‘You will receive a wage of eighteen pounds a year, along with your board and lodging and uniform. Mrs Banks will detail your duties. Do you have any questions?’
Hundreds, but Constance knew better than to ask. ‘No, sir. Thank you, sir.’
Florence had stood up again, so apparently the interview was over. It had lasted all of two minutes and for this she had got herself into a right state? Seeing him had obviously merely been a formality; it was clear Florence had the say in everything to do with the kitchen and its staff as the butler had intimated.
Outside in the passageway once more, Constance followed the waddling figure of Florence back to the kitchen. Ivy was sipping another cup of tea as they entered and she didn’t seem surprised that Constance had got the job.
‘Agnes?’ Florence called the kitchenmaid over. ‘See to it Constance is given her uniform and show her where she’ll sleep and put her belongings. Run through what will be expected of her while you’re about it.’ Turning to Constance, she said, ‘Agnes is first kitchenmaid and you will answer to her if I am not here. She has been with me for fifteen years and knows how I like things done. My other girls are Teresa, Cathleen, Maria and Patience.’ Each kitchenmaid bobbed their head as she spoke. ‘And Gracie is the other scullerymaid,’ Florence added, looking over at the small figure still pounding away at the meat. ‘Put your back into it, Gracie. I want that beef fine enough to push through a sieve.’ Looking at her mother, she shook her head. ‘Drives me mad, that one.’
The next few hours flew by in a whirl of confusion for Constance. After she’d been given her uniform from the laundry store next to the housekeeper’s quarters, along with a pair of the hideous boots Gracie was wearing, Agnes led her up the back flight of stairs.They climbed three floors to the attics which were icy cold, and there lines of pallet beds stood under the rafters with boxes beside each one holding the occupant’s meagre belongings. It was a dismal place.
Agnes led her over to one at the far end of the attic. ‘This was Dolly’s, the girl you’re replacing,’ she said. ‘You know what happened to her? With the footman, I mean?’
Constance nodded. ‘My aunt told me.’
‘Carrying on with any of the male house-servants is strictly forbidden, but they’ll try it on so watch them. They sleep on the floor below us but you never pass through the door leading into their billets whatever they might say.’ Agnes stared at her. ‘And they’ll say plenty to you, I’ll be bound. Once you reach a certain age, walking out with one of the outside staff is allowed, as long as you confine yourself to just walking out, if you know what I mean. The head gardener and the gamekeeper have cottages on the estate, but the rest of the garden staff and the grooms and stable-boys and what-have-you sleep above the stables or in the building between the stableyard and the greenhouses.’
Constance nodded again. She’d made up her mind she’d steer clear of all the male staff; she wasn’t remotely interested in having a beau, ever.
‘Now as to your duties, I’ll try and tell you everything – but ask me if you’re not sure over the next days, all right?’ Agnes smiled. ‘And don’t look so scared. Cook’s bark is worse than her bite. She prides herself on running a good kitchen and if you work hard you’ll find her easy enough to get on with.’
Constance smiled back weakly. She did so hope so. Remembering something that had puzzled her, she said, ‘When I was in the butler’s room he called her Mrs Banks but I didn’t think she was married?’ Her aunt had never mentioned it anyway.
‘She isn’t, but it’s respectful to address someone in Cook’s position as Mrs. Anyway, that won’t concern you. We call her Cook, it’s only those of the same standing who can address her as Mrs Banks. Mr Rowan, on the other hand, is Mr Rowan or sir, but it’s doubtful you’ll speak to him.’
Her belongings deposited in the box next to her bed, Constance quickly changed into her uniform. The dress and apron felt as ugly and stiff as they looked and the boots weighed her feet down.
‘You and Gracie start work at six o’clock in the morning in winter and six-thirty in the summer.You finish when you finish.’ Agnes wrinkled her nose sympathetically here. ‘If there’s a dinner party you’ll still be washing pots and pans at midnight. You’ll mostly be in the scullery cleaning and scouring all the pans and things, and washing the scullery and kitchen floors. Plucking the poultry and skinning the game is part of your job and Gracie’ll show you how, but be careful how long you leave the birds hanging. Feathering is easier when it’s been hung a while but too long and it won’t only be the feathers that drop out.’
