Authors: Irene Carr
She would give him nothing.
‘To put on your mantelpiece? I don’t like having my photograph taken.’
Edward knew that that was not true because he had seen photographs of her in her parents
’ effects, but he had packed them away to give to her when she came of age. Now he said nothing, but it was with no regret that he saw her off on the train on the start of her journey to Lausanne. He had thought previously that he could not imagine anyone failing to take pleasure in raising a child because William had been a joy to him. Now he was not so sure.
He returned to Sunderland with relief. He had transferred the deeds and the administration of the trust to a local solicitor, his good friend Ezra Arkenstall.
‘I’ve not told Cecily how little is held in trust,’ Edward told him. ‘She’s suffered enough blows. I will see she is raised as her parents would have wished and foot the bill myself. She can learn the truth when she is twenty-one and not before. After that she will be able to earn her own living.’
On his second night at home he had dinner with William, whose ship had come into port that day. Afterwards they sat in armchairs before the fire and he told his ward about his new responsibility. William was a man of twenty-two now, a ship
’s captain, tall and wide-shouldered. Edward knew that he said what he meant and meant what he said, so he asked, ‘What do you think?’
‘
I think the lass is going to be trouble,’ William told him bluntly.
Edward sighed. It was the answer he had expected.
William did not know how right he was.
Edward received a photograph of Cecily with a group of other girls, taken at the bidding of the headmistress of her Swiss school and sent to him without Cecily
’s knowledge. It pleased him. That was just as well because she saw to it that there was never another.
*
* *
It was a year of disasters. Cecily had lost her parents. Mean-while Liza was helping to serve dinner under Gillespie
’s watchful eye when the bell jangled in the kitchen, indicating a caller at the front door. The butler frowned. ‘Who can that be at this time?’ He hurried away.
Liza collected a dish of potatoes from the cook and set out for the dining room. As she began to serve them Gillespie appeared, bearing a silver salver on which lay a buff envelope. He took it to Gresham, announcing,
‘A telegram for you, sir. The boy is waiting.’
Gresham took the envelope and tore it open with a twist of his thumb. Vanessa was watching from the other end of the long table, which gleamed with wax. They were dining alone: two of their children were at school now and the youngest was in bed. The telegram fell from his grip and he buried his face in his hands. Vanessa rose to go to him:
‘My dear! What is it?’
He lowered his hands and held them out to her. He stared at her, face contorted.
‘It’s from the War Office. Toby has been killed.’
For a moment all those in the room were frozen in shock. Then Gillespie jerked his head, and herded Liza and the other maid out of the room to give the couple privacy in their grief. Liza, too, needed privacy but could not get it. She had to continue with her duties while she tried to come to terms with the fact that Toby was dead. It did not matter that she wept, however, because several of the girls on the staff did — Toby had been popular. But she was also torn by conscience. Toby had gone into the army because of her.
In the course of the next few days Gresham received a letter from Toby’s commanding officer, expressing his sadness and explaining the freak accident that had killed the boy. It seemed that on a firing practice on Salisbury Plain a shell had exploded prematurely, just as it left the breech, and Toby was caught by the fragments. There was also a box of his belongings. Madame Jeanne helped Vanessa Gresham with these and Liza was called upon as the Frenchwoman’s assistant. Along with his uniforms and other clothing there was a woman’s handkerchief, a scrap of embroidered cotton he had had in his pocket. It did not bear a name. Vanessa sighed. ‘There must have been a girl in London. I wasn’t aware of him showing a particular interest in any he met here.’ She put the handkerchief away carefully, because her son had treasured it.
All of this bore down on Liza. With the other servants she attended the funeral when the coffin was laid in the little churchyard. Gresham and his wife continued to mourn. They resumed their normal lives, or tried to, but they had aged. Liza saw Vanessa several times each day and frequently she was staring into space, her face drawn. It was too much for the girl who believed she had robbed this poor woman of her son. She could not face Vanessa and her grief every day and concocted a story that her mother was ill and needed her. When she gave notice to Gillespie he shook his head in sorrow.
‘I was hoping to keep you for a few years yet. I had my doubts about you when I took you on, a funny little girl all wet from where you’d walked up through the rain, but you’ve turned out the best I’ve seen in many a long year.’ Madame Jeanne was also complimentary, and Vanessa Gresham gave Liza a glowing reference. In the short interview with her, Liza almost broke down and confessed her affair with Toby but managed to hold back her tears. How would Vanessa Gresham look at her?
* * *
‘What are you doing here?’ Kitty Thornton shot up from her chair, alarmed. ‘Are you poorly?’
‘
No.’
Kitty only knew of one other reason for her to come home when it was not her day off, and Liza had dropped her big box on the floor as she came in.
‘You’ve not been sacked?’
‘
No. I gave notice.’ Now Liza clung to her mother. ‘Oh, Mam, I couldn’t stand it any longer.’ And she told her all about it.
Kitty listened, sighed, consoled her and agreed sadly.
‘You were right to give up there, though that was a good place. And you can’t blame yourself for that lad’s death. I think you did right all the way through. You always told him there was no chance. It was just bad luck, that’s all.’
Liza was grateful for her mother
’s support but still felt guilty. Nevertheless she could not sit at home and mope because Kitty needed the money Liza sent her. Besides, she had to make her way in the world. She saw a job advertised in the servants’ weekly newspaper, applied for it and was taken on. The place was in Yorkshire, on the outskirts of Leeds, a great red-brick house. A carter brought her and her box from the station to the back of the house. He set the box down for her, close by the kitchen door, said, ‘Good luck, lass,’ and drove away.
