Authors: Irene Carr
‘
Father! Cecily said clearly. ‘That is the burglar who tried to steal from us last week!’ She pointed a finger.
‘
Him?’ Charles said, startled.
The policemen paused in their pacing.
‘What was that, Miss?’ one asked.
The man was still walking towards them. Cecily was hidden from him by the taller men.
‘I saw that man burgling our house last week,’ she repeated.
Charles stepped into the man
’s path. ‘A moment, sir, if you please. I want to talk to you.’
‘
What the hell d’you want?’
‘
My daughter saw you stealing from my house a week ago,’ Charles charged him.
*
* *
For a second Jasper did not associate this poised, fashionably dressed fifteen-year-old with the girl in the dressing-gown, her hair down her back. Then he recognised her — and, at the same time, saw the policemen close in on him, cutting off escape. He determined to bluff it out. He laughed.
‘That’s a lot o’ nonsense! When did you say this was?’
‘A week ago today, last Wednesday,’ Charles answered, sounding uncertain now: perhaps Cecily was mistaken.
‘
That settles it, then,’ Jasper claimed. ‘I was at home with my wife all that evening, wasn’t I, love?’
‘
Course he was,’ Flora backed him up, stoutly. ‘I never heard the like, accusing an honest man on the word o’ some empty-headed young lass.’ She tossed her head.
‘
Are you sure, Miss?’ one of the policemen asked Cecily.
‘
0’ course she isn’t.’ Jasper grinned, but his eyes glared at her. ‘Little lasses make mistakes so I’ll say no more about it.’
Little lass!
‘I haven’t made a mistake!’ Cecily replied hotly. ‘He is the burglar and he has a picture of a slut tattooed on his chest. Look and see.’
‘
Will you come with us to the station so we can confirm what you say, sir,’ one of the policemen said. It was not a question.
Jasper knew it and ran, but the crowds hindered him. Charles gave chase, shouting,
‘Stop! Thief!’ The cry was taken up and a strolling dandy leaped on Jasper, tripping him, and they both crashed to the ground.
Charles was on him at once, and then came the policemen, with handcuffs.
‘All right, sir. We’ve got him.’
*
* *
On the day of the trial Cecily received a letter from Estelle Beaumont, her erstwhile governess, in which she said she had secured a position with a good family in Hampshire and was happy. She thanked Cecily for all she had done and the girl went with her father to the court in a happy frame of mind. Flora lied determinedly to save Jasper, but the evidence of Horace and Cecily, particularly her knowledge of the tattoo, was damning.
Jasper was sent down for twelve years and was lucky it was not more. When sentence was pronounced he glared at Cecily and bawled, ‘You little bitch! I’ll see my day with you! I’ll swing for you!’ His curses came back to her as he was dragged down to the cells.
They were echoed by Flora, but Cecily gave her a cold glance of contempt and turned her back.
‘Can we go home now, Father?’
‘
Of course.’ In the cab he said, ‘You did very well.’ Then, ‘Did his threats upset you?’
‘
He’ll feel differently after twelve years. And, anyway, he’ll be an old man then.’
She did not lose any sleep over it and soon forgot the affair.
Jasper would not.
DECEMBER 1902, NORTHUMBERLAND
‘Ah! You villain! I shall not surrender myself to you!’ Liza, soon to be seventeen and playing the part of Lady Angela, clasped her hands to her bosom in anguish. The audience cheered. The sketch was being performed in the hall at the Grange. The members of staff without parts squatted on the stairs while the Gresham family, parents and three of their four children, sat on chairs in front of them. The stage was the floor of the hall, the ten-foot width of it, flanked by ‘wings’ of temporarily rigged curtains.
‘
You have no choice,’ the villain sneered. ‘You must wed me or take the consequences.’ Gillespie, in false beard, pointed his pistol and the audience booed.
‘
Never!’ cried Liza. ‘Death before dishonour!’
‘
Ooh!’ wailed family and staff alike.
‘
You reckoned without me!’ Toby, the Greshams’ eighteen-year-old eldest son, home from school for Christmas and dressed as a naval officer, burst from the wings to cheers. He was popular with all the staff, tall and good-looking, with a ready smile. Now he stumbled on a trailing curtain but recovered to say, ‘Take that!’ He fired his pistol but the cap only fizzled. Gillespie clutched at his chest, then fell —carefully but flat.
Liza threw out a hand.
‘Saved! My hero!’
And the curtain came down, to rise again so that the cast could acknowledge the applause.
‘Author!’ Jonathan Gresham bellowed, and Gillespie took a bow on his own. Then Jonathan went on: ‘You all did well. First class. But an extra cheer for the leading lady.’
Liza blushed. This was the happiest Christmas she had ever known, but it was the culmination of three happy years, a time when she had worked hard but taken pleasure in it. She had found the Grange was not so isolated as she had thought and she had come to love the countryside. There was a village only ten minutes away, with a church and a shop but no pub. She had guessed that that was why Bridie had left. Liza had learned to dance. In the evenings all the younger members of the servants
’ hall would practise their steps to Gillespie’s fiddle. It was their sole entertainment in the winter.
Soon after Gillespie had taken her on he had announced in the kitchen:
‘Mrs Gresham wants an assistant for Madame Jeanne, somebody to do sewing two days a week. Any takers?’
The staff were seated around the table for the evening meal, the butler at the head. He glanced up and down the lines of faces, but they avoided his eye. One said,
‘Not me. That Frenchie is ower fussy and bad-tempered.’ Vanessa Gresham’s French maid was a motherly woman of forty, dumpy and smiling, but with high standards and an acid tongue for those who did not measure up to them. She was not present because she was attending her mistress on a visit to another part of the county. Gillespie sighed. He was reluctant to order one of them to do the job, knowing there would be argument and excuses and probably a blazing row with Madame Jeanne.
