared with menus and asked if they would like wine with the meal.

Charles ordered a carafe of red wine and two glasses. 'You haven't answered my question Arabella.'

'Which question was that Charles?'

'I was asking what brings you on your travels.'

Arabella hesitated. 'I'm searching for someone special whom I've not seen for many years. It could be futile, but I must try.'

'It sounds mysterious,' Charles said intrigued. 'Is it a relative, a cousin, brother, or sister perhaps?'

'No not any of those,' she answered, avoiding telling him the true reason.

The waiter placed a steaming hot dish of roast beef, potatoes, and vegetables in front of her. She ate with gusto.

Charles spoke on many subjects, during the meal. Enthusing on his love for the fine architecture of Oxford's famous colleges and buildings and told of the numerous books, he had borrowed and read, from the Bodleian library. He spoke of his overwhelming pleasure when listening to classical music, especially the works of Brahms and Tchaikovsky.

Arabella agreed and nodded her interest. Suddenly, she felt light-headed. She had drunk a couple of glasses of wine and felt a little woozy.

Charles suggested a short walk in the park. They meandered through the gardens' breathing in the beautiful scents and admiring the sweet-smelling flowers, planted between the neatly trimmed borders.

At the end of the afternoon, Charles reluctantly suggested he accompanied Arabella back to her room. As they crossed the road, he noticed an abundance of horse muck. 'Arabella, do take care, the horses he paused - 'your shoes are so delicate.'

She smiled at his concern. 'I have avoided several unpleasant droppings, Charles I'm sure I can cross without spoiling my footwear.'

Hesitating outside the imposing building, Charles took Arabella's hand and lightly brushed the back of it with his gentle lips, his long moustache tickling; a kiss as light and soft as butterflies' wings, Arabella thought as she withdrew it, feeling a slight shiver of delight pass through her. 'Thank you my dear Arabella for your charming company. May I see you again before you dash away to London?'

Arabella was in a trance, thinking of his gentle caress against her bare skin.

'Did you not hear me? I asked if we could meet again before you continued your journey,' he pressed.

'Oh Charles, I'm sorry I fear I will have no time’ - she broke off, instantly regretting her hasty refusal.

Charles detecting a twinge of disappointment seized upon it. 'Are you sure you will have no time at all? I would really like to see you again, if only briefly before you move on,' he implored.

Answering more positively Arabella said, 'I would like very much to meet, but it must only be brief. No,' she reflected, 'I'm sure I can make a little time tomorrow in the afternoon if that is acceptable to you.'

‘Shall I call for you here Arabella?’

'No I will meet you at the fountain in the park, around four o'clock.'

'I look forward to it,' Charles said, removing his hat and bowing slightly.

Arabella felt a warm glow surge through her. Stealing hastily to her room, she did not notice the normal sparse drabness or chill of it. Removing her outdoor clothing, she sat by the window, in the old winged back chair, covered with a worn faded throw, recalling what had occurred in the past twenty-four hours. She’d met a man, had lunch, taken a walk with him, and had made a further assignation. What would her Aunt think? Arabella was certain she would be outraged.

Chapter Four 

He arrived before her and watched as she walked slowly towards him. A remarkable sight, he mused. Stretching out his hand to greet her at the same time tilting his hat, Charles asked Arabella if she was well.

'Yes thank you and you?'

‘Very well indeed Arabella, especially now you are here,' Charles smiled.

She wished she could control her emotions. She was blushing again.

'Shall we walk?' he suggested.

Falling readily into step, neither spoke, although obviously aware of each other.

Arabella sensed his warmth. Holding onto his arm, she could feel the quality of his dress. Breathing in his expensive scent, she savoured the aroma of Makassar oil, which kept his hair in place. A good deal taller than she was, he walked with a confident step.

Charles smelt the sweet lavender fragrance, as her slight frame nudged against him. Her hair neatly tucked into her bonnet with just a few curls poking out around her delicate features, her light-brown eyes slightly moist and the deep red softness of her lips; Charles found it difficult to control himself.

Arabella broke the silence. 'Charles I have something to tell you. Can we sit down for a moment?'

'Of course, there is a bench just over there.'

Composing herself, she began. 'Charles, I want you to understand the past few years have been dreadfully hard for me and the journey I am embarking on may well turn out to be fruitless - ' she hesitated unsure, how much she wished to reveal to him. ‘We are strangers Charles and know nothing of each other's backgrounds, but despite this, I feel I know you quite well. How can that be?'

'Arabella, do you believe in fate? I do. I think it has used its wily hand and brought us together.'

She smiled. 'Oh Charles, before yesterday, my plans were clearly mapped out. I would have gone merrily on my way to London had we not collided the way we did. I admit I am in a quandary as to what to do now.’

