The Downstairs Maid (7 page)

‘So we meet again,’ he said and took her hand, leading her surely into the dance. Emily was too tongue-tied to answer. He smelled gorgeous, of some wonderful cologne, and he was dressed in a black evening suit and a white shirt with a frill at the front where it buttoned. She was so shocked that a man of his class should be at the dance that she almost forgot her steps and narrowly avoided treading on his toes. ‘I shan’t bite you know.’

Emily glanced up. ‘I didn’t think you would, sir. I was surprised to see you here this evening.’

‘My brother is home from Eton and my sisters wanted to come,’ he replied. ‘I think you must be Joe Carter’s daughter – but I don’t know your name.’

‘Emily. It’s my first dance. I’m sorry if I almost trod on your toe.’

He glanced down at her feet and frowned. ‘It’s a wonder you can dance at all in those things.’

Emily wanted to die. She’d known her boots weren’t suitable, but she couldn’t afford the material for a dress
and
some proper shoes. She’d never had a pair of pretty shoes in her life; they wouldn’t be much use for life on the farm.

‘They’re my Sunday ones,’ she said and stuck her chin in the air.

‘Yes, I’m sure they are. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude.’

The dance was coming to an end now. He bowed and thanked her, then turned and walked away. Emily’s whole body felt as if it were on fire as she returned to her seat. She picked up her sherry from the windowsill and drank the remainder straight down, coughing as it stung her throat. Tears were burning behind her eyes and she was aware of female voices behind her.

‘What on earth does she think she looks like?’

‘Don’t be mean, Amy. Her dress is pretty and the colour suits her.’

‘Lizzie, you’re simply too kind for your own good. You can see she made it herself – and she has no idea of what a girl like her should wear. That dress would be more suitable for Mama – or Granny.’

The girl named Lizzie giggled. ‘Well, yes, it is too old and sophisticated for her but she has tried to look smart – and it makes her different to all the others.’

‘Have you seen those ridiculous boots?’

Emily got up and moved away. She refused to let any tears fall. The family at the manor were stuck up and she hated them all.

Pa was at the bar. She went up and asked for an orange squash, which he gave her with a smile.

‘Enjoying yourself, love?’

‘Yes, thank you, Pa,’ she said and drank most of her orange. She was hating every minute but she couldn’t let on and spoil his treat.

Finishing her drink, she headed for the toilets. She splashed her cheeks in cold water and looked at herself in the mirror. Her own good sense told her that she looked pretty, even if her dress wasn’t suitable and didn’t go with her boots. Raising her head with pride, she decided to go back out there and enjoy her first dance evening. Why should she care what that lot at the manor thought – or anyone else?

As she walked back towards where Pa was sitting, a man touched her arm. At first she thought it was Jonathan Barton, because he looked a bit similar, except that he had fair hair and his brother’s was darker. Emily knew him for the boy on the pony that day in the fields, and it seemed that he’d recognised her.

‘I almost didn’t know you, Miss Carter,’ Nicolas Barton said. ‘You look so grown up and pretty this evening.’

Emily’s cheeks burned as she met his smiling gaze. ‘Are you making fun of me? I know I look awful. My dress is home-made and too old for me – and my boots don’t go with it.’

‘Really? I had no idea. I just thought how lovely you look …’ The music had started again. ‘Would you dance with me? I’m not sure I know how to do the two-step but I dare say we can do as well as most.’

Without waiting for her answer, he caught her hand and drew her onto the dance floor. A quiver of excitement ran through her as he placed a hand in the small of her back and held her close. She wondered what he was doing and almost broke away, except she could see that everyone else was doing the same thing.

‘Just follow my lead,’ Nicolas whispered, ‘and we’ll be fine.’

Emily wasn’t sure if it was the sherry that had gone to her head, but suddenly she felt like giggling. She smiled at him, relaxed and followed his every move, finding it far easier than she would ever have imagined. He was so confident, so in command that she gave herself up to the pleasure of being close to him and let her body sway with his. Music flowed about them, swirling, gathering them up in a cloud of pleasure so that she felt she was floating on air. How she managed it she would never know but she didn’t miss a step and, when he released her at the end of the dance, she felt as if she were in a dream – a dream from which she did not wish to wake up.

