No Moon (7 page)

“You will enjoy the countryside, Lou, all that lovely green grass and shady places to rest.”

I don’t expect Nanny will let me do much resting, but I have so much now–my own room, food served up to me three times a day, and pay at the end of each month!

All of a sudden, hailstones, round and hard, rattle the window, followed by great drops of rain. We rush to close the door before the scullery floor is awash.

“That’s what we need, days and days of rain,” Father says, a pleased smile on his face.

“I’d best be on my way. I’ve to be in by nine o’clock.” I kiss them all and give Emily and the boys a penny each from my first wages. Then I put some coins in the housekeeping jar.

“I’m sorry you missed Kathleen, dear. She had to work late tonight.” Mother kisses my cheek.

“I’ll send you a picture postcard from the country, Emmy!” I say as I hurry out.

The rain’s easing off a bit, but the wind comes up, blowing my cape around me. I almost crash into Kathleen, who is just turning the corner into our street, her hair stuck in wet wisps to her cheeks. We hug each other, and I wish we had time to talk.

“I’m late, Kath. Mother will tell you everything. We’re going away in two days, but I’ll be back at the end of August. See you then! I get in trouble if I’m back late.”

“I’ll save all my news for you then, Lou. Miss you!” My sister blows me a kiss, and I run off, my shoes squelching through the puddles.

For the next twenty-four hours, I don’t have time to think about anything except the packing. Nanny makes me start over twice, so she can show me how she wants the children’s clothes folded. You’d think we were going across the ocean, not on a short journey to the country! Mr. James Harris, his lordship’s valet and chauffeur, is going to drive us down. He drove Lord and Lady Milton last week, so they could spend time with her mother, Lady Portman. Mr. Harris wears an elegant uniform, dark blue with gold buttons.

Miss Portia and Miss Alexandra are excited at the hustle and bustle, and I am quite worn out from running errands and fetching and carrying for Nanny. As usual, whatever I do is not enough to please her!

Last night, Miss Portia was sick and I had to change her bedding twice. I will say this though: Nanny got up as soon as I called her.

“There is no need for the doctor. Miss Portia has always been high-strung,” she says and goes back to bed!

I’m almost sick with nerves myself–another big house and staff to get used to, and Nanny tense and irritable in case the children are not on their best behavior. Miss Alexandra has a back tooth coming in and is whiny. She sucks her thumb for comfort and I haven’t the heart to stop her, though Nanny insists it is a bad habit that must be broken. The place she trained at must have rules and regulations as long as my arm!

The great day arrives at last. I sink into the backseat of the motorcar, which Nanny informs me is a RollsRoyce. It is almost big enough to live in. Mr. Harris has polished the chrome and glass to mirror brilliance, and the black paint shines so much, it sparkles. I have never been inside an automobile before.

The servants come out to wave good-bye. I feel like a queen, setting off in her carriage. How I wish Tom and Harry were here to see me!

Nanny Mackintosh sits in front, next to Mr. Harris. The children are in the back, one on each side of me. Nanny fans herself and sighs deeply.

“I have no great faith in the motorcar,” she pronounces, as if she were going to her doom. She takes the smelling salts out of her oversized bag.

“It will be cooler once we get outside London,” Mr. Harris says.

I would like the journey to last forever. Miss Alexandra falls asleep, happily sucking her thumb, and Miss Portia leans against my arm and dozes.

W
e arrive at the outskirts of the village of Amersham and soon reach Lady Portman’s home. Tall trees and ornamental hedges surround the entire grounds. On either side of the wrought-iron gates, massive stone lions stand on guard. Mr. Harris drives up the long and winding driveway to a spacious, gabled, white house. The grounds are as beautiful as a park, with their flower beds a riot of colors. A gardener and his boy raise their caps, and the children, both wide-awake again, wave back happily. The front door is open. The butler waits on the steps to usher us in.

