The Housekeeper's Daughter

by Rose Meddon

  ‘I didn’t ask you what it is. I can see that plain enough. What I asked, was whether you know anything about it, by which I specifically mean whether you know anything about its being in the laundry?’

  Unable to help it, Kate burst into laughter. ‘The laundry?’

  ‘One of the day girls found it there this morning, abandoned on the edge of the sink.’

  Oh, please don’t let my face give me away, Kate willed. But why, oh why, didn’t I think to take it back indoors? As questions went, it was moot. The fact was that she hadn’t thought to. And now, the damage done, all she could do was feign ignorance. Thankfully, it was something at which she was most proficient. ‘Maybe someone wanted to try and get a stain out of something. I’ve known vinegar to lift grass stains from gentlemen’s flannels—’

  ‘So I’m to believe you know nothing of how it came to be there?’

  Practised at thinking on her feet, Kate knew to avoid telling an outright lie. ‘I haven’t been asked to remove any stains.’

  To her answer, Mabel Bratton gave a weary sigh. ‘Very well. Go and see to Miss Naomi.’

  When her mother turned sharply and walked away, Kate started in the opposite direction. She hated lying. It made her feel sick. So, why did she do it? Climbing slowly up the stairs, she knew why. She did it because in this house – and with both her mother and her sister being the sort of people they were – she didn’t have an ounce of privacy. Nor did she get to control much of her own life, her mother still treating her as though she couldn’t be trusted to know her own mind. Indeed, a dispassionate individual might reasonably contend that Mabel Bratton brought most of their disagreements and conflicts upon herself. If, instead of meddling, she trusted her daughter to just get on with her life, maybe she wouldn’t be lied to quite as often.

  Reaching the top of the stairs and rounding the half-landing, Kate sighed. To that same dispassionate individual, though, Mabel Bratton would most likely offer a simple rebuttal: if her daughter would stop dallying and get on with marrying her fiancé, then she, her long-suffering mother, would have no need to meddle in the first place.

  * * *

  ‘Oh, good, you’re already here.’ Coming briskly through the door, Naomi Russell tossed her parasol onto the bed and bent to ease off her shoes. ‘Goodness I’m in need of a freshen up. And somewhat late getting up here, too. I’ll just slip out of this frock and then pop along to the bathroom.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ To Kate’s eyes, Naomi did look rather warm. ‘I’ll fetch your robe.’

  In the time since narrowly avoiding trouble with her mother, Kate had busied herself readying Miss Naomi’s change for dinner. Earlier that day, learning that she proposed to wear the dreamy gown of lilac satin, she had already laid out the matching gloves and bag, along with stockings and shoes, the latter of her own choosing. Staring down at the outfit now, all set out just so, she realized that she had come to like this work. It was nice to handle such fine clothes and dainty possessions. And, contrary to her initial expectations, Miss Naomi wasn’t proving that difficult to please.

  On her way to the door, and catching sight of the garments on the bed, Naomi paused to look them over. ‘Good choice of shoes,’ she said. ‘You’re learning.’

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  ‘And I find myself looking again at your hair. Has it held like that all day?’

  It was something of a surprise to Kate, too. ‘Yes, miss. It has.’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  With Naomi gone, Kate found that she couldn’t stop smiling. To have been praised for her efforts was gratifying, and gave her an idea. Crossing to the dressing-table, she hesitated for a moment before reaching to open the top of the jewellery-box. It was something she shouldn’t do – not uninvited – but, suddenly, she had an urge to demonstrate to Miss Naomi that she knew what she was about – that she could be relied upon to choose things to suit the occasion or, in this case, to suit an outfit. Easing aside the tiers of the jewellery box, she picked out a pair of crystal-drop earrings and searched for the matching necklace. Taking the greatest of care, she polished them on the corner of her apron and laid them on the dressing table. Then she sought the bracelet she’d seen the other day – the one with the stones that, while not a precise match, did look remarkably similar to those in the pieces she had already chosen. Placing it alongside the others, she turned to look at the dress and then went to the drawer containing what Miss Naomi referred to as her bits and pieces. There, among her hat-bands and gloves, was a narrow length of ivory-coloured silk that would sit nicely in her hair. If Miss Naomi thought it an odd choice, she would try to convince her otherwise.

