The Downstairs Maid (16 page)

‘Very well. I think I shall retire now. Nicolas, will you lend me your arm please? I find I am tired and may need a little help up the stairs.’

‘Of course.’ Nicolas had sat observing the others but taking no part in the conversation. He stood at once and went to offer his grandmother his arm as support. ‘You should have asked sooner if you were tired.’

‘No, no, I shall spend more than enough time in bed once I’m unable to get about. I like to sit with my family at night, though I cannot keep late hours.’

‘I shall go up now,’ Lizzie said and rose. She kissed her mother’s cheek and smiled at her father. ‘Goodnight, Papa. Don’t worry. I shan’t do anything stupid.’

‘I have every confidence in you, my love. Sleep tight and don’t worry about this unpleasant business.’

‘Goodnight, Amy – unless you’re coming up?’

‘I’ll pop in and say goodnight soon,’ Amy said. ‘I want to talk to Father for a while.’

Lizzie nodded, following her grandmother from the room. She waited patiently for Nicolas to help the elderly lady up to the landing, then ran up the stairs and caught them at the top.

‘Goodnight, Granny. You’re not unwell, are you?’

‘Not at all, my love. Run along now. I want a few words with Nicolas.’

Lizzie kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight then.’

She went past them and down the hall. What did her grandmother have on her mind? Had she decided to put Jonathan out of his misery at last? Nicolas had no expectations at all and was uninterested in the question most of the family found of such burning importance. However, Lizzie knew her grandmother’s feelings too well to believe that she would not leave Nicolas some part of her estate.

Going into her room, Lizzie sighed as she sank down on the comfortable bed and released her hair from its ribbons. The style was a little too young for her but she had no maid of her own and was forced to do her own hair if Mrs Marsh was busy with her mother and Amy. Tying it back with a ribbon was the easiest way to keep her thick, ashen locks tidy for they had a natural spring and would not stay confined for long in any other way.

As she undressed she wondered vaguely what Amy wanted to say to their father that was so important it needed to be said that night.

‘A maid of your own?’ Lord Barton frowned at his daughter. ‘You’ve always managed with Mary or Mrs Marsh before. Doesn’t one of the parlour maids help you now and then?’

‘Yes, Mary sometimes comes to help with my gown or dress my hair. Her work is adequate for when we dine alone at home, Papa, but I am going to be dining out more in the future. Mary has other duties. I need another maid. Besides, Mrs Marsh doesn’t always have time for me
and
Mother.’

‘It would take some time to find a trained lady’s maid these days – and she would be expensive. Perhaps we could get another girl in to help with Mary’s work and Mrs Marsh could give her some extra training in dressing your hair.’

Her father sipped his brandy, twirling it so that the rich liquid clung to the glass as it warmed in his hands and gave off a wonderful aroma. The glass was heavily cut and matched the others on the large silver tray. Despite the old-fashioned furniture, the room was comfortable, its colours of crimson, gold and blue rich rather than faded, the drapes having been renewed only five years previously. A jade chess set stood ready on a table made for the purpose and small pieces of silver, figurines and porcelain bowls cluttered every available surface.

‘That would be sufficient for the moment. I shall of course have my own maid when I’m married. Arthur will insist on her being properly trained.’

‘He will also pay her salary, Amy. You know very well I’m pushed to the limit now – and I refuse to ask your grandmother to pay for a dresser for you.’

‘Then I suppose I shall just have to accept extra help from Mary.’ Amy looked disappointed. ‘I shall ask Arthur to advertise for a suitable girl.’

‘We could do with another girl to help in the kitchen and perhaps do some of Mary’s work,’ Lady Barton said. ‘Mrs Marsh has been asking for some help for Cook for a while now. I’ll tell her to look for someone who won’t mind what she does. June could move up to parlour maid, and the new girl will do the rough work.’

‘If that is your wish,’ Lord Barton said. ‘You had best speak to your mother about her wages.’

‘Mama always pays for the kitchen staff,’ his wife said. ‘It is the reason I suggested it happen that way. She might not be as happy to pay for Amy to have her own dresser.’

‘I am certain she wouldn’t. I must admit I was surprised when she came up with the idea of a ball for Amy.’