‘Nicolas, you mean thing,’ a voice said and Emily saw the girl who had laughed at her earlier. ‘You promised you would do the two-step with me.’

‘Did I, Amy?’ Nicolas gave her an odd look, almost as if he were cross with her and had danced with Emily to annoy her. He turned to Emily. ‘Thank you, Miss Carter. That was delightful.’

Taking his sister’s arm, he steered her away towards his brother and the younger girl. As Emily sat down at her father’s side, she saw that the party from the manor was leaving.

‘Fancy them being here tonight,’ Pa said and looked at her. ‘You danced with Mr Jonathan in the barn dance I know – but Mr Nicolas asked you for the Boston two-step. How did you know the steps, Em?’

‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘He told me to follow him and I did.’

Pa nodded and then got up, walking in the direction of the bar. She was surprised at how much he was drinking, because he didn’t often drink at home.

‘Would you dance this one with me, Miss Carter?’

She looked up and saw Harry Standen, the farmer from Sutton Fen she’d danced with earlier. ‘What is it? I only know a few steps.’

‘It’s a waltz, and as easy as the two-step you danced with Nicolas Barton. Come on, I’ll show you.’

Emily accepted his hand. She was filled with confidence now. How hard could it be? All she had to do was to follow her partner’s lead.

As they took their places with the other dancers, Emily smiled up at him. She no longer cared that she was wearing boots rather than dancing shoes and it didn’t matter if her dress was too old for her. She was having a good time and a lot of that was due to the way Nicolas Barton had smiled at her – but it was due to this man too. He was just as pleasant in his way and she thought he liked her.

Pa was a little drunk when they left the dance at about half past eleven. Emily couldn’t ever recall him being unsteady on his feet before. They’d walked to the village, because Pa had said they couldn’t leave the horse standing all night. Emily had had to hold her dress up all the way and she’d wiped the mud from her boots carefully before they went into the dance. She’d managed to get there without getting her hem dirty but Pa was going to need help to get home and she couldn’t see how she was going to manage it.

‘Is Joe a bit the worse for wear?’ Harry Standen drew up next to her in what Emily thought of as a horseless carriage. She’d only seen them once or twice in Ely, though Pa said they were the coming thing for the future. ‘Hang on a minute and I’ll help you get him inside. You don’t want to walk all the way home with him in that state.’

Emily gave him a grateful look. Pa was in a good humour and laughing, but he couldn’t walk straight and had almost stumbled twice already. He protested as he was manhandled into the automobile but was ignored by the smiling conspirators. Harry pushed him into the back seat, where he flopped over on his side and proceeded to snore happily.

Harry opened the front passenger door for Emily and she slid in. He tucked her dress in carefully and then climbed back into the driving seat. He’d left the engine ticking over so didn’t need to use the starting handle again.

‘This is lovely. I’ve never been in an automobile before.’ She looked around in excitement. ‘Is it new?’

‘Almost. It’s not bad,’ he grinned at her, then glanced at her father in the back. ‘He’s settled. I’ll bet he has a sore head in the morning.’

‘Yes, I expect so,’ Emily agreed sniffing the pleasant smell of leather from the seats. ‘I’ve never known him to drink so much.’

When she thought about it, her Pa had been changing a lot recently. Not only was he distant with her mother, but he coughed a lot and didn’t eat as much as he had once upon a time. She wondered if he was sickening for something and decided to talk to him about it the next day.

It was nice sitting in the car in the darkness, which was lit only by a few street lamps, the moon having sailed behind a bank of clouds. The little popping sounds made by the engine occasionally and the humming of the tyres on the road were the only sounds, except for Pa’s snores. Fancy her being taken home in style! It made her feel like a real lady.

When they got home, Pa was still asleep. Harry hauled him out of the automobile, heaved him over one shoulder and took him into the kitchen. He put Pa in his armchair, stretching his legs out in front of him. Then looked at Emily.

‘I’ll be over to see Joe before Christmas,’ he said and then surprised her when he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Emily. I enjoyed dancing with you.’

Emily thanked him. She locked the door after him, and then looked round for something to cover her father. He was lolling back in his chair, sound asleep and snoring. She fetched his greatcoat and placed it over him, looked round the kitchen once more and turned the oil lamp down low. There was nothing more she could do, though she knew Pa would feel dreadful in the morning.

