The Downstairs Maid (14 page)

Emily danced with Christopher several times. She thought it was a lovely way to spend an afternoon and was sorry when it was time to leave.

‘We could see the new Keystone Cops film next time I have the afternoon off,’ Christopher said as they waited for the bus to take them back to Witchford. ‘And fish and chips afterwards, if you like.’

That sounded like fun to Emily, but she told him she would only consider it if he let her pay next time. Christopher protested that he wanted to pay, but in the end he said they would share. That having been negotiated, Emily agreed to meet him in three weeks. He ought to have an afternoon off every week, but Christopher said the shop couldn’t afford it and Pa had put him on commission so if he sold more he earned more.

Emily knew her father intended to make him a full partner one day and she was glad. No one else would work as hard as Christopher and she really liked him. In fact, she thought she might like him more than Harry Standen.

For the moment she would continue to see them both – but she didn’t want to think about settling down for years.

It was Emily’s seventeenth birthday and the sun was shining outside. She wished she could go for a walk to the village, because there was a bus that went into Ely in half an hour. She would have liked to catch it, but her mother had asked her to churn the butter and that would mean her opportunity would be lost, because the next bus didn’t leave until half past three. That meant she would miss out on most of the market stalls, because the stallholders would have cleared their goods and be packing them away by the time she arrived and all the bargains would have gone.

That morning her mother had given her a pair of silk stockings and her father had given her a string of garnet beads that he’d bought somewhere and five shillings. She’d waited for him to produce the ring that Uncle Albert had left for her but he’d said nothing of it and she thought he must have forgotten about it. She hadn’t liked to remind him, because he’d been in a bit of a mood that morning and gone off straight after his breakfast. He’d looked pale and tired, his shoulders bent. Emily hadn’t wanted to push her claim, but she did want the pretty ring she’d been left all those years ago. Pa had told her she could have it when she was seventeen, and so it ought to be hers, but she hadn’t liked to ask that morning.

Emily sighed, changed into the shoes she used for the yard and went out the back door. She walked across the cobblestones, which were still slippery with cow dung despite Bert washing them down with buckets of water from the well. It was cooler inside the dairy, because there was only one small window and flagstones on the floor. The counter was made of marble; it was always cold and that made it easier to set the butter. Besides, it cleaned easily with a damp cloth and some hot water and carbolic soap.

Everything had to be spotless in the milk parlour. The dairy that bought Pa’s milk was becoming more and more difficult to please, because they claimed they had the Ministry on their backs. Farmers were going to have to produce more food and milk to make the country self-sufficient if there was a war. The papers were talking about trouble in Europe. Emily read them avidly whenever she could get hold of one and she knew that the situation was difficult, though she didn’t know exactly what was going on. The Russians, Austrians, Germans and French all seemed to be at each other’s throats. The headlines spoke of an arms race and the Balkans being like a tinderbox, ready to go up at any moment. The British were talking about treaties and responsibilities and seemed to be hanging out for peace, but the Austrians, Germans, French and Russians were more militant, according to the British press.

Bert was still flushing water over the cobbles, but unless he brushed it away it would not improve their condition. Emily thought of telling him, but she didn’t have time to explain it to him slowly. Her mother was waiting for her to churn the butter.

Her father had separated the cream from the milk earlier. He sent a churn of milk away most mornings, sometimes more now. First of all he had to milk all ten cows by himself. Emily sometimes helped with the milking in the evenings, but in the mornings she was busy doing chores for Ma. Once the churn was full, Bert helped Pa load it on the wagon and he took it to the end of the lane, where the dairy’s wagon came to pick it up. Some of the milk was sent straight to London on the train, but most was sent to the local dairy for bottling.

Two of Pa’s cows were Jerseys and Pa kept their milk separate. He skimmed off the cream for making into butter and sold the rest to folk who came to the milk parlour with their jugs and cans.

‘Jenny and Annie’s milk is too good to go with the rest,’ Pa was fond of saying. ‘You remember that, Em. If ever I’m not around you remember to treat them right.’

