A Dream of her Own (16 page)
‘My goodness, Polly, your apron is very dirty.’
Polly’s warm feelings melted away. ‘This is the second one today. Mrs Edington told me to change before the wedding guests arrived.’
‘And she was right to do so.’
‘But if I change again that’s all three to wash.’
‘Nevertheless, you shouldn’t come into this part of the house looking as if ... as if...’
‘As if I’m the only one here to do all the work?’
Her new mistress’s eyes widened. She looked taken aback by the surly tone but Polly didn’t care. She’d been up since five o’clock this morning because of all the extra work and she was tired and disappointed. In a house as small as this, she hadn’t been able to help overhearing some of the conversations leading up to the wedding. She knew that Master John’s chosen bride had been in service - she’d heard him telling his mother what a help Constance would be to her - and Polly had been expecting ... Expecting what, exactly?
As she looked at her now, small and dainty and as pretty as a china ornament, she realized that her half-formed hopes for a friend, someone to share a little of the work around the house, had been no more than a foolish dream. Oh, the lass might have work-roughened hands - Polly had seen her trying to hide them in the folds of her dress all day - but she spoke and carried herself like a lady. More of a lady than the mistress, if the truth were admitted.
John Edington’s new wife may have been working as a servant but that could only be because her family had fallen on hard times. The state of the clothes that Polly had put away for her bore this out. Although the undergarments were all darned and threadbare, one or two of the dresses were made of good quality stuff and they looked as if they had once been fashionable. Yes, Polly decided, this young woman’s marriage had rescued her from life as a servant and it looked very much as if she was determined never to soil her hands again.
Now, she was smiling sweetly at her. ‘Polly, I’m not criticizing you.’
‘No?’
‘No. I know what it’s like having to keep your aprons cleaned and ironed.’
‘Do you?’ Polly wondered what was coming next. Was she going to offer a bit of help after all?
‘So this is what you should do. You must keep one clean apron hanging on the back of the kitchen door at all times so that, if you’re summoned to any other part of the house you can change quickly and look more presentable. Isn’t that a good idea?’
‘I suppose so.’
If the new Mrs Edington had noticed Polly’s sulky expression, she chose to ignore it. She walked towards the hearth. ‘Now, I wonder if you would fetch me some more coal for this fire? I presume that the fire in the dining room was banked low because of Mrs Edington’s consumption, but she isn’t likely to come in here tonight, is she?’
‘No, nor never.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Mrs Edington doesn’t often come downstairs these days.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, then—’
‘Yes, I know, I meant to build it up for you, but I just forgot. I’ve had so much to do today.’
‘Yes, this has been an exceptional day. It won’t always be like this.’
‘Is that all, then?’
‘No, when you have seen to the fire, I would like you to bring me a cup of tea.’
‘Right oh.’
‘And, Polly, we shall have to agree about what you’re going to call me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’ve noticed that you have avoided calling me Mrs Edington - or anything at all, for that matter - so I’ve decided that, to avoid confusion, you should call me Mrs John. I think that’s the way it’s done, don’t you?’
‘If you say so, Mrs John. I’ll fill the coal scuttle, then.’
‘Good. Oh, before you go, would you close the curtains for me? Your arms are so much longer than mine.’
Once back in the kitchen, Polly slammed the kettle down on the hob so hard that water shot out of the spout and raised a cloud of hissing steam in the fire. She was angry. Not with the new Mrs Edington, who was only behaving as anyone would expect, but with herself for having imagined that things might be going to be different around here.
In truth, she knew that she didn’t have much to complain about. The Edingtons were kind employers but they couldn’t afford to take on any more help than Polly, and the work was hard, especially now that Mrs Edington seemed to be failing fast. Polly was on her feet from morning till night and the only break she got was her one afternoon off each week when Mrs Green next door came to sit with Mrs Edington out of the sheer kindness of her heart.
Polly missed her mother and father and her large family of brothers and sisters. They were only a short walk away in Byker but she hardly ever saw them and she was lonely. They all thought she was lucky to live in a warm house, have plenty of food on the table and a bed to herself, even if it was only a truckle bed stowed under the kitchen table and pulled out each night.
She might have the work of two or even three to do but, as her mother had pointed out, most of the time she was left to get on with it in her own sweet way. She had an uneasy feeling that that was going to change.
‘Gerald! Would you look at your sister?’
‘Why on earth should I want to do that?’ Gerald Sowerby paused at the top of the stairs and closed his eyes in a weary gesture of resignation. He had hoped to leave the house without encountering his mother but she must have been listening for him.
‘Don’t be difficult. You know what I mean.’
He opened his eyes and turned to face her; she was hurrying towards him. Her left hand was pressed against the base of her throat and she was picking at the lace of her choker collar with her small white fingers.
She looked tired; the vibrant red of her velvet gown only accentuated her pallid complexion. Her right hand held a lavender-soaked handkerchief and she brought it up to dab at her face before she continued, ‘Annabel’s fever has risen. I think she’s delirious.’
