The Last Dance (5 page)

‘I’m encouraged,’ she replied carefully.

Suzanne gave a soft, throaty chuckle. ‘Oh, that was truly the right answer. So diplomatic and yet nothing servile about it.’

‘I wouldn’t see myself as a servant, Miss Farnsworth.’

‘But you would serve, Stella. You would serve the family, you would certainly be serving Georgina’s education and, to a lesser extent, Grace’s. But happily, I think you would agree you would be serving yourself when you hear the wage is seven pounds per week.’

‘Seven!’

Suzanne grinned lazily again. ‘Shocking! A slip of a thing like you earning so much; what do they pay you at the store? Two pounds per week?’

‘Two pounds fifty,’ she confirmed with only a hint of offence. ‘Three-fifty when I complete my training, but seven pounds wouldn’t enter my dreams . . . really? Per week?’

‘Really. Twice the average wage, in fact. I can’t say I don’t share your surprise, but that’s my brief. And that wage is outside of all other expenses, including full board – I’ve mentioned that will be covered separately. The family tells me that the amount reflects the quality of the governess they’re expecting. I was specifically asked to find someone over twenty-five but under thirty.’

‘That is specific.’

Miss Farnsworth’s assistant arrived with a tray and two cups of steaming tea. ‘Yes, I won’t even bother with sending them the shortlist. You’re perfect. Over here, Tiggy, please.’ She pointed to the young woman. ‘I took the liberty of ordering a second. Will you join me?’

‘Yes, thank you. May I ask why the brief is so explicit?’

‘No doubt identifying with Georgina’s needs. Someone too young would not have the mettle and someone older may be too distant from their teens, or potentially overbearing for Georgina.’

‘I see. So may I ask what the family is like?’

‘Utterly delightful, from what I hear. You would be well looked after and you would have one day per month to visit your family. I have made provision for that, as you requested.’

Stella took a draught of her tea. It was lightly flavoured. ‘Lovely, thank you. Orange pekoe?’

‘I’m impressed.’

It was Stella’s turn to shrug. ‘My training at the department store has been long and varied. I did a course on tea during my late teens. Um, how long is the employment for?’ She had already calculated that if she saved almost every penny from this job, she could keep up the payments on the house . . . maybe even buy it outright. Or sell it, pay off what had to be settled, add her savings to what might be left and maybe the tearooms in the spa town didn’t have to remain the dream . . . She wanted to laugh aloud but Suzanne Farnsworth was clearly not jesting with her.

‘Ah yes, shall we say a six-month placement? I’m afraid I couldn’t offer less because you understand that it’s an upheaval for everyone and we want no chopping and changing, should you agree.’

Stella nodded.

‘But I won’t lock you into longer until we know everyone’s happy with the arrangement, yourself included.’

‘Yes, that sounds wise. I’ve been given up to one year away from the department store.’ Stella could hear she sounded in control and yet inside she was churning with excitement. Yesterday she hadn’t thought she could ever feel excited again about anything.

‘That’s generous of your superiors,’ Suzanne commented.

‘It suits the management right now.’

‘So, what do you think, Stella? I would like to ring the family later today and confirm an appointment.’

Stella put her cup and saucer down quietly, using the time to draw a silent breath. The honest answer was that she wasn’t thinking about anything but survival; her mind still felt blanketed by grief and confusion. Rafe had surely done her a kindness in obliging her to come to this agency. Plus the money! It would empower her and the family to go forward.

‘I think I should say yes, Miss Farnsworth,’ she said, looking up from her hands, knowing the decision was sound.

Her companion’s bright gaze narrowed from the wide smile. ‘Good girl, Stella. I’m thrilled for you and for the family. I feel sure your life is about to change.’

The words felt darkly prophetic but Stella smiled. ‘May I know their names?’

‘Indeed you may. Douglas and Beatrice Ainsworth. They live at Harp’s End, which is a sprawling property not far from Tunbridge Wells on the edge of the Weald. Quite beautiful it is too. I’ve attended a function on the lawns.’

‘What does Mr Ainsworth do?’

‘Oh, he’s a financier or something in the city. Mrs Ainsworth is involved in various charitable projects and the girls attend Benendon, not far from Cranbrook.’

‘When would I start?’

