The Downstairs Maid (40 page)

Miss Lizzie had sent over her things when Christopher was moved nearer to his home. She’d visited too, giving her the wages she was due. When Emily had tried to thank her, she’d shaken her head.

‘I think what you’ve done is wonderful, Emily. Standing by your fiancé like that – a lot of girls haven’t done that, you know. Quite a few of the men at the convalescent home get horrible letters telling them that their wives or sweethearts have found someone else. Captain Manning says it’s because they can’t bear to look at their scarred faces or empty sleeves.’

Emily shook her head. She hadn’t had much of a choice. Mr Johnson had considered her engaged to his son, and she would have felt wretched if she’d tried to explain that Christopher had never actually asked her to marry him. Besides, Christopher loved her so much and she couldn’t let him down, even though her heart often ached for the man she loved but could never have. When she’d looked through the things that Miss Lizzie brought over, she’d found Nicolas’s pendant. She’d returned it to him at the hospital but he must have put it in her room with her things, refusing to let her give it back. She locked it away in the secret drawer of Pa’s writing box, because she could never wear it now that she was to marry Christopher, and yet she was glad to have it back. One day, when she could bear it, she would take it out and admire it, but not yet.

She didn’t want to talk about her problems.

‘Who is Captain Manning?’ she asked, to change the subject, and saw a faint colour in Miss Lizzie’s cheeks.

‘He’s in charge of the convalescent homes in the area. He came to make sure we had all we needed for the patients at the start, and he visits once a month to see how things are going.’

‘So what do you do there?’

Emily had been surprised at the change in Miss Lizzie in the last few months. She seemed to have matured a lot, had more confidence, and she was wearing a dress without frills, her hair swept up into a bunch of curls at her nape. Emily thought the change suited her, but wondered that her mother had allowed her to work at the home.

‘I’m in charge of supplies, the inventories and the expenses. Also, I talk to the men and try to help them if they have problems. I can read letters, write for them if they are unable to hold a pen and I read books for those that have lost their sight sometimes.’

There was a new dignity about her. She’d seen the kind of suffering Emily had witnessed in Christopher and other patients at the military hospital. It made a kind of bond between them, breaking down the barriers of class in a way Emily had not thought possible. Lizzie had always been kinder than her sister, but now she was a compassionate young woman and Emily really liked her.

‘Perhaps I can come and visit one day,’ she said, and then, uncertainly, ‘Would you like to come to my wedding? It will be just a very small affair. Christopher will be in a bath chair and it will be held in Sir Arthur’s house. He’s arranged for a small private ceremony and a reception. Christopher’s family and a few friends will be there – but I have no family. I was going to ask Mrs Hattersley but there isn’t anyone else.’

‘Who will be your witness?’

‘Sir Arthur says he’ll give me away, and Mr Johnson is Christopher’s witness.’ A lump lodged in Emily’s throat, but she hadn’t let herself cry. Miss Lizzie had nodded sympathetically and promised she would be there.

Time had moved on since then, Christopher gradually learning to walk a few steps with the help of the nurses and of Emily, who spent as much of every day with him as the doctors would allow. His hands were still very painful and he could only move a few fingers of one hand. The left hand, which had been so cruelly injured, was curled up like a bird’s claw and he’d been told it might never straighten out. However, he said that there was some feeling returning to his right, which meant he would be able to feed himself in time, and perhaps manage to dress.

The miracle for which they were all thankful was that his sight had returned, though he now needed spectacles to help him read. In a few months he might actually be able to do the job Sir Arthur had created for him. In the meantime, Mr Johnson had insisted on paying for their cottage to be furnished. Emily had asked him to allow her to choose the furniture. From Pa’s stock that Christopher had stored in one of Sir Arthur’s barns, she’d found a set of four yew stretcher chairs for the kitchen and a good pine table. She’d also rescued a pine dresser, two rocking chairs and a mahogany wine table with a piecrust edge. The table was worth a bit if she’d wanted to sell it, but it would look wonderful in their tiny sitting room. She’d purchased two shabby but comfortable leather armchairs from the market in Ely and a Persian rug, which had a stain in one corner. Emily had given it a good scrub and it looked almost new. She’d also managed to get hold of a Georgian sideboard, which someone had cast out because it was old-fashioned, but which Emily knew was quality.