The housekeeper greets us and leads the way upstairs, to the nursery wing. “How very nice to see you again, Nanny. You do remember where everything is, don’t you? Ellis will help you get settled,
and tea will be brought up when you ring. Lady Portman and Lord and Lady Milton will see the children in the drawing room after tea.”

Our luggage follows, carried up by a footman and a maid. It is all very grand, but gracious and welcoming. I feel comfortable immediately.

In no time at all, the children are tidied and seated at the nursery table. With the maid’s efficient help, I have put most of their clothes away. I am informed I will share a bedroom in the night nursery with the girls. Nanny’s room is on the far side of the day nursery.

All the nursery rooms are bright and sunny. The windows overlook the extensive gardens and the fields beyond. I point out a swing to Miss Portia, which hangs from the thick bough of a sturdy oak tree. She looks up pleadingly and I smile at her, wondering if I, too, might…no, Nanny would frown and think it unseemly!

“Open the door, Gardener. Are you dreaming? I rang for tea; it has arrived!” Nanny is out of sorts from the long drive.

The footman and a maid bring in our tea, setting out plates with a variety of tiny sandwiches. There is brown bread and butter, a cut-glass dish filled with homemade jam–from strawberries grown on the estate, the maid informs Nanny–scones, thick cream, biscuits, and a perfectly iced sponge cake!

Nanny’s face registers her disapproval of this lavish spread. The door has hardly closed before she says, “There is far too much rich food! Quite unsuitable for the girls.” Nanny rolls her
r
so that the word sounds like
girrls
. “And what is it that you find so amusing, Gardener?”

“I was thinking how prettily the table is set, Nanny,” I say, trying to placate her.

“I predict that we will have two spoiled little girls to deal with when we get back to London. However, as it is only for a month, I’ll say no more. Miss Portia, there will be no cake or jam until you have finished your piece of bread and butter. Both jam and butter, unheard of for children, even for a Sunday tea in my day!”

I tie a serviette around Miss Alexandra’s neck and take a sip of the good strong tea, but not before I hand Nanny Mackintosh her cup. I know exactly how she likes it: a generous helping of milk and two heaping teaspoonfuls of sugar, though she says sugar is bad for children and growing girls, meaning me! She stirs her tea, tastes it, and moves the cake stand out of the children’s reach.

“Most welcome, I am sure,” Nanny says, pushing her cup towards me to be refilled. For once, she has no more complaints.

I just have time to wash the children’s faces and hands before the parlor maid tells Nanny that the
family is waiting to see the girls. “Lady Portland wishes Gardener to accompany you, Nanny Mackintosh.”

We follow her down the back staircase and into the drawing room, decorated in the palest blues and greens. Glass doors lead onto the terrace, where the family is gathered. Lady Milton opens her arms for the children to run to her. I let go of Miss Alexandra’s hand, and she toddles towards her father. Lord Milton lifts her high in the air.

Behind me, Nanny says, “Not after tea, your lordship, if you please.”

He immediately sets his daughter back on her feet. She clings to his legs. “More, want more!” she shouts.

Nanny looks daggers, and I draw Miss Alexandra aside and whisper that she must not be so loud. Lord Milton asks his daughter if she has been a good girl and then tells her she may sit on his knee.

I am quite taken aback to hear Lady Milton say, “I do believe we have finally found a nursemaid who lives up to your high standards, Nanny Mackintosh. You may leave the girls with us for half an hour while you settle in. Gardener will bring them upstairs for their baths. We will come to the nursery later to say good-bye before dinner. We shall be leaving early in the morning to fetch Master Roger from school. He will spend his holiday abroad with us.”

I stand a little way apart, but close enough to remove the children when their parents wish me to. They are exceptionally well behaved this afternoon, and Miss Portia leans fondly against her grandmother’s knee. But after a while, Miss Alexandra begins to cry. Her tooth bothers her and the thumb is back in her mouth.