Suzanne closed the folder. ’As soon as possible, Stella. I would be urging you to leave this week.’ She must have gauged Stella’s response to that recommendation simply through body language because she followed up quickly. ‘All right, it’s the 8th now, so how about May 22nd? Kent is gorgeous in spring. I’ll arrange monies for your train ticket and travel expenses. Take a suitcase of clothes only because the family will organise to send for any other personal items you may like around you.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, you know, a favourite piece of bedroom furniture or your bicycle or whatever,’ Suzanne said airily, waving a dismissive hand, black polish catching the glow from the desk light.

‘No, there’s nothing special, some books, clothes, just essentials.’

‘Even easier,’ the woman replied. ‘Right.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘More of those May showers threatening. Will you be all right for getting home?’

‘Yes, thank you, the Tube gets me near enough door to door.’ Stella dug into her bag and pulled out the new Underground map that London was so proud of. ‘Finally, it all makes simple sense,’ she admitted.

‘Oh yes, I’d heard about that – I’m afraid I don’t use the Underground.’

Stella could well understand how a cocktail cigarette holder might attract attention in the honeycomb of public transport tunnels. ‘When it’s raining and the traffic gets so crowded, it’s faster and more reliable beneath the streets,’ she explained unnecessarily but it bridged an awkward moment that surely highlighted their different backgrounds. Stella stood. ‘I’m grateful to you for this opportunity.’

Suzanne Farnsworth followed, becoming upright in a languid movement and held out her long-fingered hand. ‘A pleasure, Stella. I’m pleased to know this unrivalled wage is going to someone so deserving. I hope it makes the difference you need to your sister and brother. Between you and me, I’ve not hired a governess at such a wage before so I’m imagining this to be a very special placement. I know you’ll make me proud.’ They shook hands. ‘I’ll have all the paperwork delivered to your address, but shall we plan for your arrival next weekend in Kent?’

Stella nodded, smiling. ‘I don’t know whether to be excited or nervous.’

‘Bit of both never hurts. You’ve got the goods, Stella. You’ll make an impression, I’m certain of it,’ Suzanne said, smiling and moving to the office door and opening it.

‘Thank you again.’

Stella felt the spring drizzle land on her skin and a ripple of anticipation travelled through her like a current of awakening. Rafe, wherever he was, had been right to insist. The change of scenery and lifestyle was going to be an island in the sea of grief that she could rest on for a while. Six months would fly and she wouldn’t miss either of her youngsters’ birthdays, she realised. In fact she could even plan a family Christmas in a new house somewhere if she could ask Uncle Bryn to help with the sale of the Clapham home. It felt as though everything was falling neatly into position to give her a glimpse into a new chapter in her life.

She unfolded her umbrella and hurried across the damp streets towards London Victoria Station. People were huddling beneath the awning on the concourse as they emerged into the open air and scrambled for their brollies or to pull on mackintoshes. It wasn’t raining properly yet but it would; the sky was looking interminably grumpy with pockets of heavy grey clouds glowering with intent. The dampness intensified the smell of metal and tarmac but the aroma of chips frying somewhere made her belly grumble. She’d not eaten today and she was looking forward to the shepherd’s pie that Aunt Dil had promised tonight. Stella was glad to skip down the steps to the Underground entrance, where the second-hand breath of smokers made sure a fog hovered above the hurrying commuters. Her gaze moved briskly past the familiar series of etiquette posters that asked commuters to let people off the trains first before boarding.

Stella pulled the three-penny bit she’d readied in her pocket to pay for her ticket and moved with the fast-flowing stream of commuters deeper into the catacombs, hardly daring to imagine that she would soon be leaving this life behind for the hills and meadows of Kent. She wished she could tell the friendly stranger she knew as Rafe that she had taken his advice, but as the train arrived with its blast of warm air that dragged her dark waved hair away from her face she decided it was perhaps best he didn’t know, not that she’d know how to find him anyway. She let herself believe that the handsome man had been sent into her life like a messenger to bring change and that seeing him again might stir up feelings she didn’t need to disturb, especially with a married man.

Stella was determined to see her brother and sister off to school this morning – her last for a while in London. Carys held her hand tightly through mittens and Stella tried not to think about how to say goodbye.