At Constance’s wrinkled brow, Agnes added significantly, ‘Maggots.’ She shuddered. ‘Gracie doesn’t mind them so she’ll leave a bird ten days sometimes, by which time it’s heaving.’
Constance was aghast and her face reflected this.
‘If you don’t like them, then be careful to watch the fat that scums the side of the sinks. You have to scrape it off by hand and put it in boxes for the woman who buys it at the back door for making soap, but the maggots will get in that quicker than you can blink in the summer. Best to clear it every other night then.’
Agnes paused for breath. ‘You and Gracie wait on table in the servants’ hall and once everyone’s finished, you clear away and set the places again. Breakfast’s eight o’clock in the summer and half eight in the winter. Lunch is at eleven and the main meal of the day is half one. Tea’s at five and supper’s at nine o’clock. Once breakfast is over the upper staff join us in the servants’ hall for morning prayer which Mr Howard, he’s the house steward, takes. On Sunday mornings we attend the estate church with the family. You’re allowed every other Sunday afternoon off and a full Sunday once a month, but you’re still expected to attend church in the morning.’
Agnes had turned and led the way out of the attics as she had been speaking. As they descended the stairs she pointed to a heavy green-baize door. Constance had noticed one on each landing. ‘These doors lead to the main house and you must never open them, not ever. If one of the family or any guests caught sight of you there’d be ructions and Cook would have a blue fit. None of us kitchen staff must be seen.’
Constance stared at the back of Agnes’s neat head. ‘When do we go into the main house then?’
‘We don’t. I’ve been here fifteen years and I never have. Only Cook does on occasion when the mistress wants to discuss a special menu or a dish she’s had when she’s been out visiting. If you should happen to be outside in the yards or fetching stuff from the glass-houses or dairy and you see any of the family or guests, you make yourself scarce till they’ve gone.’
Agnes continued to reel out further instructions until they reached the kitchen once more, but Constance found she couldn’t take them in. Her head was spinning, her cap kept slipping down over her forehead and she felt as if she was walking in seven-league boots. The earlier feeling of warmth and comfort brought about by Agnes’s kindness had evaporated, and now she felt lost and lonely and bewildered, and not a little afraid of what was expected of her. If it wasn’t for the thought of Tilly and Matt she would run out of here this very moment and make her way back to Sacriston – which had now taken on a heavenly aura – even if she had to walk every mile of the way, she told herself wretchedly. She didn’t belong here, she’d never fit in. There were so many dos and don’ts, so many pitfalls, and she didn’t think Florence – or Cook as she must be called – liked her.
Ivy looked up as she followed Agnes into the warmth of the kitchen. ‘All right?’ her aunt asked brightly. ‘All settled in?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Her voice sounded very small.
‘That’s a good lass. You’ve landed on your feet here, hinny, and no mistake. Your grandma and granda will be tickled pink when I tell ’em.’
Constance stared back wanly. Her grandma and granda wouldn’t be tickled pink. Her granda’s face had been pulled tight when he’d said goodbye on the morning she left and he’d looked ten years older, and her grandma had cried so much she’d been unable to speak. A great wave of desolation and guilt washed over her.
Florence’s voice, coming at her now, startled her. ‘As you’ve changed, there’s no time like the present to get started, girl. There’s a pile of dishes six foot high in the scullery for starters, and I hope you’re a bit more nimble on your feet and quicker with your hands than Gracie. Drive you to drink that one would,’ she added, turning to her mother. ‘Been here nearly a year and I’m still wiping her nose for her.’
Constance glanced at Gracie who was still wrestling with the pestle and mortar. She must have heard what the cook had said but she gave no indication of it.
Her heart in her boots, Constance went to do battle with the dishes.
Chapter 6
The wedding had been a merry one. After the service, which had gone without a hitch, the wedding guests had made their way to the Johnsons’ house where a fine spread had been waiting for them, courtesy of the womenfolk of the two families involved. The laughter and ribald nature of the proceedings had increased as the afternoon had gone on, ably abetted by the copious amounts of homemade beer and blackcurrant wine the guests had imbibed.
