The Housekeeper's Daughter

by Rose Meddon

‘You do not. Instead of doing as I say… and charming Aubrey, you play fast and loose with his brother and then… and then somehow set them against one another. Why would you do that? Tell me. Why?’

  ‘Mamma, I don’t know what—’

  ‘Well, I will not stand for it! I will not.’ With one of her shoes apparently becoming caught in the petticoats of her gown, Pamela Russell collapsed into the chair. But, just as both Naomi and Kate took a couple of steps closer, Mrs Russell heaved herself back to her feet. ‘You will marry Aubrey Colborne. You will.’

  ‘You’re tired, Mamma,’ Naomi ventured, her voice soft and her movements gentle. ‘You’ve had a dreadfully long day. Why don’t I help you along to your room, and then, once you’re settled, I’ll go downstairs and explain to our guests that you’re not feeling well?’

  To Kate, Miss Naomi’s suggestion sounded like the perfect plan. She was even on the verge of approaching further when, without warning, Pamela Russell spun about and pointed at her.

  ‘This,’ she shouted, ‘this, Sadie Jennings, is all your fault.’ To Kate’s astonished look, Naomi Russell shook her head and raised her shoulders in a shrug. Clearly, she didn’t know what her mother was talking about either. ‘I knew you were trouble. I could see you had no scruples the moment I set eyes on you. Well, I won’t have it. Not again. Ha! Once bitten, twice shy. He’s a handsome one, Miss Pamela. He’s not all stuffy like those young men your mother would have you marry, Miss Pamela. Go on, Miss Pamela. Won’t tell a soul, Miss Pamela.’

  Deeply unsettled, Kate shrank back. What on earth was Mrs Russell talking about? Who was Sadie Jennings?

  ‘Mamma—’

  But then, collapsing without warning back into the chair, Pamela Russell began to sob. ‘I will not have it, Naomi. My sorry marriage might have been my own doing… that sacrifice might be down to me. But I did not endure ruination and humiliation for you to make the same mistake – to have you squander your chance of making a decent marriage. I will not go through it all over again. I will not. I will… not…’

  With Pamela Russell’s energy seemingly spent, Kate tiptoed across the rug to Miss Naomi. ‘What can I do, miss?

  ‘See if you can find Aunt Diana,’ Naomi whispered back, moving quickly to kneel in front of her mother and take her hands. ‘Clearly, she’s overwrought. I need to get her into bed. Aunt Diana’s discreet. She’ll help.’

  ‘All right, miss. I’ll go now.’

  ‘Thank you. But please, not a word to anyone else.’

  ‘I promise I won’t utter a word to another soul.’

  As Kate moved to slip past the slumped form of Pamela Russell, the aromas of souring perfume, cigar smoke, and spirits made her wrinkle her nose, the odour striking her as more befitting of a cheap harlot from one of the drangs down by the Smugglers’ Tavern than a so-called lady from London.

  ‘And Kate—’

  Wearily, she turned back. ‘Yes, miss?’

  ‘After that, you go on to bed. With Aunt Diana’s help, I’ll manage.’

  Feeling more relieved than she would have thought possible, Kate nodded. ‘Thank you, miss. See you in the morning then.’

  ‘Yes, see you in the morning.’

  Closing the door carefully behind her, Kate stood on the landing and exhaled heavily. What a night. What goings-on! And what sore heads and recriminations there would be tomorrow.

  Fortunately, on this occasion, she had been but a bystander. Despite what seemed to have got into Mrs Russell’s drink-filled head, none of this upset could be laid at her door. And thank goodness for that.

  Chapter Six

  Aftermath

  Damp, grey and gloomy. To Kate, looking out from her bedroom window at the mist the following morning, that was how everything appeared. Even her thoughts felt foggy.

  Opening her eyes barely ten minutes earlier, her first thought had been that the day was bound to bring doom and gloom: Mr Lawrence and Mr Aubrey would most likely be in disgrace; Mrs Russell – along with many of her guests – would no doubt be regretting the amount of drink she had consumed and, by now, Miss Naomi was probably barred from ever seeing Mr Lawrence again. As for her own position in all of this, she had a nagging feeling about that, too. It had been ridiculous of Mrs Russell to suggest that she had somehow been to blame for the upset. She’d heard about people who were given to nastiness when in their cups – not that drunkenness was an excuse for levelling unfounded accusations, not least because, coming from her, people would take it as the gospel truth. All she could do was hope that after she’d left, Miss Naomi had found a way to explain to her that she, Kate, had only been trying to help. At least Ned wouldn’t have said anything about her having seen Sybil; he wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to get her an audience only to later give her up. No, she had no complaint with either him or Miss Naomi. It was just unfortunate she couldn’t say the same of their mother.