“Upstairs to Nanny, please, Gardener,” Lady Milton says. “I will bring Miss Portia up presently.” I bob a curtsy and carry Miss Alexandra upstairs. I can’t help wondering what Lady Milton would do if she had to look after six children, without help, as Mother does. But then, we’d all be out of work.

“Miss Alexandra seems a little feverish, Nanny Mackintosh. My mother always swears by chamo-mile tea for sore gums.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I wish I had not spoken them.

“Indeed, Gardener. Do not imagine that because you overheard one compliment, this entitles you to run my nurseries, or to give me the benefit of your advice!” Nanny bristles.

“I beg your pardon. I spoke out of turn, Nanny Mackintosh.”

“I trust it will not happen again. There can only be one person in charge. In future, try to learn from the experience I pass on and keep silent until your opinion is asked for.”

“Yes, Nanny Mackintosh.”

“Go downstairs and ask Cook if we may have a small pot of chamomile tea, also a teaspoon. Hurry up, and when you return, run a warm bath for Miss Alexandra.”

I don’t know where the door to the servants’ quarters is. Thankfully, I encounter Ellis, the maid, who helped me unpack earlier.

“Do you require anything, Gardener?”

“Nanny sent me down to ask for a pot of chamo-mile tea and a teaspoon for Miss Alexandra, who is teething. I’m afraid I don’t know where the kitchen is.”

“I’ll bring it up directly. Please tell Nanny she may ring the bell for whatever she needs. But I’ll show you how to get to the kitchen. Turn right at the bottom of the back staircase, and the door is next to the gong stand. That’s the servants’ entrance, down the corridor and you’ll find us!”

When I return upstairs, Lord and Lady Milton are in the day nursery.

“Look, Portia, here is Mama’s old piano.” Lady Milton sits, plays a few bars, and stops. She glances at the bookshelf. “I used to read some of those storybooks when I was only a little older than you are now.”

“Will I read soon too, Mama?” Miss Portia asks eagerly.

“Quite soon. When you are five, you will share a
governess with some other little girls and go to their house every morning for lessons. And now, Papa and I must leave. We will send you a pretty postcard from France and see you in a month’s time!

“Nanny, my mother has decided against taking the girls to the seaside. She feels that it will be overcrowded with day-trippers at this time of year. Lady Portman says she has heard there is a lot of whooping cough about! The country air here will be far more beneficial for the children.” I am reprieved!

“Promise me, Portia, that you will be very good girls for Grandmama.”

“Yes, Mama, good as gold.” Miss Portia, overexcited at all the attention she has received, starts to run around the nursery table. I catch her and put my finger on her lips.

Miss Alexandra wriggles down from her father’s arms. He keeps hold of her hand.

“We must dress for dinner. Come along, Rupert.”

Lord Milton hands Miss Alexandra to Nanny Mackintosh. “We leave the children in your excellent hands, Nanny,” he says.

After the door closes behind them, Nanny Mackintosh looks relieved to have the nursery under her command again.
Is she so disagreeable because she is anxious about her position?

“Run the children’s baths, Gardener. We must establish our normal routine before the children get
quite out of hand. I shall have to have a word about plain food for nursery meals.”

I run the bathwater, humming with joy. We will not be going to the seaside after all. I did catch a glimpse of a lily pond when I was on the terrace, but the girls will not go near without my holding their hands!

The days pass by too quickly. Cook takes little notice of Nanny’s instructions about simple food, except for bread and milk at bedtime. Lady Portman reads a story to the children every evening, in the drawing room after tea. Miss Portia tells me it is about a naughty rabbit called Peter.

Ellis and I have some walks in the evening, after we complete our tasks. I cannot get over the beauty of the country lanes, with their profusion of wild-flowers and berries changing colors in the hedgerows. Red squirrels play in and under the trees. I have seen a deer, and Miss Portia has spotted a rabbit at the end of the garden. She calls him Peter Rabbit and tries to catch him! She makes for the swing at every opportunity, and I am secretly envious. We play in the gazebo, and the footman brings us lemonade and biscuits midmorning. This must be what paradise is like!