Ahead she watched Rory, whose spirits had mercifully improved with the arrival of his new bicycle and the news of the move to live with his aunt and uncle. Rory possessed the trait that gave him a sense of measure. While he was deeply and understandably morose at the loss of his mother and father, he was feeding off Stella’s stoicism and able to consider that there was brightness ahead.

Already he was excited about taking his new bicycle to their aunt and uncle’s house where small lanes afforded all-day safe riding. She saw him twist the handlebars with dexterity to turn the bike so he could double back.

‘Stella?’

‘Yes?’ she enquired, ensuring her tone was cheerful.

‘Will Uncle Bryn take me fishing, do you think?’

‘Of course! He can’t wait. He’s already planning to cut down a rod so it’s better for your height.’

‘Really?’ His eyes shone with eagerness.

She made a mental note to ask Uncle Bryn to do just that. ‘Yes, he’s so looking forward to teaching you. Dad used to love to fish, Aunty Dil said, and he was good at it. Maybe you will be too.’

‘I’ll catch enough to feed us all,’ Rory swaggered, riding slowly and standing up in his saddle to show off new skills.

Stella’s heart swelled at the thought of her brother being allowed to run a little wild; it was something their mother had always hoped for, but living in London had meant too much brick and concrete for the country childhood she’d enjoyed in Brittany.

‘What about me, Stella?’ Carys wondered, lisping in a sad tone.

‘Well, let’s just get Rory off to his class before I tell you about all the excitement coming your way, darling,’ Stella soothed, knowing her sister would not be persuaded as easily. They’d arrived at the junior school gate. Already children were trooping in, mittens dangling from overcoat sleeves, balls being kicked against scuffed shoes and bright voices breathing steam with their enthusiasm to get a few minutes of play in before the school bell was rung.

‘You ready, Rory?’ Stella adjusted his cap that was slanting rakishly.

He nodded. She wanted to stroke his soft cheek, stung pink by the cold, but Danny Nichols arrived to punch his arm instead.

Danny whistled. ‘Better kiss your sister, Rory,’ he taunted, making smooching sounds.

‘Shut up, Danny,’ Rory replied over his shoulder but Stella could see the colour had darkened in his cheeks.

‘Well, how about a hug for your big sis instead.’

Rory was embarrassed by his friend but not enough to deny Stella the embrace she craved.

‘Ooooh,’ she groaned softly. ‘I’m going to miss you, Rory. I need you to be the man of our family now.’ He nodded as he pulled away. She was relieved to see his eyes were dry although hers were misting. ‘Be good for your aunt and uncle, all right? Back soon, I promise.’

‘One month, you said.’

‘I did. And then I’ll take you bowling.’

‘And to the funfair at —’

‘I know, I know. I won’t forget.’ She grinned and he returned it with a gap-toothed smile that was so reminiscent of her mother that the hurt caught in her throat. It made her desperate to keep holding him but she let him go. ‘Danny’s waiting,’ she nodded behind him but couldn’t resist any longer. Stella knocked off his school cap to ruffle his dark hair, knowing her aunt would take the scissors to it as soon as she got him under her roof. He surprised her with another hug – a fierce one this time – to melt her heart and then he grabbed his cap and was trundling his bike into the school playground.

She blew him a kiss when he looked around but he didn’t blow one back because the other boys had gathered and were nudging each other. Stella didn’t feel bad. She knew Rory would be fine and that he’d think of something amusing to say that would crack them up; he was mature beyond his years and this buoyed her.

Carys was different, of course. She’d begun crying the previous evening and now Stella could hear sniffles again as she doggedly pressed on, to walk around to the primary section of the school.

‘Stella, I still don’t understand why you have to go?’

Stella remained patient and explained once again in the simplest manner she could, finishing with: ‘. . . and as I told you we’ll get a weekend together in just a few weeks’ time. Remember how we marked up the Scenes of the Continent calendar last night?’ Carys nodded with a sniff. Stella recalled with a heavy heart how she’d taken down the calendar and shown Carys. ‘You see, here’s today, darling. And here is when I shall be back with you.’

‘Forever?’

‘Not forever . . . But we’ll do some fun things, just you and I, I promise.’

Carys stopped walking. ‘Four weeks feels like forever. Mum and Dad have gone and now you’re going.’ Stella felt the baby of their family trembling with fresh tears that burst into new sobs and she quickly dropped to her haunches so she could look into the huge blue eyes not unlike her own. These were wet with sorrow while Stella was forcing hers to remain dry.