  Resting her elbows on the windowsill, Kate sank her chin into her cupped hands. Replaying events from yesterday evening had kept her from getting to sleep. She’d never seen a lady so obviously drunk before and was surprised by how sickened she had felt. Conversely, the time she’d spent talking to Ned couldn’t have made her happier. He had spoken to her so ordinarily – not as a servant nor, particularly, even as a woman – just as a person. He hadn’t belittled her ignorance, either; he had respected her opinions. Admittedly, he had teased her over some of the things she’d said but it had all been good-natured.

  By contrast, her time spent with Sybil had been something of a let-down. This morning, she was even inclined to agree with him that the woman was a fraud. Most likely, she was a member of that theatre company Pamela Russell had brought in to entertain her friends and dupe the more gullible among them.

  ‘Your future is already written,’ the so-called prophetess had said to her. ‘To learn of it,’ she had urged, ‘look first to your past, then to your present. From such an examination will your future become clear.’ Well, lying awake in the early hours, listening to the pit-pat of the rain on the roof, she had looked long and hard but seen very little. Her past was dull. Her present was dull. As to her future? Well, if she wasn’t careful, it would only bring more of the same.

  Staring idly out through the window, she frowned. In her mind, a thought was dawning. Perhaps, knowing that her life thus far had been nothing but dull, and realizing that she wanted things to be different, her path was already laid out. Perhaps, the future she wanted – indeed, the future she had begun to imagine for herself – was there for the taking. Maybe, all she had to do was go after it.

  Stepping back from the window ledge, she straightened herself up. Yes, that was it! Madam Sybil had been right; her future was there to see. All she had to do was bring it about.

  Fired by her new resolve, she turned back into the room. Ned was wrong: Madam Sybil wasn’t a fraud at all; she was a very wise woman indeed.

  * * *

  Unable to believe her eyes, Kate stood quite still. Apparently, under cover of darkness, an army of parlourmaids and hall-boys had crept in and set to work; it was the only possible explanation for the cleanliness and order everywhere.

  It was a while later that same morning, and Kate was astonished. She had been expecting to find – indeed, had been dreading to find – that after last night’s revelries, everywhere had been left in an unholy mess. As it was, not a single trace of the merriments remained. Dumbfounded, she went to inspect the drawing room. There, she found windows opened back, ashtrays emptied, cushions plumped, and vases of fresh flowers – crimson dahlias and deep purple salvias – already gracing the side tables. In the hallway, the floor had been swept and polished and the rugs set back down in perfect alignment. Clearly, Pamela Russell had the power to bring about miracles.

  Raising an eyebrow as she glanced about at the scene of perfect order, she wondered what to do with herself. It was still early – too early even for Aunt Diana to be about yet, let alone Ned. But, just in case – and picturing him
waking, ravenous for breakfast – she tiptoed towards the morning room. The only signs of life in there, though, were the little spirals of steam escaping from beneath the chafing dishes. If he was about, he wasn’t at breakfast.

  Thinking to make an early start on Miss Naomi’s tray, she turned about and made her way below stairs, humming a refrain from the music she’d heard last night and glancing in through the open door of her mother’s office as she passed by. ‘Morning, Ma,’ she called, expecting her mother’s customary reply. When the only sound was that of her mother’s chair being scraped back over the hard floor, though, she drew to a halt.

  ‘Kate, is that you?’

  With a smile, she shook her head: what a daft question. ‘Yes, Ma. It’s me.’

  ‘Come in here, please.’

  Alone in the corridor, Kate pulled a face; Ma’s tone sounded short. But then to be honest, that wasn’t an unusual state of affairs: she often sounded curt when she hadn’t had much sleep.