It was October now, the leaves falling. Liza, lonely and heartsore, could just see through the steam covering the kitchen window. There was a small cleared space which someone had wiped to peer out, and people moved inside. Now the door opened and a tall young man stood before her in footman
’s livery. He was red-haired, fresh-faced, handsome and smiling. ‘You must be the new girl.’ He spoke with the accent of a southerner. He stooped and hoisted her box on to his shoulder. ‘I’ll give you a hand with this.’
‘
Thank you.’ Liza had been ready to cry and was flattered by this welcome. She thought it boded well for the job. She could make a new start and she would be happy here.
JANUARY 1904, LEEDS, YORKSHIRE
He came upon Liza from behind, slid his arms about her waist and kissed the back of her neck. She wriggled to free herself and breathed, ‘No, Vince, you mustn’t.’ She had been dusting the library and he had entered quietly. Vince Bailey was the footman who had welcomed Liza to her new position. Right from that first act of kindness she had taken to him and he to her. As he had lugged her box up the back stairs to her room he had said, ‘We’re both new so we should stick together.’
Now she smiled at him, but urged,
‘You get along. We don’t want to be caught and dismissed.’
‘
I don’t mind chancing it.’ He grinned recklessly. ‘You’re worth it.’ But when she gave him a push, he went, warning her, ‘Till the next time.’
Liza
’s affair with Toby had ended in tragedy, and because of this she needed someone when she arrived in Leeds. She clutched at Vince as if he were a lifeline. That had been three months ago and, while she would never forget Toby, she was young and, like Cecily, the wound had begun to heal.
Liza finished her task and left the library. Later that day she was summoned to the drawing room by the wife of her employer. Henrietta Wakely was sixty years old, puritanical and strict. She sat erect in an upright chair, held stiffly by her whalebone corsets, and peered over the top of her
pince
-
nez
.
‘
Are you happy here?’
Liza swallowed nervously. Was this the prelude to her
dismissal? Had she and Vince been seen that morning? She replied truthfully, ‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’
Henrietta sniffed.
‘Good. Mrs Carey says she is pleased with your work.’ That was the housekeeper. She and the butler ran the house for their employers, engaged and dismissed the staff as necessary. ‘See that you go on that way.’
‘
Yes, ma’am, I will.’
‘
Very well. That will be all.’
‘
Thank you, ma’am.’
Outside, Liza let out a sigh of relief and smiled. She was happy, as she had said, had regained her joy in life, yet her pay was no better, the work harder, the hours longer, and the whole household attended prayers in the hall, morning and evening. The difference was Vince Bailey. He was always there to help, with his ready smile. He cheered her from the beginning and especially over Christmas, when there was no amateur drama because the Wakelys did not approve of such things, and the staff party was subdued, without dancing. Liza missed her home and her mother, and Vince lightened her life. After a few weeks his kindness had moved on to courting and she had responded, found it easy. She was hungry for comfort and affection.
The house was in the suburbs of Leeds, and Vince had persuaded the butler to allow him to change his half-day off to coincide with Liza’s; he said it was more convenient for him to visit the library that day. It worked because the Wakelys were keen for the staff to improve their minds. From Leeds Vince and Liza would take a bus ride out into the country, away from watchful eyes, to where they could go walking together. It was on one of these walks, interspersed with kisses, that Vince told her of his plans. ‘I’m saving up to have my own private hotel. I’ve put away my coppers ever since I started in service.’ He flourished a bank book and she saw his name on the cover.
‘
I’ve nearly enough. With my experience I’ll be able to run it easily. My mother is going to be the cook.’
Liza was impressed. She had never thought of having a bank account. What savings she could garner from her meagre salary she kept at the bottom of her box. She thought Vince
’s plan sounded fine and she had heard of servants who had gone up in the world in that way, although usually it was a butler well on in years who had amassed the necessary capital.
Vince put his arm about her and said shyly,
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come in, as a partner? We’d take on some local girls as maids and you could supervise them. You’d be the housekeeper.’
‘
Oh, I hadn’t thought.’ Liza was blushing, caught unprepared. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’ Was this love? Certainly the idea of working in partnership with Vince excited her.
He accepted her answer with a wry smile of disappointment.
‘You haven’t turned me down yet, anyway.’
Liza had not, and she thought a great deal about him and his proposal. She was in an elated mood as her eighteenth birthday approached.
On that great day the other servants came up to her one by one, each to give her a small gift, like a piece of chocolate or a handkerchief. All except Vince. That evening, when work was done and Liza was about to retire to bed, he whispered to her, ‘Don’t lock your door. I have something for you.’ Then he was gone before she could answer.
Her room was at the top of the house, small and cold without a fire. There was just room for her narrow bed and her box at the foot of it. Liza waited for him, nervous, sitting on the bed in the light of a single candle. If they were discovered together they would be instantly dismissed, put out of the house — she was in no doubt of that. But she had left her door unlocked, would not turn him away as she had Toby.
When the door creaked open, Liza caught her breath. Then he was in the room, closing the door behind him, turning the key and, with his other hand, putting a finger to his lips.
‘
What is it?’ Liza demanded. ‘If anyone finds you in here—’
He put the finger over her lips now, smiling, then sat beside her on the bed. He dug into his pocket and brought out a scrap of paper. He unfolded it, and she saw it held a ring. Small jewels winked at her in the candlelight. He offered it to her.
‘Happy birthday.’
‘
Oh, Vince!’ Liza took it, slipped it on to her index finger and held out her hand, admiring it. ‘It’s beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. You’re saving your money, remember?’