Together for Christmas (13 page)

A second later and Gracie had vanished. Hilda yawned again as she climbed out of bed. It was her duty to take the housekeeper and the lady’s maid, Violet, their morning tea. For this, she
had to be up three quarters of an hour before her official start at six a.m. However, Hilda had soon found help in the form of the scullery maid, Gracie, who could be very annoying at times, but
had been indispensible at others.

For the four weeks that Hilda had been at Adelphi Hall, Gracie had attached herself to Hilda, had almost become her shadow, watching everything she did and correcting her mistakes. But Hilda had
soon found that Gracie would willingly shoulder some of the duties that Hilda didn’t care for. Most importantly of all, she provided Hilda with background information on both the upstairs and
downstairs worlds of Adelphi Hall. Rather humiliatingly, Hilda had found herself made to share a room with the scullery maid. The smaller servants’ dormitory on the second floor of the house
housed four iron bedsteads, all with very hard mattresses. Hilda had been expecting a room of her own. She had at first resented Gracie’s delight in having a companion. But in exchange for
Hilda’s reluctant friendship, Gracie had become her willing slave. During the first week of her employ at Adelphi Hall, Hilda had collapsed into bed at night, too exhausted to even eat
supper. Gracie had brought her tea and stolen biscuits from the larder, prepared her uniform for the morning and performed the sewing tasks that Mrs Burns had instructed Hilda to do.

Hilda had soon realized that Gracie was absolutely necessary to her survival here. Mrs Bell had been right. The many duties she had to perform, like the cleaning of brass, china, glass and
furniture, the making of beds, the sweeping and scrubbing of floors and dusting of each visible surface, took up every moment of her day. Not to mention wrestling the dirt from the thick carpets
that she had admired so much at her interview, not realizing it would be her, Hilda, who would clean them. Heaving coal into the many fireplaces and preparing the fires had only been completed with
Gracie’s help. Scouring the bathrooms from floor to ceiling had been Hilda’s least favourite task. And without Gracie to carry the many pails of water up the servants’ stairs,
Hilda thought she might well have expired in the first forty-eight hours of her new life in service to the Earl of Talbott.

Still, Hilda reflected, as she washed in the freezing cold water of the bedroom’s only china bowl, Gracie had proved to be her unexpected bonus. In return for her friendship, Gracie never
failed to comply with Hilda’s demands.

Hilda finished her washing and put on a fresh pair of knickers. After a day’s labouring, a change of underclothes was most important. Next, came her chemise, tightly laced stays, flannel
petticoat and, lastly, her dark-grey uniform and apron. Then, still yawning, she braided her hair rather clumsily, and tucked the braids up into her mob cap.

With her teeth chattering with cold, Hilda ran down the many steps of the servants’ staircase to the kitchen. To Hilda’s relief, Mrs Harris had not yet appeared. Had she been at the
stove, barely a word would have been spoken before Hilda was swamped with instructions. Now that the family had returned from abroad, Mrs Harris was cooking three hot meals a day and afternoon tea
and supper trays when requested. Hilda, together with two live-out housemaids from the village, was required to help clean and prepare the vegetables, together with all her other duties.

‘’Ere you are, ’Ilda,’ said a small, squeaky voice beside her. Gracie was standing with a tray in her hands. On it was a white china cup and saucer, a sugar bowl and jug
of milk. ‘This is for Mrs Burns. Then you can come back for Violet’s.’

‘Why can’t you bring Mrs Burns’ tray for me?’ Hilda said sulkily. ‘And I’ll carry up Violet’s.’

‘If anyone saw me, I’d be sacked.’

‘But there’s all those stairs to climb.’

‘Mr Leighton’s always about early. And so are James and John.’

Hilda grinned at the thought of the two handsome footmen. ‘I wouldn’t mind bumping into one of them.’

Gracie snorted. ‘They ain’t got the time of day for the likes of us.’

Hilda didn’t like Gracie hinting that she was as lowly as a scullery maid. She took the tray begrudgingly. ‘I suppose I’ll have to do it.’