  Retracing her steps, she went to peer around the door frame. ‘Morning, Ma. Can’t stop, I’ve got Miss Naomi’s—’

  ‘Leave that be and come in here, please.’ When, to her mother’s instruction, Kate gave a weary sigh, it didn’t go unnoticed. ‘And how many times must I tell you not to sigh like that?’

  With a frown instead, Kate stepped into her mother’s office. What on earth could have put her mother in such a tetchy mood? And so early in the morning, too? Ordinarily, it was at least nine o’clock before someone made her blood boil. Well, for her own part, she would sound bright and chirpy. After all, it was how she felt. ‘Here I am.’

  ‘Close the door, please.’

  Thinking it a peculiar command but latching it shut anyway, Kate turned back, only to see that her mother had returned to sit behind her desk. When it came to issuing instructions to either her or Edith, Ma rarely did so from behind her desk. There was family and there was staff. And it was usually only errant members of staff who got the behind-the-desk talk.

  She pulled herself upright. Whatever she’s about to accuse you of, she reminded herself, feign innocence. Admit to nothing.

  To that end, she persuaded her lips into a smile. ‘What is it, Ma?’

  ‘You won’t be doing Miss Russell’s tray this morning.’

  ‘Is she unwell?’ Puzzled, she turned towards the door. ‘Only, if she is, I’d best go and see her – see what she wants taken up.’

  ‘Come back and listen to me.’

  Still frowning, Kate swivelled about. ‘But—’

  ‘Miss Russell isn’t sick. Starting from this morning, she will be getting up and joining Mrs Colborne to take breakfast downstairs.’

  Downstairs? With Cicely Colborne? What on earth was going on?

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I should imagine because Mrs Russell has told her to.’

  To Kate, it sounded nonsensical. ‘There has to be another reason.’

  ‘For certain there is. But the whys and wherefores don’t concern either of us.’

  Beginning to feel uneasy, Kate forced a swallow. Something about all of this wasn’t what it seemed. ‘Well, if she’s intending to come down for breakfast, I ought to go straight up. She’ll be needing me to help her dress.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary either.’

  ‘What? Why not?’

  ‘Because this morning, I came down to find this.’ Reaching to her blotter, Mabel Bratton lifted a sheet of notepaper. On it, Kate could see handwriting. ‘It is a note from Mrs Russell stating that with immediate effect, I am to remove you from your duties as lady’s maid to her daughter.’

  Kate reached a hand to a nearby chair. ‘Mrs Russell wrote that?’ In answer to her question, Mabel Bratton nodded. ‘It was on your desk first thing this morning?’

  ‘Pushed under my door.’

  ‘Then it can’t be from Mrs Russell. I saw her late on and she was far too—’ On the brink of using the word ‘drinky’, she checked herself. While there could be no denying that Pamela Russell had been severely the worse for drink, it would be wholly unwise to remark as much. That she was drunk, however, made it inconceivable that not only had she been up and about at first light, but that she had also been sufficiently clear-headed to pen such a missive. No, somebody else’s hand was at work here. But whose? And why? Aunt Diana? No, she had no reason to do such a thing. Cicely Colborne? Since she barely knew the woman, it seemed unlikely.

  ‘If I were you, girl,’ Mabel Bratton interrupted her daughter’s thoughts, ‘I’d worry less about where the instruction came from and more about ensuring that your answer to my next question is truthful.’

  Beginning to sense what might have got her into this mess, Kate nevertheless continued to stare across the desk; there was no sense alerting Ma to Mrs Russell’s rantings. It wasn’t as though there was any substance to them. ‘And what question would that be, Ma?’

  When circumstances prevented Mabel Bratton from raising her voice, she had a habit – recognized both by her daughters and staff members alike – of speaking very slowly and enunciating every word with the utmost precision. In anticipation of it happening now, Kate felt her insides twisting. She was about to be on the receiving end of a reprimand. And, if what she had just supposed was right, it was going to be for something she hadn’t even done.

  ‘What in God’s name did you do, to upset Mrs Russell so much, that you left her with no alternative but to demand that I remove you from attending to her daughter? What, I ask you? Because I’m surely at a loss to know.’

  There. That was it. That was the how could you possibly be so stupid tone. Clipped and steely. Well, she wouldn’t have it. She would stand up for herself. ‘Nothing. I have done nothing to cause either offence or upset. Quite the contrary. Ask Miss Naomi.’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘All I can say is that there must have been a misunderstanding.’