Emily didn’t like it when he said things like that, because he had an odd look about him, as if he thought she might have to take over from him soon. She knew his shop in Ely didn’t make as much money as he’d hoped, because most people wanted to buy the more modern furniture, which was much lighter and smaller than the large, ponderous Victorian stuff that people were turning out of their houses. A lot of things now were made of pale woods like satinwood and inlaid with fancy motifs of holly wood and ebony stringing. The newer style of art nouveau was what most people liked these days, but Pa kept on buying whatever came along, because he said it was quality and quality would always sell.

Sometimes he was right and Christopher would manage to sell a piece for good money and then Pa had money to fill Ma’s jar and to buy tobacco for himself. When there was money to spare, he gave Emily a few shillings or occasionally a pound for herself. She spent a few pennies each time on things she needed, because Ma never bought her anything now, but she tried to save a little too. Once or twice she’d bought something she liked from Pa’s cabinet in the barn, and she’d collected some trinkets Pa said were good.

‘You’ve got an eye for a bargain, Em,’ he’d told her. ‘You and Christopher will make a go of that shop when I’m gone.’

Emily begged him not to say things like that, because she didn’t want him to die. In the winter his cough had been terrible and in the end she’d nagged him until he went to the doctor; it had seemed better for a while, but lately she’d noticed it getting worse again.

It was becoming obvious to Emily that her father liked Christopher far more than Harry Standen. He kept putting in a good word for Christopher, though he acknowledged Harry was a decent enough man, and if she’d wanted him her father would never have denied her, but she wasn’t sure she did. Harry hadn’t called at the farm so often recently and it was more than a month since he’d asked her out. Ma said she’d warned Emily and thought it was because he’d heard rumours, but Harry had never asked Emily to be his exclusively. He’d enjoyed their kiss at the end of the evening, as she did, but he hadn’t tried to go further and he hadn’t mentioned going steady.

Emily’s thoughts kept her going as she wound the wheel of the butter churn. It was taking for ever today and Ma wanted it so that she could do some baking.

‘What are you up to, Em?’ The voice from the doorway brought her out of her thoughts sharply. She frowned as she saw the person she liked least in the world looking in at her. Why did he keep coming here when he knew she didn’t like him? He’d always made her feel uncomfortable but of late there was something in the way he looked at her that frightened her. He’d changed somehow and it wasn’t for the better.

‘You can see what I’m doing,’ she said sharply, ignoring him as he entered the dairy.

‘Now that’s not very nice,’ Derek said. ‘If you asked me nicely I might give you a hand.’

‘Thank you, but I prefer to do it myself.’

‘Why don’t you like me, Em?’ He moved closer to her, standing in her way as she tried to turn the butter onto the cold slabs. She froze, looking at him hard, but he ignored her icy stare and reached out, touching a finger to the V at the opening to her blouse. She’d worn a white cotton blouse because it was a warm day and churning butter was hard work. She’d been sweating and the material was damp, clinging to her breasts. ‘You’ve got lovely tits,’ Derek said and reached out to squeeze the nearest to him, his finger rubbing over her nipple. Emily jerked away as if she’d been stung.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she cried, furious with him. ‘Don’t you dare touch me like that! I haven’t forgotten the last time …’

He frowned, looking puzzled, then grinned. ‘You mean when I gave you a good smacking and then rubbed it better? You were just a little girl then, Em. You’re seventeen now and I reckon you know what it’s all about. I’ve seen Harry Standen sniffing round you when he comes here.’

‘Harry is just a friend,’ Emily said stung to a reply. ‘You just wash your filthy mouth out with salt, Derek. If I told Pa …’

‘I shouldn’t do that if I were you. If I don’t give him a hand with getting his corn in it will rot in the fields and then where will you be?’

‘You’re horrible,’ Emily said and glared at him. ‘Go away or I’ll scream – and I’ll tell Ma what you are.’

She saw the reaction in his face. He didn’t like that, because Ma was the one person in the world he seemed to care for. She was glad he didn’t know that telling her mother was the last thing she would ever do.

‘Come on, Em,’ he said. ‘It was just a bit of fun like. No harm done.’

‘Just keep away from me in future or I’ll tell what I know.’