Tilly, dressed in white, felt her face was stiff with smiling, but what else was she supposed to do on her wedding day? The day that was the happiest of a lass’s life. And she was happy, she would have been ecstatic but for the night ahead which was hanging over her like the Sword of Damocles. Matt had been wavering before that little chit had skedaddled to pastures new. She had known it the afternoon she’d caught them in the kitchen, and in the following days he’d been withdrawn, even cold towards her. And then Constance had vanished without a word to anyone, and Tilly had pretended she hadn’t known how upset Matt had been.
She glanced at him across the crowded room. He was talking to the girl’s grandparents, but she’d ceased to fear they would tell Matt where Constance was. For some reason she was unable to fathom they’d told no one where Constance had gone, just repeating how an aunt had heard of a wonderful job further south and it had been an opportunity Constance couldn’t ignore. But she knew where the girl was. She had seen Constance’s name and address on the letters her grandma posted to her regular as clockwork, but that was post-office business and it suited her to keep quiet. With Constance out of the way Matt had gone along with the marriage. She was safe.
Unconsciously her hand went to her stomach under the white satin. Rupert had assured her he knew what he was doing, that there’d be no consequences to their lovemaking, and – fool that she was – she’d believed him. Her mouth tightened. But she’d missed two monthlies on the trot and already her body felt different. Not only that, but the last couple of mornings she’d felt queasy and yesterday she’d come over all queer when her mam had dished up tripe and onions for their dinner. Just the smell had had her heaving. Her mam and da had put it down to wedding nerves, but she’d known for sure then that these particular wedding nerves weren’t going to go away.
‘It’s a bonny wedding, lass, and you look a picture.’
She turned to see Matt’s brother smiling at her. ‘Thanks, George.’ Unconsciously her gaze returned to Matt.
‘He’s like a dog with two tails, as well he might be.’
The forced joviality didn’t fool her. Matt wasn’t like a dog with two tails, more like a dog that had lost one. He’d been the same for weeks, months, and in spite of Rupert and her desire for respectability she’d almost got to the point where she was ready to tell him to sling his hook before . . . Again her hand touched her stomach. And after that she’d had no choice.
No one must know. No one. But was she going to be able to fool him, not once but twice? Initially he had to believe he was the first and then that she’d fallen on her wedding night and the baby, when it came, was early. And Matt was no young lad wet behind the ears. He’d had his fun before he’d taken up with her. Mary Fairley had all but thrown herself at him, and Peggy Lee had already got herself a name before he’d walked out with her for a while. He knew his way around, did Matt.
But she could fool him. She again looked at her new husband. She had done so far, hadn’t she? And once tonight was over she needn’t worry any more. Crying out that it hurt, a few tears and pretending to be shy, that’d do it. And from this day there would be no carry-on with Rupert. Here she conveniently ignored the fact that the postmaster hadn’t come anywhere near her since she had told him about the baby, not even meeting her eyes when she had said her farewells on leaving the post office for the last time the day before. As she had expected, Matt had been adamant he was the sole breadwinner once they were wed.
They would be all right. Again she reassured herself. And at least they weren’t starting off living with the in-laws as so many couples did. Matt had been paying the rent on a house a few doors down from his mam for the last four weeks and they had been lucky to get it. They’d furnished the front room and their bedroom already, there was only the spare room to do and that could wait a bit. She’d keep things nice for him and be a good wife. Everything would work out.
Across the room Matt was telling himself the same thing. It was done now. He was a married man. He had a wife. And nothing could have come of that other thing, he knew that. Constance saw him only as a brother, she always had done. He would have frightened her to death if he’d behaved in any other way. And she was so young, little more than a bairn. He didn’t know what had got into him that day in her grandma’s kitchen but at least he hadn’t made a chump of himself by saying anything. And then in the next day or two she’d disappeared into the blue with this aunt and without even saying goodbye. That had told him all he needed to know. It had felt like a punch in the stomach when he’d heard.
He took another long pull at his tankard of ale. Around him the laughter was loud, the talking and joking vying with the sound of children’s cries as they darted around this room and the kitchen in some game of their own making.