Creeping upstairs, she looked in her parents’ room. It was in darkness. Emily spoke softly but there was no answer. She could hear little snuffling sounds from Jack, but Ma was either asleep or pretending to be.

Emily sighed and went down the passage to her own room. As soon as she entered she sensed something was different. It didn’t smell right. There was the smell of cheap perfume but also something else – something she couldn’t recognise. She lit her lamp and looked at the bed. The covers were in place but not as she’d left them. Had someone been in her bed?

Pulling back the covers, she caught the same smell only stronger – it was sort of musky and sharp, like some of the men had smelled at the dance. Her spine prickled. Had a man been in her bed? Surely not! Who would come to her room and get in her bed?

It didn’t make sense, and yet she felt that both her mother and a man had been in her room. Emily pulled the covers back up on the bed, because she wasn’t going to get into a bed that smelled like that. In the morning she would have the sheets off and wash them.

She undressed and put on her warm nightgown, then lay down on top of the bed, pulling the eiderdown over her.

Her senses were telling her that her mother had been in this bed with a man – and the musky odour reminded her of the tallyman’s smell.

Emily frowned as the suspicion formed in her mind. Ma had hidden from the old tallyman but she always welcomed Eddie Fisher with a cup of tea and a cake, even if she had no money to pay – and she sent Emily on errands to her father when Eddie called.

Was it possible that Ma had found a way to pay her debts that didn’t involve money? The thought made Emily feel sick inside. She tried to dismiss it, but the thought stayed there in her head until she finally drifted into sleep.

‘Well, I think you were very unkind,’ Lizzie Barton said. She was in the schoolroom at the manor with her sister, wrapping presents for Christmas, which would be placed under the huge tree in the drawing room downstairs. ‘I’m certain that poor girl heard you.’

‘What does it matter if she did?’ Amy said and tied her pink ribbon in a perfect bow before sticking on a label she’d written in her copperplate hand. Amy seemed to do everything effortlessly and sailed through life like a queen, expecting everyone to make way before her. ‘The Carter girl looked awful and that dress was ridiculous. What did she think she looked like wearing those awful boots with a gown like that?’

‘She probably didn’t have any dancing shoes,’ Lizzie objected. Her beautiful sister was always dressed in the latest styles, but she ought to realise that not everyone was in her fortunate position. Lizzie had felt very sorry for the Carter girl. ‘You’ve been spoiled, Amy. We’ve always had everything we wanted.’

‘For goodness’ sake! She was just a common farm girl.’

Amy gathered up her parcels and flounced out of the room, leaving Lizzie to finish hers alone. Unperturbed by her sister’s show of temper, Lizzie continued to cut paper and lengths of ribbon. Much as she admired and loved her elder sister, Lizzie was distressed by the way Amy seemed to dismiss the feelings of others as unimportant. It was true that Emily Carter’s dress was unfortunate to say the least. She must have copied it from a fashion plate, because the style was similar to something Mama or Granny might buy in Worth’s or commission a skilled seamstress to make. A gown like that would have looked perfect on either of them, but on Emily it just looked odd. The stitching had been uneven, the hem hadn’t hung properly and worn with black boots it had looked ridiculous.

Lizzie had recalled seeing the girl some years previously. She and Amy had been out riding with Nicolas and it was beginning to get dark when they saw her. If anything, Emily Carter had looked even worse that day. Her dress was old and patched and hung on her like a sack, and she’d had mud on her face and hands. Lizzie had thought how poor she looked but she’d seen her tear-streaked face and felt sympathy for her. Amy had been rude but Nicolas had spoken to her nicely. Not that she’d appreciated his attempt to be kind. She’d just stuck her head in the air and looked proud.

Lizzie knew their father had lost his estate or, rather, he’d had to sell it after some bad investments meant that he was short of money. Their Uncle Simon had bought it, which had made Papa even angrier. He resented the fact that his younger brother had made money whereas he’d lost his, and he was annoyed because Granny had offered them a home here rather than lending him the money to clear his debts, which would have enabled him to keep his estate. Of course he wasn’t poor, because he still had the London house and a few investments, but he wasn’t rich either.