He had, in fact, a new use in mind for the dining-room table. But this was not confided to Mrs. Norris on that first visit.
* * * * * * *
Mrs. Price frequently spoke of moving to her girlhood home of Huntingdon, but she had said the same for many years. Her neighbours concluded her conjectures were merely a topic to vary the usual remarks on the badness of the Portsmouth servants, and so everything might have gone on in the same train, but for an alarming event which befell the Millers.
After the end of the long European war, the high price of bread was a cause of much misery and resentment amongst the poor people of England who came to regard all bakers as their enemies, for the price of their loaves was grown beyond their means. Some of them could read the newspapers, and understood that the Corn Laws held up the price of wheat, which in turn kept the price of bread high, but even though Mr. Miller had nothing to do with the passing of the Corn Law, or any law, he was nonetheless the man who charged dearly for his bread, as did all the other bakers in town.
A small group of angry men, determined to obtain relief and likewise resolved to punish their oppressors, chose the bakers as their enemy. They succeeded in gathering a mob together and leading them through the streets, chanting loudly their demand for bread and justice. The mob swelled rapidly—even some females boldly joined the vanguard—and by the time the ranting crowd rushed down Farthing street, its force and vehemence was unstoppable.
The Millers were unable to defend their property against a howling mob hurling stones and bricks. Mr. Miller and his son were compelled to fly for their own safety whilst the rabble smashed their shop windows and carried away all the bread and flour, and everything else that was movable, from the premises.
The Millers fortunately escaped harm to their persons, but the shock—the outrage—the incident excited in Mr. Miller’s breast was severe. For years, he had been warning of the radicals stirring up the mob, predicting riot and disorder as the inevitable result. The satisfaction of being proven correct, though it raised him in the estimation of his neighbours, could not console him.
He was incensed at being so misused and so wrongfully blamed, and his anger could find no proper release. The crowd had moved so quickly, that no-one had been apprehended and punished. Mr. Miller suffered an apoplectic attack shortly after the riot.
Although Mrs. Price survived the dreadful incident, she was a sufferer, for she was exceedingly alarmed by the riot. The mob had passed right by her door—she might have been murdered, or her house burnt down above her head.
Her resolution taken, she sent a letter to Sir Thomas, entreating him to assist her in taking a suitable dwelling in Huntingdon in Northamptonshire.
Chapter 19: Italy, August 1818
Five days passed without Shelley’s company, five days of surpassing dullness. Mary felt languid and unwell. She practised a little on her harp, she went to the baths, yet all she felt inclined to do was gaze out the window at the road which led down the hill out of town.
Mary had passed all of July and half of August in Bagni di Lucca, and she was now compelled to remain—she knew not how long—until she heard from Shelley. If she departed for another city, leaving directions for her letters to be forwarded, she feared the messages would miscarry, and she would have no way of communicating with him upon whom all her future ambitions depended.
Her maid Lucenza was also moping and sighing and languishing about—sharing all those same varied emotions of love, resentment, and ennui. “Shall we not go for a walk, madam?” was her constant refrain. Mary almost boxed her ears for a stupid slut; Lucenza wanted to seek out her various admirers. Mary knew at least of three—the English valet, a waiter at the restaurant on the plaza, and Shelley’s popinjay of a servant.
The August heat made Mary feel tired and cross, and she had no appetite. Nevertheless she took her seat at the al fresco café, morning and evening, hoping to encounter Miss Clairmont, so that she might learn from her how her step-sister was bearing with the separation from Shelley, and whether she was suspicious or apprehensive of any change in their circumstances. But Claire was not to be found. She had never supposed the girl was an early riser; but she did not appear in the evening either. She no longer made her regular outings for the chicken and ham and sausage that was unobtainable at home. Perhaps, thought Mary, the family abandoned up their all-vegetable diet when the master went away and Claire was eating sausage al fresco in her own back garden. It was most probable, in fact. But without Claire, Mary lost her window into the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Shelley.
About four days after Shelley’s departure, Mary and Lucenza set out for a walk to the post office. This was an unnecessary errand; Madam Ciampi sent her man-servant every day to fetch the letters, but Mary preferred to have an object for her excursions.
Lucenza spied Shelley’s servant before her mistress did—Paolo Foggi was walking slowly up the street from the lower village. Shelley’s manservant was covered with the dust of travel, and carrying a small pack. Lucenza’s face lit up with joy and relief.
Foggi looked up, saw her and smiled, his white teeth glistening beneath his black moustache. “My little Lombard!” he called. “How are you, my dear little one?”
After looking anxiously at her