What she lacked was bits and pieces, and regretted the things her mother had sold from Pa’s barns, but she couldn’t do much about it. The parlour downstairs would hold a single bed for Christopher until he could manage the stairs, which she hoped might happen in a few months. She had a brass and iron bedstead and a big ugly chest of drawers in her room, also one of the wardrobes Pa had been going to chop up for firewood. It was as much as she needed for the time being, though she would collect small pieces of china and glass for her dresser whenever she had money to spare, which wasn’t going to be often.

Mr Johnson had been all that was kind and thoughtful and treated Emily as if she were his own daughter. His wife still wasn’t as friendly. She gave Emily some strange looks, as if she were suspicious of her for some reason, but so far they had managed to get along. After all, it was Christopher who mattered and Emily spent most of her time with him.

Christopher had a job waiting for him with Sir Arthur when he was properly on his feet again, but that was a few months off. Emily would have gone out to work if she could, but Mr Johnson wouldn’t hear of it.

‘No, lass. I want you to look after my lad. There’s no need for you to work while I’ve a few bob in my pocket. Christopher wouldn’t want his wife to work – and he’ll need looking after.’

Emily couldn’t deny the truth of his words. Christopher needed assistance with just about everything. He could use his right hand a little now and struggled to put on his clothes, but he couldn’t do his tie up or his bootlaces, and someone had to cut his meat into small pieces so that he could fork them into his mouth. He was able to walk to the bathroom with the aid of a stick and refused help getting there, but when he returned his trouser buttons were always undone.

At the hospital the nurses had done them for him but once they were married, Emily would have to take over such tasks he could not manage alone. What made things worse was that his mother fussed over him and he resented it. He would accept help from Emily, but if his mother offered to help he pushed her away.

Emily soon discovered that the best way to get through was to make everything a joke and they laughed a lot, but she knew that underneath Christopher was humiliated. His mother showed her pity too plainly and that made him angry. Once the bandages came off his face Emily had seen the terrible scars he would bear for the rest of his life. Mrs Johnson turned away in tears but Emily just met his questing gaze and nodded.

Emily had felt a wave of sympathy the first time she saw the ugly scars, but he didn’t want pity so she’d kept her feelings to herself. She took him magazines, sweets she’d made herself and flowers from the garden they would share once he was home.

Now he was coming home and her heart was beating so fast that she felt she couldn’t breathe. Christopher was waiting with his small suitcase packed and ready when she and Mr Johnson entered the ward. His father picked up the valise and Christopher limped down the ward, responding to a chorus of good wishes from the other patients with a nod of his head. He didn’t respond to Emily’s smile and she guessed he was feeling nervous about leaving the hospital, even though he didn’t want to admit it.

Miss Lizzie had told her that quite a few of the long-term patients who convalesced at the dower house were nervous of going home.

‘Captain Manning says they feel cut off and protected in hospital but once they leave, they have to face the reality of life.’

Emily knew that Christopher was concerned about the future. He was fiercely independent and wanted to do everything for himself, but it was probably never going to be possible for him to perform certain tasks alone.

‘I think you will like the cottage,’ Emily said as they went out to the taxicab that Mr Johnson had arranged to take them home. ‘It’s a little bare of bits and pieces now but we’ll soon make it more homely.’

‘Don’t try to please me all the time,’ Christopher said roughly. ‘I know I need help with things – but you have a life too, Emily. You mustn’t think that you have to wait on me hand and foot.’

‘Of course not,’ she said, feeling a little hurt, but understanding how much worse it was for him. ‘I’ve made it nice for both of us, not just you.’

‘As long as it’s what you want,’ Christopher replied but he still didn’t smile.

Emily could see the tension in him. He answered when his father spoke during the journey to Sir Arthur’s estate, but he didn’t look at Emily and he didn’t initiate conversation of any kind.