‘If you makes it quick and gets back before Mrs ’Arris starts dolling out orders, I’ll tell her you’ve already got going on the fires. Then the two village girls will get
lumbered.’ Gracie laughed strangely through her broken front teeth. ‘Serve the snobby cows right.’

Hilda smiled. No one at the Hall liked the casual staff from the village. They were lazy and rude, and often left within the first few weeks, to be replaced by others who were equally rude and
lazy. It was generally accepted, Hilda discovered, that they were employed under sufferance.

‘It’s either them dopes or no one, as Mrs Burns can’t get live-in staff these days,’ Gracie confided when Hilda complained about the village girls’ slovenliness.
Hilda herself had been given the cold shoulder by the permanent staff for the first week she’d been at Adelphi Hall. But Gracie had told her it was quite normal until she had settled in and
proved her worth.

As Hilda climbed the stairs with the cold penetrating her thin uniform and making her shiver, she thought about all that happened to her since she started at Adelphi Hall on that miserable day
in October. After leaving Flora in the street, doubts about what she was doing with her life had crowded in. She suddenly realized that she was on her own now. No Mrs Bell to fuss over her, no dear
friend to take into her confidence. She was completely and utterly alone. The journey in Albert’s covered cart had taken for ever. It was all she could do to stop herself from telling him to
turn the cart round. All the excitement she’d felt as she’d dressed that morning in her fine clothes had turned to fear. Even Flora’s bread-and-dripping sandwiches hadn’t
cheered her. By the time Albert had driven past the gatehouse and entered the long approach that was the tradesmen’s entrance to the house, she had been cold, tired and very frightened.

But at the first sight of the mansion, bathed in a soft mist with its tall pillars caught in a fleeting ray of sunshine, her heart lifted. Not only was this place going to be her new home, it
was where she intended to better herself in ways that would never be possible in the East End.

Exhausted by the long climb of the staircase, Hilda stopped outside Mrs Burns’ door. Balancing the tray in one hand, she gave a discreet rap. She had learned, to her cost, that she must
never be later than a quarter to six. By this time Mrs Burns was always up, washed and dressed in her black satin and white frilled collar with the key belt tied at her waist. Hilda had reached
this room five minutes late on her first morning and had been thoroughly scolded.

‘Good morning, Mrs Burns,’ Hilda said, keeping her eyes down as she placed the tray on the wooden table beside the bed.

Mrs Burns, sitting at her desk, didn’t answer. Instead, as Hilda left, she muttered, ‘Tell Mrs Harris I shall be down shortly.’

Hilda nodded and quickly left the suffocating atmosphere of the housekeeper’s quarters. She had noticed that Mrs Burns had no photographs of loved ones or family. Only a small crucifix and
framed religious prayer were placed on the wall. The room’s drabness did not suit Hilda at all.

Running down the stairs, Hilda was met by Gracie who whispered, ‘’Ere, take this tray up to Violet, quick. The old dragon’s breathin’ fire this morning. The mistress
wants dinner for twenty tonight. And Mrs ’Arris ain’t been given no notice. I warn you, it’s gonna be bedlam today.’

‘Twenty?’ asked Hilda, at once dismayed and excited by this news. How much extra work would be involved for her? Would there be fine ladies and gents attending that Hilda might catch
a glimpse of?

But Hilda didn’t have time to consider this longer, as Mrs Harris’ loud voice echoed from the kitchen.

Gracie was gone in a flash. Hilda started up the stairs to Violet’s room. She knew Violet would also be up, preparing herself before going to wake Lady Bertha. Hilda tapped on the door and
opened it. The familiar smell of lavender wafted out. Hilda knew Violet filled her chest of drawers with linen pouches of lavender. She also placed them in her wardrobe to cover the strong odour of
mothballs.

‘Leave the tray there,’ Violet said, pointing to the small table but glancing at the mantel clock. ‘You’re five minutes late, Hilda.’

‘I’m sorry. There’s a panic in the kitchen.’

‘What about?’

‘Mrs Harris has twenty to cook for tonight.’

‘Lady Bertha’s friends are up from town. I’m helping the mistress to decide on the menu this morning.’