'You must do as your heart tells you, Arabella. If you feel you cannot continue your journey at this moment, then you must wait until you are completely sure you wish to go on with it.'

'I think, no, I know, I'm sure I have made up my mind to remain in Oxford City. I'm not quite ready to carry on to London,' she affirmed.

'If that is what your heart desires, then you must obey,' Charles said happily. 'What will you do about the room?'

'I will ask if my landlady is willing to let me keep it a little longer. I think she will be pleased to have me stay on a while. She seems in need of the company not to mention the rent.'

'Perhaps she will give you a finer room, maybe on the first floor instead of the one in the attic.'

'I really don't think that will be possible. You see,' - she stopped not wishing Charles to know she could not afford a room on the first floor. The money her Aunt had given her was swiftly running out.

The landlady Mrs Towson, a widow woman, came from Botley a small village, west of the city. She had opened her modest boarding house, the other side of Oxford in Jermin Street, Headington, when her husband Cecil had passed away several years before. A strict severe woman of average height and slight build, with greying hair and a large hooked nose, could be quite disagreeable. Arabella was a little afraid to approach her. However, she was pleasantly surprised when the subject was broached; Mrs Towson willingly agreed to allow her to stay, although she did not offer her a more superior room. Instead, she suggested Arabella should pay more rent for the room.

Strongly objecting to such a proposal, Arabella pointed out that the room was the worst in the house, being small, cold, dank, and sparsely furnished. 'Mrs Towson, I doubt you would be lucky enough to let it to anyone else, the state it is in.'

The landlady sniffed at the girl's effrontery but did not press for more rent.

When Arabella returned to her room, she counted the money she had left; it was dwindling away faster than expected. Already committed to staying in Oxford for a few more days she must take heed of her spending. If she did decide to carry on her journey, she must set aside her fare to London. She counted out enough to cover this, plus more for the few day's rental she would need when she reached the city and some, she put by for food. Her heart sank when she observed the money she had left in her hand. There was nothing left for any other necessities. Oh, how stupid she had been to think she could afford to stay here longer than planned.

It was all his fault. If he'd not bumped into me, taken me to lunch, walked in the park, and brushed the back of my hand with his soft lips, I would not be in this predicament now, Arabella thought angrily. Sighing deeply she decided to seek him out and tell him she had changed her mind and would not remain in Oxford. As for her landlady, well, she would think of some excuse to tell Mrs Towson, why it was impossible to prolong her stay. Just as she was donning her hat to protect her fair skin from the midday sun, she stopped abruptly on hearing his familiar voice calling out her name. Unprepared for a discord, she muttered annoyed, 'It's him, Charles, he has superseded my intention of confronting him.' Slowly she descended the stairs, and as she pulled open the heavy door, his smiling face, and his dancing eyes greeted Arabella.

'Hello Arabella, I thought I would surprise you,' he said holding out a small posy of flowers to her.

'Charles, oh the flowers they are lovely, thank you,' she murmured flustered by the gesture in spite of herself. She had intended to berate him, but somehow could not bring herself to be angry. 'Wait, I'll take the flowers inside and put them in water, or they will wilt in this heat.'

He tossed his hat between his hands impatiently, and as soon as Arabella stepped outside, he took her arm and without preamble walked her briskly in the direction of the park.

'Charles please slow down,' she said breathlessly, 'why are you in such a hurry?' she asked holding up the hem of her skirt, which was restricting her pace.

Ignoring her protestations, he carried on at the same pace almost dragging her along.

She stopped dead still and refused to walk any further until he told her the reason for his haste.

'Arabella we have to hurry, or we will miss the start,' he insisted

‘The start of what?’

'The beginning of the show silly.'

'Wait, what show?'

'The show I am about to treat you to, which if we don't put a spurt on, we'll miss.' He was grinning at her.

With no further objection, she hurried alongside of him.

As they reached the park gates, the crowds were forming a queue. Charles held Arabella's arm tightly and ushered her forward to take their place in line. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘we haven't missed the start.'

'Charles would you mind telling me now what this is all about?'

'Arabella you are soon to witness one of the greatest shows on earth. The Circus has come to town,' he announced. 'Didn't you notice the posters pasted everywhere?'

'Well yes, of course I saw them. However, I did not think that was where we were headed Charles.'

'Why ever not, don't you like the circus?'

'Yes indeed I do.' Arabella was smiling, at the prospect of seeing the show.

Charles paid the entrance fee of sixpence each, which would afford seats on the front row. One of the helpers escorted them to two of the best in the house.

'Is this alright for you?' Charles asked.

Arabella was stunned. Only a few hours before, she had been going to tell him she could not stay as planned. Now she was sitting in the big tent of a Circus parade with Charles beside her, and she felt excited. He had mentioned before that he thought it fate they had