Then Liza said, from the foot of the table,
‘Can I try, please, Mr Gillespie?’ In her excitement and embarrassment at speaking out in front of them all it came out in a squeak. But it eased the tension. There was laughter and a call of, ‘You sound like a little mouse, Liza.’
She blushed, but the butler grinned at her.
‘You can try. Report to Madame Jeanne when she returns tomorrow.’
‘
Thank you, sir.’
The others smiled because she had taken the job none of them wanted, but Liza was delighted. She believed this was a step on her way to becoming a lady
’s maid one day, for which sewing and dressmaking were essential skills. Would her needlework satisfy Madame Jeanne?
The Frenchwoman had the same doubts and pursed her lips.
‘We shall see.’ After two weeks she told Liza, ‘You will do. You have a lot to learn but I think that will come.’ To Gillespie she said, ‘The little one is ver’ good,’ and at her urging he asked Vanessa Gresham if Liza might be sent to learn dressmaking one day in each week. Since then she had spent Thursdays in Newcastle, setting out at dawn and returning near to midnight. But she learned, to Madame Jeanne’s satisfaction.
Now Liza felt at home, happy in her work and sure she would progress. She smiled as the others gathered round the actors, congratulating them. But there was work to be done. Gillespie pulled off his false beard and called, Now then, lads! Let
’s have this place put to rights!’ The family had retired so the footmen turned to, carrying away the chairs. The maids took down the curtains and swept the hall, all save Liza, who went to her room to change out of her costume, one of Vanessa Gresham’s old dresses, tailored to fit her.
The green-baize door leading to the servants
’ quarters lay at the end of a passage that ran past the side of the stairs. There she was out of sight of the hall — and Toby waylaid her. He stepped out of a doorway into her path, one hand behind his back. Liza halted. ‘Excuse me, Master Toby.’ She tried to step out of his way, as a servant should, but he moved in front of her again and brought out his hand from behind his back. It held a sprig of mistletoe and he flourished it above her head. ‘Happy Christmas, Liza.’ He kissed her.
Liza was dumbfounded: she had not expected this. She was also momentarily speechless because it had been no peck on the cheek but a passionate kiss on her lips. She stepped back.
‘Master Toby!’ she gasped.
They were both flushed.
‘I had to do that. I’ve admired you for so long, Liza,’ he said.
‘
Don’t be silly, Master Toby,’ she whispered. ‘You mustn’t.’
‘
I can’t help it.’ He took her hand. ‘I love you.’
The instinct that had made Liza whisper told her now that this was dangerous.
‘Please! If your mother or father find out I’ll lose my position.’ She tried to pull away but he tossed the mistletoe aside and held both her hands.
‘
Don’t turn me away,’ he pleaded. ‘We can be careful and no one will know. Please. Don’t you like me?’
That was the trouble. She did.
‘Yes, but—’
‘
All I ask is that I can see you, now and then. You can trust me.’
She thought she could. And she had known him for three years; they had grown up together. Liza wavered. It would only be for another week and then he would go back to boarding-school until Easter. He would have got over his crush by then. Where was the harm?
‘But you will be careful?’ she said.
‘
I promise. Kiss me again.’
She laughed.
‘Get away with you.’ But she brushed his lips with hers, then skipped past him. She snatched up the mistletoe from the floor, because that was part of her job, then passed through the green-baize door and out of his sight.
Safe in her room, she laughed over the incident. She had been kissed by boys before but they had been members of staff, or she had met them on her day off in Blyth or
Newcastle when out with another girl. Toby was different, the son of her employer. Her fear of dismissal was real. She had heard of plenty of cases where a maid had been found with one of the sons of the house and been turned out immediately.
That was a sobering thought, but she was young and there was a frisson of excitement in thinking about Toby.
He was careful, as he had promised. He never touched her or talked to her when any of the family might see them. It was an affair of quick kisses and embraces in dark, out-of-the-way corners. Until he asked her, ‘Will you give me something of yours? I’m going back to school tomorrow. Can I have some small keepsake? Please?’ She gave him her clean handkerchief and he tucked it away in his pocket. ‘I’ll treasure it until I see you again.’
He held her in his arms until she detached herself gently.
‘Goodbye, Toby.’
‘
Until Easter.’
The next day she stood on the front steps, just one of the servants gathered there to see him off, smart in his tailored overcoat. He lingered before her perhaps a heartbeat longer than he had for the others before he moved on, but she avoided his gaze, knowing it would bring on her blushes, and no one noticed. He took his place in the carriage next to his father, the coachman cracked his whip and the twin greys trotted down the drive.
Liza saw him go with relief. She would no longer have to worry that they might be discovered. But there was also a sense of loss and she was miserable all that day. Still, she consoled herself, it was all over now. And she worked harder.
But it was not over. Toby came home at Easter, finished with school for good, and sought her out before he had been
in the house an hour. He found her standing on a stepladder, hanging curtains she had made. She squeaked as he gripped her waist and he said softly, ‘Ssh!’
‘
Don’t!’ Liza whispered frantically.
‘
Come down, then.’ He lifted her off the steps and set her on her feet. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
She was, but demurred.
‘Not if you misbehave.’
‘
I won’t,’ he said, then promptly did.
Liza pulled away from his kisses but stayed in his arms.
‘You promised,’ she reproached him.
‘
I promised to be careful and I will be.’ He stooped to her again but this time she was ready and put a hand over his mouth.
‘
No more!’ she said firmly. ‘Go about your business and let me attend to mine.’