‘Please don’t be worried, Carys. I’m not leaving you altogether. If you count the days – and this afternoon you can go home and tick off two already!’

Carys halted her bleating and blinked. ‘Two?’ she hiccuped.

Stella grinned and nodded. ‘We didn’t tick off yesterday yet, and you can also tick off today. I’ll be home before you know it.’ She dug into a pocket and found a hanky. ‘Here, blow, darling I need you to be a big girl for me.’ Her sister blew noisily into the cotton square and they both laughed at the sound. ‘Take care of Rory and be good for Aunty Dil. Do you know she’s so excited to be having you both stay for a little while, and I just know she’s going to spoil you terribly.’

‘How long is a little while?’

Stella knew Carys couldn’t grasp what the period would feel like so she tried again with the calendar. ‘Just one of those calendar pages. And the time will pass so fast you won’t believe it. I shall be back for good by the end of autumn and we can plan a wonderful Christmas. I’m hoping we can be in our new home by the time we celebrate the new year of 1934 and you can choose your own bedroom wallpaper. How’s that?’

Damp eyes shone back at her. ‘I can?’

Stella nodded, meaning it with all her heart. ‘Now, I don’t want to leave you feeling sad – at least you have Rory and our aunt and uncle. I shall have no one to cuddle. Will you give me a smile and big kiss to carry away with me and a promise to write?’

Carys responded with a hard kiss to Stella’s cheek and then fell into her big sister’s arms and wept a little more, but not as hard. Practice told Stella that these tears would dry up soon.

‘I’ll write as soon as I get back from school because I shall be missing you by then,’ Carys moaned.

‘I know, darling,’ she whispered, silently cursing her parents’ cowardice once again. Surely they knew how much their deaths would hurt the very people they loved the most?

The parting when it came wasn’t as painful as she’d dreaded. It was Carys who saved them.

‘Perhaps we should say “See you again” like Mummy always told us. She hated goodbyes didn’t she?’

Clearly not enough
. Stella couldn’t help the uncharitable thought and wished she could drag her mother alongside to witness all this bravery from her children that she had so lacked. ‘Good idea.
Á bientôt, ma cherie
,’ she whispered, hugging her sister, inhaling the faintly soapy smell still on her skin.

‘
Á bientôt
, Stella. Hurry home.’

Mrs Walker, the third-form teacher on duty in the playground had already anticipated the tears and had generously agreed to meet them at the gate when Stella had told her of the family’s situation. She nodded with understanding at Stella. ‘Morning, Carys. Gosh, do you know what I just heard?’ Carys looked up with enquiry. ‘Apparently we’re going on an excursion to London Zoo tomorrow.’ Carys gasped. Stella had known about it, and planned for this surprise to be landed on her sister at this tense moment of farewell. ‘I know, it’s so exciting and we’re gathering a list of the children who are able to come. I was hoping you might like to be one of the leaders of the group going – you’ll have a special list of important duties.’

Stella watched her sister’s eyes shine with pleasure. ‘Really? Me?’

‘Oh, golly gosh, yes. You were the first person I thought of to wear the special badge of leader. So come on, I have to get you to agree formally to that important position and I have to give you a badge and your armband. I’m putting you in charge of the green group of your year – along with Nancy Bell.’

‘Nancy and I are best friends, Miss Walker.’

‘Oh, well, yes, I thought you two would make the perfect pair. Nancy’s already here – shall we go and find her?’

Carys turned back to Stella, tears dried, new energy beaming from her eyes instead. ‘I have to go, Stella, did you hear?’

‘I did. Hurry off, Carys, sounds like you have important things to do.’ Her sister fell into her arms once more but there was no trembling now. Stella kissed her nose, as she always did to make Carys giggle. ‘Let’s both plan to write tonight so our letters kiss on the way to each other.’

Carys laughed now. ‘Bye, Stella.’

‘Back soon, darling.’ She blew her a kiss too but Carys was already gushing in conversation with her teacher and it was Miss Walker who caught the kiss and nodded.

She breathed deeply, her glance skimming across the school playground where she must now leave her heart and turn away from the lives she loved to the new life beckoning.