  As it turned out, Naomi pronounced the choice of headband inspired. ‘Quite brilliant,’ was what she said of it.

  Watching her appraise the finished effect in the mirror, Kate smiled, on the verge of thanking Miss Naomi when there was a light tap at the door.

  ‘Naomi, dear?’

  ‘Come in, Mamma.’

  In a cloud of heavy scent that put Kate in mind of the depths of a thundery summer’s night, Pamela Russell crossed the room and kissed her daughter on the cheek. Then, standing so as to admire her own appearance, she said, ‘Darling, I should like you to spend more time with Aubrey.’

  Now standing at the laundry basket, folding undergarments, Kate hesitated. Behind her, the conversation sounded like one for which perhaps she shouldn’t be present. On the other hand, Mrs Russell could see well enough that she was there. And anyway, from a purely selfish point of view, it sounded like exactly the sort of conversation that might prove interesting. And so, setting the garments upon the top of the chest of drawers, she proceeded to inspect and fold them with the utmost care – but absolutely no haste.

  ‘Oh, Mamma, really? Must I?’

  ‘Darling, you’ll never get to know him – or he, you – if you don’t even make the effort to talk to him.’

  Behind her, Kate heard Mrs Russell move across to the window, from where she pictured her looking abstractedly down to the garden.

  ‘Perhaps I don’t want to get to know him. He’s terribly dull.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear. The Colbornes are a good family. An old family. And what you need to remember is that one day, in the not so distant future, everything will pass to Aubrey. Need I say more?’

  ‘But he’s boring and loud. Lawrence, on the other hand – with whom I had a perfectly pleasant conversation over luncheon – is far nicer. Unlike his brother, he doesn’t bawl all the time. Nor does he go overboard to impress.’

  ‘Naomi, listen to me. There’s no point bestowing your favours upon Lawrence. He’s the spare: he won’t inherit a thing. Bat your eyelids at Lawrence and trust me, you’ll live to regret it. Imagine – missing out by so narrow a margin. Such a frightful mistake and one that I simply cannot allow you to make.’

  Motionless at the laundry basket, Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It would be bad enough if Mrs Russell was joking but clearly, she wasn’t.

  Seated back at the dressing table, Naomi leant closer to the mirror to examine her chin. ‘The mistake, as you put it, Mamma, would be to end up married to the most boring man in the land.’

  Pamela Russell turned back into the room. ‘Naomi, darling, all I’m asking is that you give him a chance. To that end, I’ve seated him next to you at dinner.’

  ‘Well, I shan’t create a fuss,’ Naomi replied, rising from the stool. ‘On this occasion, I shall respect your seating arrangement and sit next to him. More than that, I do not promise you.’

  Slowly, Kate turned about. With a light smile, Pamela Russell was moving to kiss her daughter’s cheek.

  ‘I assure you, my dear, one day you’ll thank me for it. One day, when you’re installed at Avingham Park, running that vast house and entertaining goodness-only-knows-who, you’ll look over at Lawrence Colborne, seated with his plain and meanly-dressed little wife and think, but for Mamma, that fate could have
been mine.’

  ‘If you say so, Mamma.’

  ‘I do. Trust me to know of what I speak. Oh, and by the way,’ she added as she went towards the door, ‘Diana has arrived. So, do try and be downstairs in time for drinks on the terrace before we go in to supper.’

  With that, Pamela Russell swept from the room, her daughter left shaking her head. ‘So,’ she said wearily, ‘I am to spend an entire meal seated next to the most boring and boorish man Mamma has ever invited to dinner. And believe me, Kate, that’s saying something. Between you and me, he’s the sort of man I shouldn’t like to be seated next to at someone else’s wedding, let alone at my own!’

  When Naomi then turned to check her appearance in the mirror, Kate went across to the window and raised the sash. Pamela Russell’s scent seemed to have been left clinging to everything in the room, something about the smell of it making her think of desperation.