‘It is as much for Lizzie’s sake as mine,’ Amy said and fiddled with her ring. ‘Lizzie might have had a season in view this year, had things been different.’

‘Lizzie can wait a bit longer. Perhaps next year, if things go well for me.’

‘She told me Grandmama has hinted that she will pay for her to have her season next year. It wouldn’t be a good idea at the moment because of my wedding. Besides, she may be eighteen but she is too young in her ways – look at the ribbons she wore this evening. Lizzie should be putting her hair up now.’

‘Yes, well, if that is all you wanted, you may as well go up now. I have some work to do in my library.’

Amy said goodnight, left her parents and went upstairs to her sister’s room. Lizzie had already undressed and was perched up against a pile of lace-edged pillows reading her book. She put it down and smiled as Amy sat on the edge of the bed.

‘So, Granny is giving you a grand dance for your wedding,’ Lizzie said. ‘Are you excited?’

‘Yes, I am. I think it will be lovely to see the manor polished and shining and dressed for a ball. Perhaps we could persuade Grandmama to put some of the clutter away for a while. We shall have to think of a theme, Lizzie. If we bought some material we could make garlands ourselves. Would you enjoy that? And of course you will need a new gown. We shall be so busy planning it all and writing invitations.’

‘You don’t have to think of things to do just to make me feel better. I’m not a child. Aren’t you just a little frightened about what happened?’

‘I’m more angry than scared,’ Amy said. ‘I like to ride out alone – unless you come with me. Do you remember when as children at the old house we used to race the milk train on our ponies, where it passed the edge of our land near the river?’

Lizzie nodded. She plucked at the bedcover, which was green like the curtains at her windows. Unlike most of the house, her room had been refurbished recently and she’d been allowed to choose her own colours. ‘Do you miss it – the old house and all the rest of it?’

‘Papa is the one I feel for. The estate was in his family for six generations. To be forced to sell and come here must have been a blow to his pride.’

‘We were lucky Granny invited us. Had she not given us a home we might have had to live in a much smaller house.’

‘Father could have sold the London house rather than letting it out to strangers. He could have bought a smaller estate in the country.’

‘It wouldn’t have been like Barton Abbey, nor would it have been as large as Priorsfield Manor.’

Amy had noticed her father prowling after dinner, filling his brandy glass perhaps more often than was good for him. Perhaps it was because of losing his estate, but she’d become more aware of his unhappiness – the silent look of resentment towards his wife, and sometimes an expression of resignation. Amy was disturbed by it and knew that she did not want to end her life feeling cheated as he did.

Amy picked up a blue glass scent bottle from the dressing table and opened the silver top, sniffing it before replacing it amongst the clutter of bottles and powder jars, bits of ribbons and other trinkets littering the polished top. The perfume was flowery and young, not to Amy’s taste. Lizzie was almost as bad at collecting things as her grandmother. Amy found the mess offensive; she preferred everything to match and asked Mary, the maid who looked after her occasionally, to keep things tidy.

‘Perhaps you are right. Personally, I can’t wait for my wedding.’

She smiled at Lizzie and went out, leaving her to sleep.

Lizzie sat looking at the door as it closed after her.

Tears welled up inside her and a few trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hand and told herself not to be stupid. Of course Arthur would never have looked at her. She was too young. He was older and he wanted someone more sophisticated. Amy was perfect for him.

Lizzie must learn not to mind. Her feelings would mend in time. She would meet someone nice when she had her season and forget she’d ever had a crush on her sister’s fiancé. It was merely a crush and this feeling that she would never love anyone else was ridiculous.

Lizzie thought about the girl that had been murdered. She was so young and she hadn’t had a chance to live and be happy. Lizzie wouldn’t dwell on her unhappiness. It would be dreadful if Amy guessed how she was feeling and it spoiled her wedding.

Reaching out, she turned her lamp down but not out. Lizzie didn’t much like the dark. She preferred a little light in the room if she woke in the night.

‘They’re advertising in the local paper for help up at the manor,’ Ma said when Emily came down for supper that night. ‘You’re dressed up. You’re not going out again, are you?’

‘No, but Harry Standen told Pa he might call to see me this evening.’

