The Disgrace of Kitty Grey (4 page)

‘Yes, the first and most obvious thing is the stairs,' said Christina, puffing and panting. ‘Indeed, 'twas hardly necessary to teach it about anything except stairs.'

Faith paused to draw breath. ‘And could you not have found a smaller cow?'

‘Quite! This must be the biggest and most ungainly animal in the herd!'

I didn't reply, indignant at the insults to Daisy. Why, she was not ungainly at all – or, if she appeared so it was only in the house. And that was as it should be, for cows are not bred for drawing rooms.

It was Mrs Bonny, thank goodness, who came up with the solution. She fashioned a large sling affair from a length of sacking which had been used to bind up hay bundles and, with her at one end of it and Mr Griffin at the other, they came from behind with a ‘
Heyyyy-up
!
' and managed to scoop Daisy who, surprised and shocked, bolted up the steps before she hardly knew what she was doing. From here, with me holding tightly to her collar, we proceeded at a tidy trot down the hallway, through the dining room and into the back of the music room. Here behind folded screens, which hid them from the rest of the room, I found Miss Alice and Miss Sophia looking exquisite in their silk gowns (but, I was pleased to see, not turned into beauties from the dew). Around them, thanks to help from the gardeners, stable hands, estate managers and goodness knows who else, the scene was set for a pastoral idyll, with a painted backcloth showing sunlit fields, flowers and a thatched cottage. The two Misses were sitting on milking stools, their gowns becomingly arranged around them and their garlands colourful, surrounded by an array of gleaming artefacts for the audience's contemplation: milk churns, enamel buckets, a cream separator and several other quaint dairy objects.

Daisy was to stand between the two girls, face on to the audience (‘Whatever happens, we must not let anyone see the rear of the cow,' Miss Sophia had instructed, her face registering horror at such a thought) and, still hidden behind the screens, I turned the obliging cow around. Owing to the length of time it had taken to get her up the steps, we didn't have to wait long and, accordingly, when given the nod by Miss Sophia, I passed Daisy's flower-bedecked rope to her and slipped back into the dining room, lingering by the doorway in case of any trouble.

There was a quartet playing and when they finished I heard polite applause from the assembled audience, following which a chord was played as if the musicians were going to strike up again. At this point Miss Alice hissed loudly over the screens, ‘No, you must not!'

The heir, the Honourable Peregrine, who was home from school for the occasion, addressed the audience. ‘We now have a surprise for our guests,' he announced. ‘My mother and father know nothing about this, but I trust they will enjoy it as much as everyone else.'

I heard a little stir in the audience as everyone turned to see how Milord and Lady Baysmith might be taking this announcement and, looking anxiously at the scene, I prayed that the Misses would not extend the performance for too long in case Daisy disgraced herself in their noble presence. I could just see Lady Cecilia from where I was standing; she was dressed regally (but not fashionably), in the old manner of hooped petticoat and crinoline, her hair powdered and teased into cascades of curls.

‘My sisters, Sophia and Alice,' Peregrine declared, ‘have much pleasure in presenting you with a pastoral scene:
Milkmaids at Rest
.'

As he said these last words, two of the valets stepped forward and pushed away the screens to reveal, solemn and still, Miss Alice, Miss Sophia and Miss Daisy the Cow, surrounded by pieces of false countryside.

There were some gasps, then a roar of approval and an inordinate amount of clapping, most especially from the young men in the audience. Two naval gentlemen in the back row stood on their chairs to get a better view of the Misses, for they did look very picturesque indeed, dressed as they were in pale, clinging fabric which left little to the imagination. Their pose was held for at least two minutes, gazing over the potted tree into the imaginary distance, and dear Daisy did not disgrace herself either, but stood steady and stoic, occasionally blinking and no doubt wondering where her field had gone.

Another signal was given and the men brought back the screens to hide the scene from view. Miss Alice and Miss Sophia kissed each other, looking very pleased with themselves and I waited for them to see and be pleased with
me
. Alas, before this could happen, Patience appeared in the hall, beckoning me with some urgency.

I went over.

‘Coo, you're going to catch it and no mistake!' she said, not even trying to hide her glee at this notion.

‘How am I?' I answered. ‘I was only following orders from Miss Sophia and Miss –'

‘I don't mean because of the cow and all that.'

‘What, then?'

‘Your sweetheart, from the ferry. He's here in the kitchens wanting to see you. Bold as brass he came, knocking on the kitchen window.'

‘Will's here?' My first thought was that he had come to see Mrs Bonny and ask her permission to call on me, but then I realised it was gone nine o'clock. No one in polite company called at such an hour.

‘You'd better get down to the kitchens sharpish! I'll see to the cow, if you like.'

I was torn, for I'd been looking forward to receiving the Misses' grateful thanks and perhaps a small silver coin for my trouble, but I didn't dare hesitate and went straight down to the kitchens.

Chapter Four

 

 

‘He's over there,' Mrs Bonny said, nodding towards the fireplace. ‘And I need not tell you of the impropriety of this, Kitty. It is most unseemly.'

‘For a dairymaid to have a caller at this hour –
really
!' said Mr Griffin. ‘It won't be tolerated twice, you know that.'