  The window opened, she stood looking out. For certain, given her mother’s forceful nature, Miss Naomi was going to need every ounce of her determination to avoid the fate lined up for her. And that was without reckoning upon the quiet steeliness of Cicely Colborne, whom Kate had overheard only yesterday, discussing with Aubrey the attractiveness of Naomi Russell and her generous trust.

  Drawing a breath of the fresh air blowing in beneath the open sash, Kate sighed. Had someone, even as recently as a few days ago, told her that she would come to feel a sympathy for – even a certain kinship with – the privileged Naomi Russell, she would have laughed out loud. But the more she found out about her, the more she realized how they shared some surprising traits – one of the reasons she felt minded to help her resist her mother’s attempts to marry her off to the ghastly Aubrey.

  ‘Perhaps all you need do, miss, is humour her,’ she said as the thought occurred. It was what she would do in the same situation.

  Naomi Russell fell still. ‘Pretend to enjoy Aubrey’s company, is that what you mean?’

  Kate gave a little shrug. ‘If she sees you appearing to do as she’s suggested, happen she might leave you be.’

  ‘Hmm. Mamma’s no fool. But I suppose it’s worth a try. Even so, I shall still hold you to our agreement, if I even look as though I’m about cave to her wishes and marry the man, you’re to knock some sense into me – vast Colborne estate or no.’

  Drawing herself upright, Kate smiled. ‘Yes, miss. Rest assured, I shall be as good as my word. I shan’t let you be married-off to him.’

  ‘Good. Because I have absolutely no desire, whatsoever, to become shackled to that braying ass, Aubrey Colborne!’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Mamma may coerce, bully or bribe all she likes but eventually, the power to say, or not to say, I do, rests solely with me. And the same applies to you, Kate. When the time comes, don’t let anyone persuade you against your better judgement.’

  With a picture of Luke bearing an expression of frustration coming to mind, she smiled. ‘No, miss, I shan’t.’

  ‘Heed your conscience.’

  ‘I will, miss.’

  When there was then a further knock at the door, the two women exchanged guilty looks, Kate praying as she went to answer it that it wouldn’t be Pamela Russell, returning because she had overheard what they had just been discussing.

  On the other side of the door, though, was a sight that left her tongue-tied for a different reason. Leaning against the frame, her thin fingers entwined in a necklace of amber-coloured beads, and most of her hair concealed beneath a turban of gold lamé, was a woman so flamboyantly dressed as to put Kate in mind of a character from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

  Behind her, Naomi gasped. ‘Aunt Diana! You’re wearing trousers!’

  ‘Naomi, darling. How lovely to see you.’

  ‘You are! Aunt, you’re wearing trousers!’

  While the two women went on to exchange greetings, Kate withdrew to the far side of the room. Miss Naomi had warned her that Aunt Diana was a character, but she hadn’t been expecting her to look as though she’d come straight from performing on the stage. Her outfit alone was so unlike anything she’d seen before that she was finding it hard not to stare. The outermost layer, although an unusual shade of russet, was a fairly ordinary wrap. Beneath that, however, was an ivory-coloured tunic that fell to just below her knees, where it was gathered into a wide and heavily embroidered band. Below that was the garment of black silk that Miss Naomi had thought to be a pair of trousers but which was, Kate could see now, a skirt, ruched and stitched so as to suggest a separate column of fabric about each leg. Quite ingenious. Unfortunately – to Kate’s mind at least – when viewed from the side, the outfit resembled a lampshade. It also seemed a rather daring choice for a woman whose age, if the greying of her hair was anything to go by, had to be at least fifty.

  Remaining unremarked upon in the corner of the room, she continued to steal the occasional glance. Even had she not known that the newcomer was Pamela Russell’s sister, she would have been able to guess as much. The two women shared the same shape of nose, identical, as it happened, to those of Naomi and Ned. But, where Pamela Russell was ebony-haired like her daughter, Diana appeared to be lighter and sandier. Her complexion wasn’t as flawless as that of her sister, either. Peppering her cheekbones and banding the bridge of her nose were pale freckles, while at the corner of each of her eyes was a fan-shape of wrinkles. Her mouth, though, was an exact match to Miss Naomi’s – small and neat.

  ‘Terrible shame about Henley this year, wasn’t it?’ Diana observed, releasing her niece from her embrace. ‘I blame the good weather, it brought far too many people, most of them entirely the wrong types.’