This was said very formally and piqued Hilda’s interest. Gracie had told Hilda that sparks often flew between Violet and Mrs Harris. The cook and lady’s maid both laid equal claim to
advising Lady Bertha, Gracie had reported. Each day, Mrs Harris would confer with the mistress on what was to be prepared and cooked. Every so often, Violet would tell the cook there had been a
change made to the arrangements, which made Mrs Harris very irritable. Gracie had also revealed that Violet, a spinster in her late thirties, had served the mistress for only four years. This had
come as a disappointment for Hilda; such a recent appointment meant Lady Bertha was hardly on the brink of wanting a replacement. Hilda had found Violet’s fashionable and rather youthful
appearance a surprise too. Violet’s pure pale skin, small-featured face and wide hazel eyes were not displeasing. So the news from Gracie that there was some disagreement between Mrs Harris
and Violet came as welcome to Hilda’s ears.

‘I’d like you to dust around the shelves in here today,’ Violet said and Hilda groaned inwardly as she gazed around the room. Not that there was much to dust, but the chore was
added to her already full schedule.

From the corner of her eye, Hilda noted the extent of her duties. Having returned with the family from Italy, Violet had brought back some souvenirs: travel books and Venetian glass and
miniatures of golden-domed churches. Hilda’s eyes fell on Violet’s bureau. It was cluttered with cards and sketches of foreign lands. The most attractive feature of Violet’s room,
Hilda decided, was the bed coverlet that Lady Bertha had presented to Violet. The greens, blues and yellows were quite dazzling.

‘Thank you, Hilda, that will be all.’

Hilda’s brow creased as she made her way downstairs. Her plans had been set around the position that was now occupied by Violet. Hilda had gone to sleep at night wondering how this could
be changed.

‘There must be a way,’ Hilda muttered aloud, lost in thought as she rushed down the stairs. Suddenly, one of the doors leading to the main house that were used by the housemaids
opened sharply.

Hilda stumbled back against the banister in fright. The surprise of the door opening and the tall, dark figure hidden in shadow made her think of the stories told to her by Gracie. Was this the
deranged earl, or his silver-haired valet, Turner, who Hilda had never seen and Gracie was terrified of meeting?

Hilda let out a shriek as the shadow came towards her. She stepped back, trapped by the banister. Her breath came rapidly, her body trembled. She put out her hands in fear, glancing down at the
dark stairwell beneath her.

Hilda froze. She hadn’t believed Gracie’s ghostly stories, or at least thought they were exaggerations. But what if they were true? Blinking rapidly, she felt the sweat on her spine.
If only she had been paying attention as she came down the stairs!

‘Step towards me or you will fall.’

Hilda could barely bring herself to look at him let alone move her legs. His presence seemed to surround her.

‘Come, let me help you.’ His fingers curled slowly around her wrists. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

Hilda could do nothing but allow him to pull her away from the stairwell. She would never forget her first sight of the man as he stepped into the light. Instead of the ghostly apparitions she
feared, a real person stood there. She recognized him at once. Like the life-sized painting she had seen in October, his jet-black hair curled around his neck. His shoulders were broad under his
crisp white shirt and his dark gaze was just as she remembered it.

‘Oh!’ was all she could say as her body now trembled, not in fear but with delight.

‘That’s better,’ he told her, his eyes roaming over her with an appreciative gleam. ‘You must be careful on the stairs.’

‘Y . . . yes, my lord,’ Hilda stammered.

‘Are you new to Adelphi?’

‘I came here in October, sir,’ she replied as his fingers slipped from her wrists.

‘What’s your name?’

‘H . . . Hilda, sir . . . I mean, Lord Guy.’

He smiled, his eyes seeming to drown her in their ebony gaze. ‘No doubt we shall meet again.’ Then, as swiftly as he had appeared, he disappeared again, speeding down the staircase,
the sound of his light footsteps echoing back to her.

At the end of November a letter arrived from Will.

‘My dearest girls,’ he wrote in handwriting that was barely legible and on crumpled, brown-stained paper,