‘And what do you know?’ Derek’s eyes narrowed. For a moment she thought she saw fear in his eyes and wondered if she was right in her suspicion that he’d been Carla’s lover – and her murderer? – but it was gone in a flash and the cocky expression was back. ‘I was just teasing the birthday girl that’s all. I’ve brought you a present – don’t you want to know what it is?’

‘No, I don’t. Just go away and don’t ever touch me again.’

Derek gave her a look that was little short of murderous but turned and went out without another word.

Emily was trembling. He’d made her feel sick inside and somehow dirty. She wanted to run to her father and tell him, but of course she couldn’t, just as she couldn’t tell anyone of her suspicions concerning Carla. Pa needed Derek’s help to harvest the wheat – and he wasn’t well. If Emily told she would just be making things worse, and her mother would never forgive her.

No, she must keep it all to herself and try to forget what had happened. Somehow she would keep him at a distance in future.

She turned back to the task in hand, using the butter paddles to make little squares of butter, which she placed on the marble slab. There wasn’t enough for Pa to sell any when people came for a jug of milk. Her mother would need all this for her baking and for buttering Pa’s toast in the morning.

Thinking about her father, she remembered the ring that Uncle Albert had left her that her father was keeping for her. She would remind him that evening when he came in for supper.

‘The ring …’ Pa looked at her in silence for a moment, and then glanced at Ma. ‘I know I promised it to you, Emily, but your mother wanted some things for Jack in the winter and I didn’t have any money to give her. I had to sell it. I’m sorry. I’ll get you another one when I can to make up for it.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Emily turned away to hide her disappointment. She’d been looking forward to this day for years, hoping the ring would fit when she was eventually allowed to have it. Glancing at Ma, she saw an odd look in her eyes and suddenly knew the truth. Pa hadn’t sold the ring; she’d taken it to sell herself – just as she’d sold Grandfather’s silver watch and chain. Pa had taken the blame but in her heart she knew he was protecting Ma, as he always did.

She wanted to shout at her mother, to tell her she was a thief and a cheat, and she wanted to tell her what Derek had done in the dairy, but if she said what was in her mind it would just cause more trouble. Emily hadn’t forgotten the row between her parents on that awful Christmas morning. Ma had gone off and Emily thought she’d intended to leave but she’d come back for some reason. Since that day Eddie Fisher hadn’t called at the cottage once; there was a new tallyman and Ma paid him what she owed every week, even if they went without something else.

Emily knew she couldn’t just blurt out her anger or her suspicions. She couldn’t say that the only reason Ma had come back was because Eddie Fisher wouldn’t have her, because it was rude. She couldn’t tell anyone she thought Derek might be a murderer. Instead, she held back her anger, got up and started to clear the table of dirty dishes and wash them in the sink.

She was lucky that Pa had given her the garnets and five shillings. It was probably far more than he could afford.

‘I’m going to bed now,’ she said when she dried her hands. ‘I’ve got a book to read. Thank you for the presents, Pa – and the stockings, Ma.’

‘Derek left you something,’ Ma said. ‘It’s in your room.’

‘You didn’t let him go up there?’

‘Why ever would he want to do that? I put it there myself when I took Jack up to bed.’

Emily nodded and turned away. She would hate it if Derek had been in her room, touching her things. The thought of what he’d done in the dairy made her skin crawl. She wished there was some way to punish him without hurting others, but she couldn’t think of anything she could do that wouldn’t distress both Ma and her father.

She went upstairs to her room. A small parcel wrapped in brown paper was lying on the bed. From the size of it she suspected it might be some kind of jewellery but she didn’t open it. Even if it were a diamond necklace she still wouldn’t want to know. Picking up the parcel, she took it into her parents’ room and placed it on the dressing table. Ma could give it back to Derek or keep it herself. Emily would never take anything from that man.

‘It looks bad, Em,’ Pa said when he came back from Ely the next week. ‘There’s been an assassination of a Habsburg duke and his morganatic wife.’

‘What does morganatic mean?’

‘That she is of lower rank than her husband and she will not inherit titles or ducal property.’