Her mother nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘You know your father’s ill? He needs to go away for treatment but the foolish man says he’s too busy. If you found yourself a job he could take on a man full time and then he could go to the sanatorium.’

Emily was so shocked she couldn’t speak for a moment. She’d dreamed of perhaps having a job in the future, but she’d never thought her mother would allow it. Ma had always said she couldn’t manage without her – now she was suggesting she take a job at the manor. The idea horrified Emily.

‘Go out to work somewhere else?’

‘It would be good for you, a nice little job like that up at the manor.’

‘Me work at the manor as a skivvy? Why should I want to do that? I’d rather find work in a shop in Ely. Besides, you need me here and I help Pa on his rounds sometimes.’

‘You mean you like being at home.’ Ma glared at her and folded the paper. She got up to take a tray of rock cakes from the oven and the smell of them made Emily feel hungry. ‘Your father is a fool to himself. I’ve told him he should get a man to help him full time but he says he can’t afford the wages. If you were bringing in a wage he could manage to pay a lad to do most of the work. We can’t always expect Derek to help out for nothing.’

It was on the tip of Emily’s tongue to tell her mother that Derek was paid for his help but she kept silent. ‘Is that what Pa wants? Me to go out to work?’

‘He wouldn’t dream of asking it of you. I’ve told him he must go to the doctor and ask what he needs to do. He says he will but he hasn’t been – and I don’t like to see him so tired. I know he’s thinking of how much it might cost for medicines and treatment. Think about taking this job, Emily – for your father’s sake.’

Emily felt pressured. Her mother was blackmailing her, using her father’s illness to make her feel guilty, trying to force her to take a job she would hate. She sought for an excuse.

‘What about Harry? If I worked at the manor I couldn’t see him often.’

‘Is that more important than your father’s health? There’s no saying you would get the job if you tried, but it would be a help if you were bringing in some money.’

Ma’s face was hard, looking older than her thirty-nine years, with her dark reddish-brown hair swept back from her face and turned under in a roll that went right round her head. It was fastened by hairpins and tidy but far too severe. Like her washed-out blue dress, it did nothing for her appearance. She could have made more of her looks but she’d stopped bothering since she’d promised Pa it was over with Eddie Fisher.

‘You spend half your time with your head in a book anyway.’

Emily felt her mother’s criticism unjust but didn’t deny it. She enjoyed reading, especially since Christopher had found her some novels by Emily and Charlotte Brontë, and was at the moment halfway through
Wuthering Heights
with the promise of
Jane Eyre
to come. Despite her love of reading she never neglected her chores and her mother’s accusations made her smart with indignation.

Just as she was about to answer back, her father came in. He looked tired, his face pale and drained. Emily’s heart caught and she realised that her mother was right. If she was earning money, Pa might be able to afford to take on a labourer so that he could take the time he needed to get well.

‘I shall want you in the morning,’ he said to Emily. ‘Be up early and don’t slip off anywhere.’

‘Of course I shan’t,’ she said. ‘I think I heard Harry Standen’s car. He might take me for a little drive somewhere. Is that all right?’

‘Just behave yourself,’ Ma said. ‘I don’t want you getting into trouble and bringing shame on us.’

‘Em wouldn’t do that,’ Pa said. ‘Besides, Harry is a decent bloke.’

Emily darted at him and kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that she would be good. He grinned and gave her a little push. She went outside to Harry’s little car. He was just getting out to come and call for her and smiled as he saw she’d saved him the trouble.

‘I thought we might drive down by the river and have a drink at a hotel there.’

It was like Harry to think of something special. He was kind and considerate and she went to put her arms around him and give him a hug. Harry hugged her in return, and then kissed her cheek.

‘You’re a nice girl, Emily,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something to tell you later …’

Emily felt her stomach spasm. He wasn’t going to ask her to marry him – was he? She looked up at his face and thought his expression was a bit strange, almost guilty, but then he was smiling and she thought she’d imagined it.

Half an hour later, sitting in the quiet lounge of the small riverside hotel, Harry told her what was on his mind. He’d bought her orange juice and a beer for himself. He fidgeted with his glass for a moment before clearing his throat.