  ‘You were not party to some fracas last night then?’

  Fracas? Now, not only did she know her supposition was right but she could do as her mother had instructed and answer truthfully. ‘I was not.’

  ‘Am I to understand your contention is that Mrs Russell is lying?’

  Kate swallowed hard; she knew from experience that sometimes, the truth only made matters worse. And this morning, it wasn’t just her position as lady’s maid that was at stake: there was her plan for Ned to consider – indeed, her entire future. Frustrating although it was, caution felt to be her best bet. ‘I didn’t say that. But I do believe her to be mistaken. If we could just go and see Miss Naomi—’

  ‘You are to go nowhere near Miss Russell. From this moment forward, I will assign you duties each day as I see fit and in line with whatever needs to be done.’

  ‘Look, Ma, at least hear me out while I—’

  ‘Kate, enough. Mrs Russell, here as a guest of the Latimers, has been so greatly incensed by something in which she claims you were involved that I haven’t the least intention of letting you suggest to her that she is mistaken. She writes here that were it not for you being my daughter, and were it not for Mr Latimer speaking so highly of my service here, she would be demanding that you be dismissed altogether.’

  In her state of astonishment Kate was finding it hard to think, her rapid and shallow breathing only adding to her sense of panic. ‘But wrongly – I assure you Ma, she would be insisting wrongly—’

  ‘Kate Bratton,’ her mother hissed, in one single movement getting to her feet and moving around the desk. ‘Need I remind you that it is only by the grace of the Latimers that the three of us have work and a home. One word from Mrs Russell, or indeed from any other guest who comes to stay here, and we could all of us be dismissed. Just like that. Work. Home. All gone.’

  ‘But Ma—’

  ‘You know as well as I do that big houses these days are run with fewer staff, not more. And you don’t need me to point out how this place already stands empty for most of the year as it is. I daresay we’re all of us an expe
nse Mr Latimer could do without. So, if you remember only one thing today, let it be this – you’re to stay away from Mrs Russell, you’re to stay away from her daughter, and you’re to stay out of trouble. And don’t you dare venture another word on the subject. Let this be the end of the matter. Now, after the upheaval of yesterday, I’ve more than usual to see to this morning so, take yourself off and reflect on what I’ve just said. Then, come nine o’clock, report to your sister, cleaned up and ready for service.’

  Edith? She was to report to Edith? Ma was banishing her to the kitchens? Oh, but this was insufferable! A glance to her mother’s scowl, though, suggested that however unfair the whole business, only someone with straw for brains would be mazed enough to challenge her and risk making the situation even worse.

  For the moment at least, then, there looked to be only one thing to do. And that was comply. Or at least, to give the appearance of it. ‘Yes, Ma.’

  ‘Very well. Now get out of my sight.’

  * * *

  Go and reflect, Ma had said. Well, after that little shock, she was unlikely to be able to do much else.

  Heaving a long and weary sigh, Kate stepped out from the scullery, noticing, with more than a little irony, how the morning no longer looked so gloomy. The deadening mist of earlier was lifting and, as she rounded the corner and looked across the gardens, pale sunlight was picking out the raindrops on the blades of grass in much the same way that, last night, the lamplight had picked out the tiny jewels on Miss Naomi’s borrowed tiara. It had looked so lovely, nestled above her ringlets.

  Naomi and Ned: it was hard to believe two such pleasant and level-headed people could have come from such a distinctly unlikeable mother. Granted, Miss Naomi’s tongue had a sharp side at times, but Ned’s temperament bore absolutely no resemblance to his mother’s at all. The only possible explanation for the Russell children being so good-natured, was that Mr Russell was a far nicer person than his wife. He had to be.

  Were it not for the fact that Mrs Russell had been so drunk, she would be convinced beyond all doubt that she was behind that letter: the woman’s distrust of her had been obvious from that first afternoon. And then, last night, she had made those wild accusations. But servants always were easy prey: if something went missing, it had to be a servant; if something got broken, it had to be the maid. This, though, felt different. Those accusations had been cruel and mean and untrue. Besides which, who was Sadie Jennings anyway? Sadie Jennings, Mrs Russell had called her. Even Miss Naomi hadn’t seemed to know who that was.