It had been tempting to drift into a doze on the journey south from London’s Charing Cross Station, especially after the early-morning journey into central London. Uncle Bryn had come down with his car and driven Stella and her aunt for their teary goodbye on the concourse of the ornate French Renaissance-style building that fronted The Strand.

‘Don’t come in with me,’ Stella quavered, hugging her aunt fiercely and swallowing back tears that had wanted to fall since she’d walked her brother and sister to school an hour earlier. Instead they parted to look at each other, still embracing. ‘It only makes it harder.’

Her aunt nodded, pulling off her glove to dab at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. ‘I shall miss you, darling, but I promise the children will want for nothing.’

‘I know.’ She had to run away. This was feeling even harder than she’d imagined. ‘Kiss Uncle Bryn for me and thank him again for driving me in.’

‘Leave,’ her aunt said, ‘or I may not let you go!’ They swapped a teary laugh. ‘You’ve got your purse? We’ll see you in four weeks, then.’

‘I promise,’ Stella replied, and after a final swift hug she left her aunt’s arms. Moving away, she looked back once more and mouthed ‘Bye,’ before turning and hurrying into one of the many darkened entrance arches that led her into the station proper. Stella sniffed back any further tears as she queued to buy her ticket, promising herself she would not shed another.

‘Monthly return third-class to Tunbridge Wells, please,’ she said to the man behind the counter, retrieving the ten-shilling note that Miss Farnsworth had made sure was enclosed for Stella’s travel expenses with all of her paperwork.

He appeared weary. ‘That’s London to Hastings via Tunbridge Wells,’ he murmured to himself, looking up the cost in his prices book. ‘That will be six shilling and sixpence,’ he mumbled, nodding as her note was placed in the depression of the brass plate between them. ‘And sixpence back, makes it seven shillings and eight,’ he said, dropping a shilling on top of the sixpence. He reached into his drawer and found another coin, adding a florin to her change. ‘And two more makes ten, Miss.’ Checking first the bottom of his rubber stamp before dabbing it on the inkpad he looked to where neat racks of the small cardboard tickets were stacked and selected the correct one. He carefully pressed it against the back of Stella’s ticket to date the start of the season ticket before he found a small pincer-like tool that was hung from his desk on a piece of string. He used it to clip a tiny triangle shape from the ticket’s top to show it had been properly purchased. She watched all of these processes in fascination as he next selected another stamp – a single large-lettered one – and this he briskly punched against a red inkpad. He blinked, looking up over his glasses. ‘Er, this season ticket is for you, isn’t it, Miss?’

‘Yes.’ She wasn’t sure why he had checked that.

He nodded his thanks, banged the stamp down on the front of the ticket with purpose and she saw a bold red W appear.

‘Oh? What does that mean?’

The man looked up tiredly. ‘We mark all tickets of female travellers, Miss.’

‘Good grief, really?’

‘I don’t make the rules, Miss. I’m sure it is meant as a courtesy.’ He placed the soft green card ticket beneath the coins. ‘Show this at the ticket barrier.’

She wanted to say
Just in case I need to prove I’m a female traveller?
Instead she muttered thanks, adding: ‘May I ask, is the next train at twenty-five to eleven?’

He consulted a large book by his side. ‘Yes, on Southern Railways, but it would pay you to check on the departure board. There can be delays this time of year.’

‘Thank you and which —’

‘Platform five.’

She gave him a bright smile of thanks; it never hurt, and he looked surprised by the gesture.

‘Thank you, Miss. Safe travels.’

Stella left the ticket office and joined the herd of people fixated on the departure board; people were instantly in frantic motion around her as the man on the tannoy announced the Brighton train. It had obviously been delayed. Stella felt caught in a maelstrom and stood still, clutching her hand luggage as a fast-moving river of people flowed around her for several seconds. Then just as suddenly they were all gone, scampering towards the platform and the train that would rush them off to the popular seaside town she remembered spending one of her happiest childhood summers at.

It was a quarter-past ten so she had some time before she needed to head through the gate. She used the distraction of the newsagency kiosk of WH Smith & Son to kill off a few more minutes and keep her mind occupied. She queued to buy a newspaper she was sure she would not read – although the headline of another sighting of the Loch Ness monster was intriguing – and some sweets. She handed over another sixpence as she overheard talk around her concerning the cricket series that was underway, with England feeling confident apparently.