I curtseyed to Mr Griffin in an apologetic sort of way and hurried over to Will, who was hunched over, looking uncomfortable, holding his hat scrunched up in his hands and standing as close to the garden door as it was possible to get without actually being on the other side of it.

‘You shouldn't have come!' I hissed, which I know was not very kind of me, but I could not help but be acutely embarrassed by having what seemed like every servant in the household witness this little scene.

‘I had nowhere else to turn.'

‘I don't understand. What do you mean?'

He shot a look at Mrs Bonny and Mr Griffin. ‘Can we go outside?' he asked me in a low voice.

I nodded and pulled at the door latch.

‘You've got five minutes,' Mr Griffin said. ‘No longer.'

I thanked him and, as Will and I went outside, saw Daisy on her return journey from the music room, lumbering down the steps into the kitchens, followed by a grinning Patience.

Outside the garden door, there was the stub of a wax candle burning in a sconce, but the moon was hidden by cloud so it was impossible to see very far across the fields. You could hear the wind rustling the new leaves on the trees, however, and, far away, the sound of the river.

‘What is it?' I asked urgently, worried now about why he was there. Was it something to do with my family? Had one of them been taken ill?

‘I need to ask you something really important.'

I stared at him wonderingly. Surely he wasn't . . .

‘It's my sister, Kate – her husband has lost his job on the Cox estate.'

‘Has he?' I looked at Will, bemused. The Cox family were the other big landowners in the district and I knew Kate's husband, George, held a position as one of their stockmen. But I couldn't think what this had to do with me or Will.

‘I must explain myself better.' Will glanced over to the wide, low brick wall, where I could see something that looked like a bundle of old clothes. ‘George and Kate went to the May Day celebrations today,' he continued, ‘and later Kate came home to put the children to bed while George stayed on with some of his fellow workers, drinking and carousing.'

I shrugged and nodded. There was nothing unusual in this.

‘But old man Cox turned up and George, being drunk, took it upon himself to list the disadvantages of working for him, saying he was a miserly devil and the men on the Baysmith estate earned far more than he and his fellow workers got from Cox.'

I clapped my hand to my mouth.

‘Eventually, after the name-calling, it fell to fisticuffs. George landed a hefty blow on the old man, and he tumbled back into the fireplace and knocked himself out.'

‘No!'

‘George went home, and the first thing old Cox did when he came to was to send the constable round to Kate and George's cottage to turn them out.' Will blew his nose, clearly upset. ‘They had to borrow a hay wagon from one of the farms, load on all their possessions – and the children – and now George and my poor sister have trundled off to who-knows-where.'

‘Oh!' I exclaimed. ‘But what of . . . '

He nodded. ‘Yes, Betsy.'

‘Have they taken her, too?'

‘That's just it. Kate said she couldn't possibly take on another child, that they had barely enough money to feed themselves and she didn't know what might happen to them. If George can't get work – and he might not be able to do that without a Character from his old employer – they'll end up in the workhouse.'

‘But . . .' I tried to grasp what this might mean for Will. ‘So Betsy . . . '

‘My sister said that four children on a wagon was more than enough and she just couldn't take her.'

I was silent for a long moment, absorbing all this news, and then I asked where she was.

Will pointed to what I'd thought was the bundle of clothes on the wall. ‘She's there. Asleep.'

‘You've brought her
here
?'

‘I couldn't think of what else to do with her,' he said with despair. ‘I couldn't just abandon her, could I?' I didn't say anything to this and he went on, ‘She's already had a rough time of it – no mother, her dadda dying, then having to go and live with someone who didn't really want her.'

‘Other children get by,' I said, which, I own, was a very selfish and unfeeling thing to say.

‘Kitty!' Will said reproachfully. ‘She's my little sister.'

I immediately felt terrible. ‘Sorry, Will.' My eyes filled with guilty tears. ‘I didn't mean that.'

‘She's five years old. Would you really have her taken into the workhouse?'

‘Of course not! But I thought you were set on going to live in London. How can that happen now?'

‘I can go later, when things are settled. Maybe George will apologise and he and Kate will come back here to live and –'

‘So where will Betsy stay? You're surely not going to let her live in your old shed?'

He shook his head. ‘What I was wondering was . . . whether Mrs Bonny would let her stay here.'

‘
Here
?
' I asked, shocked. ‘Here at the hall?'

Will nodded. ‘She wouldn't be any trouble! She can stay with me in the day – she's happy enough doing that – and at night she could just come up here and sleep in any old spot. She'd be happy in the kitchens in front of the fire.'

I didn't reply, and he went on, ‘The gardeners' children run around the estate like puppies; one more in the pack would hardly be noticed.'

‘I don't know if I dare ask such a thing,' I said.

‘I'm fair desperate, Kitty,' Will said, taking my hand. ‘It's the only thing I can think of. I can't put her in an orphanage. You wouldn't want to see that happen, would you?'

‘No, but . . . but what if Kate and George don't ever come back?'

‘Well, I suppose we'll be starting our married life with a ready-made family,' he said, squeezing my hand.

I managed to smile, but thought to myself that that wasn't what I'd wanted at all: I'd wanted us to live in a little cottage on our own and only then, after a year or two, say to Will that it was time that he made a rocking cradle.