  ‘You can’t complain, Aunt, you only stayed a single night.’

  Going to perch against the side of Naomi’s bed, Aunt Diana set down her beaded handbag and, noticing her reflection in the mirror, reached to adjust her turban. On the front of it was a jewel-studded oval, not unlike a brooch, from behind which sprang a single, fluffy black feather. By nodding in time with every movement of Diana Lloyd’s head, it had Kate transfixed.

  ‘This dreadful business with Austria-Hungary didn’t help,’ Diana Lloyd went on. ‘At least half the ministers of His Majesty’s Government were absent – did you see Sir Humphrey, or Sir Richard? No. And yet, since the summer of my coming-out, neither of them has missed a single year. You know—’

  There was something about the wistful air with which Diana Lloyd then sighed, that made Kate hold her breath in anticipation, and led Naomi to ask, ‘Know what, Aunt?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, darling. It’s just that every time I think about Dickie Rathbone – Sir Richard, as he is now – I find myself wondering what my life would have been like had I done as Mamma wanted and married him. He was so dreadfully keen on me. And Mamma adored him—’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  Kate lowered her head. It was a very private conversation to be overhearing, which just made her hope all the more that they wouldn’t suddenly remember that she was still there.

  ‘No, I was keen on him. But that was before I fell for Kingsley. Mamma despaired of me, I know she did. But we had a wonderful marriage. Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh, yes, Henley. Well, I still contend that if one wants to apportion blame for the wretchedness of the thing, one should look to events in Sarajevo.’

  To Diana Lloyd’s pronouncement, Naomi groaned. ‘Oh, please, Aunt, not you as well! I’ve had quite my fill of that dreary business, the men in this house talk of little else. I’d been pinning my hopes upon you arriving and cheering things up.’

  Getting to her feet and reaching for her handbag, Diana Lloyd gave a sharp nod. ‘Understood. Shan’t say another word on the subject. We’ll make up for the disappointment of Henley by having some fun of our own, right here.’

  ‘Thank goodness. Now, where have they put you?’

  ‘A couple of doors down.’

  ‘And are you unpacked? Or shall you borrow Kate?’

  ‘I shall borro
w no-one. I’m not decrepit and I travel light – as well you’d know. You’re aware, of course, that I brought the Fillinghams with me?’

  With a look of surprise, Naomi shook her head. ‘I didn’t even know they’d been invited.’

  ‘Moot point now they’re here. Just Anthony and Cordelia – not the boys. I suppose they’re too grown-up now to want to go about visiting with their parents.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Naomi agreed.

  ‘Well, I shall let you finish getting ready and then see you downstairs for drinks. Later, we shall have some fun. Anthony mentioned getting up a couple of fours for whist but I shall do my best not to get roped in. I say, I don’t suppose there’s a phonogram, is there?’

  For a moment, Naomi appeared to think. ‘I haven’t seen one. But I’ll find out.’

  ‘Good-oh.’

  Once Aunt Diana had left, Kate thought how dull the room seemed without her. Miss Naomi certainly hadn’t been wrong to say that she was a character. She was also someone of whom Ma would completely disapprove. But then Ma disapproved of anyone who rocked the boat – unsettled the order of things – upstairs or down.

  ‘Is there one, would you happen to know?’ Naomi asked.

  Kate frowned; while she could guess the matter to which Miss Naomi was referring, it would be better that she didn’t appear to have been eavesdropping. ‘Is there one of what, miss?’

  ‘A phonogram. Aunt Diana is minded to jolly things up with some dancing.’

  ‘Mr Latimer did have one, miss. But last I heard, it was broke.’

  ‘Oh well, never mind. At least I shan’t have to be waltzed around the floor in Aubrey Colborne’s hot and sticky grasp. Although, were a waltz the only alternative to a tango, then I suppose I could grit my teeth and bear the discomfort.’

  Covering her mouth with her hand, Kate tried to conceal a laugh. ‘So, if it turns out that it does still work, miss – the phonogram, I mean – you’d prefer I didn’t let on, even if it did mean you missing out on a chance to dance with Mr Lawrence?’