Clearly, he was feeling depressed and uncertain, dreading the life that would now be his. Emily’s throat tightened with pity but there was nothing she could do, no words she could say that would take away the terrible injuries that had ruined his life. Somehow he had to come to terms with what had happened.

When Christopher was established in one of the rocking chairs by the kitchen range, cushions at his back and the newspaper waiting there for him to read, Emily put the kettle on. His father stayed to drink a cup of tea and then left them.

Emily walked him to the door. ‘He’s just feeling a bit strange,’ Mr Johnson said, looking at her awkwardly. ‘It must be difficult after all those months in hospital.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Emily said, forcing a smile. ‘Facing up to the future can’t be easy for him. All I can do is to care for him and hope it is enough.’

‘I’ll be back this evening, Em.’

Emily nodded. Mrs Johnson had insisted that Christopher’s father should look after him at night. ‘It wouldn’t be right or decent you staying there alone with him at night, Emily. Just until you’re married you can come and stay with me and his father will see to him.’

She’d tried to help her son but Christopher couldn’t bear her to touch him and asked Emily to do whatever was needed instead. Emily knew his mother was hurt by his attitude and she’d seen a flash of anger in Mrs Johnson’s eyes when she looked at Emily, because he was always ready to accept her help, but she hadn’t said much. Yet Emily could sense the resentment building in her and knew that her feeling of dislike was growing. Mrs Johnson didn’t like the girl her son had chosen and, had the circumstances been otherwise, she might have tried to dissuade him, but Christopher needed someone to care for him and he wanted Emily. So she contented herself with disapproving looks.

Returning to the kitchen after seeing Mr Johnson off, she found that Christopher had struggled to his feet and gone through to the parlour. When she entered, he was sitting on the single bed, which was where he would sleep for the moment. He looked up at her as she hesitated on the threshold.

‘I think I’ll lie down for a while, Emily. You get on and do whatever you want.’

‘I thought I would make a shepherd’s pie for this evening’s meal,’ she said. ‘Perhaps apple pie for afters?’

‘Sounds fine. It will be better than the hospital food. Do whatever you want, Emily. I’ll need help with some things, but I shan’t ask for help if I don’t need it – so you can go out in the garden or off to market when you like.’

‘I’ve done enough shopping to last us for a few days, and your mother will get anything I need from the local shops. I thought you might like me to read to you – or we could play cards?’

‘Perhaps another day. For now I should just like to rest – and I can read with the spectacles they gave me so bring me the newspaper through, then get off and do whatever you want. Don’t you want to visit your family?’

‘I wouldn’t mind seeing my brother. I do miss him and think about him often. I wonder how he is, because he is a little slow – but I don’t get on with my mother or her brother so I can’t visit. Perhaps one day I’ll visit my friends at the manor – but not until we’ve settled in here.’

She had already cleaned the cottage from top to bottom. There wasn’t much furniture to polish and Christopher’s mother had already filled a tin with her own cakes and pastries. Obviously, Emily was going to have a lot of time on her hands.

‘Just give me a call if you need anything,’ she said and Christopher nodded.

Emily wanted to cry but she held the tears back. Perhaps after a few days things would be better. After all, she couldn’t expect Christopher to be happy about his situation.

He would need a few days to get over the change of environment. Their wedding was planned for the end of August and it was now mid-July. Perhaps by then Christopher would have become used to the idea of being home …

Emily finished shopping for all the essentials she needed on the market, and then made her way to the library. It was her weekly treat and she looked forward to choosing the books that were her only real pleasure.

Over the past few weeks, she’d managed to buy a few items from the sale at the cattle market, little things like a blue and white set of plates, cups and saucers to set out on the dresser in the kitchen. A careful rummage through a box of junk left for sale with the auctioneer had turned up such treasures as a small silver rose vase, a single brass candlestick and some pewter mugs. Once they were cleaned and set out on the dresser, the kitchen began to take on a more homely look.

‘You’ve made this look comfortable, though I would have given you a few bits if you’d asked,’ Mrs Johnson told her when she visited the previous day. ‘Christopher looks better … don’t you think?’