‘Father will be home soon.’
‘He was called to a confinement. He could be hours yet.’
‘But what am I supposed to do?’
‘You are studying medicine, surely you can tell me.’
‘I can only tell you what you already know. Annabel was bilious when she came home from Ursula’s party and now she has a fever. It won’t hurt to wait until Father comes home.’
‘Gerald, please!’
‘Oh, very well.’
He followed her to his sister’s bedroom. He was sure that there was nothing seriously wrong with the girl. She had probably overeaten, as usual, at her friend’s birthday party, and she had made herself sick. As for having a fever, she would be overheated because his mother had insisted on piling on extra bedclothes and building up the fire in her bedroom. The warmth met them at the doorway and Gerald shrugged off his evening cape and tossed it on to a chair on the landing.
As he entered the room Annabel shrieked, ‘Get out! I don’t want you here!’
Gerald raised his eyebrows and turned to go.
‘No! She doesn’t mean you!’ His mother grasped his sleeve. ‘She’s taken against the skivvy. Each time Nella comes in to see to the fire, Annabel nearly has a fit. I’m sure it’s a sign of delirium.’
‘Of plain bad temper more like,’ Gerald muttered.
But when he turned to look in the direction of the hearth, he shuddered involuntarily. The maid called Nella was kneeling as she built up the coals with swift, precise movements. In the light from the fire Gerald fancied that the point of her chin and the tip of her nose grew towards each other like those of a witch. Each time she leaned in towards the hearth, the odd, twisted hump of her shoulders was thrown into sharp relief against the firelight.
His mother watched her impatiently for a moment and then she called out, ‘You can go now, Nella.’ The odd little creature got up. ‘But fetch up some more coals.’ Nella picked up the empty scuttle.
‘No, no, no! I don’t want her in here,’ Annabel wailed.
She was propped up in bed within a mound of fat pillows and her long fair hair hung in limp rat’s-tails round her face. Her usually fair complexion was flushed and blotchy. She had pushed the bedclothes back and Gerald could see that her nightgown was creased and clinging to her plump adolescent body. Scattered across the front of the garment there was a pattern of brown stains. Probably dried vomit, he thought, and he could barely control his distaste.
‘Wait.’ He raised a hand to stop the little crookback before she hurried from the room.
‘Yes, sir?’ She stopped and the look she shot him almost made him flinch.
My God, she really is ugly, Gerald thought, and I’m sure she dislikes us whereas she ought to be eternally grateful that my mother has given her employment. Many of my friends’ parents would not have her anywhere near them.
‘You wanted something, sir?’
‘Yes, Nella, I do. Before you bring the coals, you are to bring a basin of cool water and some towels and flannels.’
Gerald glanced down at the bony claws clutching the handle of the brass coal scuttle and grimaced with distaste.
‘And wash your hands first.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Even before Nella had left the room, Annabel said, ‘I don’t want that disgusting little creature to come anywhere near me. Why can’t Constance bring the coals?’
Mrs Sowerby’s expression of concern hardened for a moment. ‘Constance doesn’t work here any more. Now let me cover you up and make you decent. Your brother is almost a doctor and he has come to look at you.’
She hurried over to the bed and tried to pull the bedclothes up around her daughter but Annabel only pushed them away again.
‘Why doesn’t Constance work here? Have you dismissed her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘She had to go. She was insolent; insolent and dishonest.’
Gerald’s eyes widened with surprise. It had been obvious last night that his mother did not like Constance but he had not realized the depth of her antipathy. Even now, with the girl safely out of the house, she was prepared to lie about the reason that Constance had left their service.
Why? Of course his mother had always been possessive. She had not liked it when he had spoken to Constance, teased her about her wedding to her Prince Charming. She had liked it even less when it became obvious that the girl was flirting with him.
His loins quickened with remembered excitement as he recalled the way the pulse in her throat had throbbed when he’d stroked her skin, the way her violet eyes had widened with agitation, a sure sign of her arousal. And then, instead of retreating from him, as any decent girl would have done, the minx had raised her chin and stared brazenly into his eyes, a clear invitation if ever there was one. No, his mother was not stupid. She had guessed what was going on.
But that was not all of it. She had obviously detested Constance long before the incident in the hallway last night. Was it simply because the girl did not behave as a servant should? Her manner and her speech set her apart from the usual run of workhouse skivvy.
Considering how quietly and efficiently she carried out her duties, why had Constance never been promoted above stairs? Could it be that she had never shown sufficient gratitude for being rescued from the workhouse? Had never known her place?
Gerald realized then that in all the years that Constance had worked for them, his mother had probably made her life a misery, culminating in that astonishing act of malice last night when she had thrown her out on to the streets. She had not cared what could have happened to the girl.
What
had
happened to her?
had
happened to her?
Gerald flushed. He found that his breathing was shallow and that his face was bathed in perspiration. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow. The room was warmer than ever; a sickly sweet miasma of vomit rose from Annabel’s bed and seemed to engulf him.
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