Читать книгу Charles Augustus Fenton - Alana Whiting - Страница 12

From there, my recovery was remarkable. If Meg noticed the pouch hidden in my bedding, she chose wisely not to bring it up with the mistress. Those things were best left alone she thought to herself. But she was relieved when on the seventh day her mistress came and removed the mysterious purse. It felt as if she could breathe again and she no longer dreaded coming to pick me up out of the cot.

My appetite returned with gusto. My chest cleared and the hacking cough disappeared. My stomach now filled with stew and dumplings, apple cobbler and egg custard, all of which stayed in my body and gave me renewed strength. Before long the bones became padded with flesh and my eyes sparkled. The joy it brought my parents was immeasurable as they fussed and cooed over me every day. Though Charles would never admit it publicly he realised that this miracle was partly due to Elizabeth’s friend Magda and he reluctantly allowed Elizabeth to visit her weekly as she had before.

As my health improved my father was once again called to Parliament to be part of the select committee investigating the financial viability of the Chartist Co-operative Land Company. The Chartists, and in particular, Feargus O’Connor, still held a vision of workers buying into shares of the company and purchasing estates. As ridiculous as it seemed to my father, the movement was gathering momentum and there were concerns being raised by major land owners about this new development threatening their livelihood. It was up to the committee to unofficially shut it down whilst openly appearing to be neutral. This was a delicate operation and they had to move cautiously, thus keeping my father away for long periods of time. This aggravated my mother and filled her with rancour towards those infernal working classes with their high ideas. Her only pleasures were the frequent visits to her friend Magda and playing marbles with me.

I, on the other hand, looked forward to my father’s journeys. Not because of his absence, but because of the wondrous stories he returned with to fill my ravenous mind. As I recovered my strength, he would regale me with stories of mystical people he had met. Whilst ensconced with the Chartist Co-operative, he was able to have some light relief with a short visit from the diminutive dwarf called Tom Thumb. He was fourteen years old and only twenty-five inches high. He was introduced to society by none other than the famous Phineas T Barnum and made a substantial income by purely making an appearance. My father showed me where the little man stood compared to the length of his leg and I would have given my entire marble collection just to have seen him in the flesh. My dreams were filled with little people and barking Irish battling with the dreaded goblins underground.

My world seemed so dreary and protected to me compared to the bountiful discoveries to be made out there. And so the seasons passed and I impatiently became of an age to be ready for school.