by Maggie Ford
Since Millicent’s death, there’d been many marital brushes like this. If he was obsessed, as she said, with their loss, so was she – nothing of Millicent was to be moved. Even this claustrophobic drawing room, with its draperies and potted plants, had photographs everywhere of their child: studio portraits of her as a toddler sitting on his knee, her smiling mother standing behind them; older ones posed beside pedestals of various kinds; those of her in the garden playing with Tinker, her Yorkshire terrier. He could hardly bear to look at them, constant reminders of a child for ever lost to them.
‘I’m not a fool!’ he said harshly. ‘You’re the one growing obsessed. You miss her as much as I, but you can’t let grief rule you. You’ve let your imagination run away with you and it must stop. I wish to hear no more!’
He could be firm when he wanted. A medical man had need to be firm against the malingerer, the manipulative or the merely bone-lazy patient. But he did have a tender heart and understood and felt for his wife’s aversion to young Ellie. But Mary was becoming preoccupied by it and he needed to put a stop to it before it grew any worse. With Ellie kept on in this house, in time Mary would overcome her peculiar phobia and begin to accept her.
Telling himself this had the effect of dulling a little voice in his head that said his decision presented a unique opportunity to keep alive his daughter’s memory. It had happened by sheer accident and a chance like this would never come again. He could even convince himself that Ellie reminding him so of Millicent might even, in time, take the sting out of his loss. She might, eventually, even take her place, said that insidious little voice in his head, though he tried to ignore it.
* * *
‘A whole day to ourselves!’ Dora cried as she and Ellie hurried arm in arm towards Victoria Park. ‘We won’t get another one for weeks and I want to make the most of it. Thank heaven it’s a lovely sunny day. And warm too. You don’t get many sunny days in April. We’re so lucky.’
Dora was beginning to make sure to sound all her aitches, just as her mistress insisted.
‘I want you to be a little lady, Dora, my child,’ she’d told her almost with affection. ‘A lady’s maid – and that’s what you may be some day – should speak nicely.’
Though Dora was still sewing in a humble role, repairing any rents in sheets and pillow cases, hemming towels that had become a little frayed at the edges, on the odd occasion she had been asked by Mrs Lowe to lay out the clothes she had chosen for the day, showing her how to do it nicely and neatly and with graceful movements, beaming at her as she achieved good results.
‘In time you might act as my very own maid,’ she’d said. ‘Florrie is far too ungainly.’ And of course there were the weekly jaunts to the market with her mistress, something she always really looked forward to. Last week Mrs Lowe had even bought her a little bag of toffees. She’d never treated her before and it had made her feel so very important.
When Dora told her, Ellie had smiled secretively but said nothing. The envy she’d once had was gone. Of course, now being under-housemaid, she too had been elevated. A few nights ago, as they lay in bed, she’d confided to Dora her hope of one day taking over from Florrie.
‘She won’t be here for ever,’ she whispered. ‘She’d want to move on or get married. Then I’d have someone working under me, wouldn’t I?’
Mrs Jenkins had a new kitchen maid, a pale-faced girl of fourteen called Rose Holt, relieving Ellie of the extra chore of washing up. The only disappointment was that, contrary to what she’d expected, she still hardly saw Doctor Lowe except if he happened to pass while she was on hands and knees brushing the stair carpet or scrubbing the hall linoleum or cleaning out the fire grate, Florrie having taken it upon herself to do the cleaner jobs: polishing, dusting, cleaning brass, laying the table.
On the rare occasions when he did pass, she’d get to her feet to give a respectful bob. He’d respond with just a nod, passing on without speaking.
‘It’s so odd,’ she said to Dora as they entered the park. ‘He was so friendly to me when he took us on. Now he don’t even seem to notice me.’
Not so much odd as worrying. She had read all sorts of things into this unexpected promotion. It had taken her a while to figure things out. Then she had rumbled it. Of course he wouldn’t be so foolish as to commit himself by openly acknowledging her.
There was always someone about when he passed, on his way to either morning or evening surgery, or when surgery was over. Other times he’d be closeted in his study, though never when she cleared the ashes from the fire grate there or any other of the rooms; she up before six, the family not rising till two hours later. Even so, it seemed he was purposely avoiding her.
Only once had he come into his study when she’d been bent over the grate. She had looked up as a voice said, ‘Excuse me,’ in time to see his portly shape backing out, the door closing sharply on him.
It had left her with all sorts of questions. Had she misjudged his motives? Had he merely been kind to her and nothing more? She’d been so sure of her speculations. Or had his wife warned him to steer clear of her?
It was very obvious Mrs Lowe didn’t like her. She had made that plain enough by totally ignoring her, walking by her as if she was invisible except for the set lips, the small double chin held high. Had she in fact advised that he had best avoid the one who reminded them so of their daughter?
If he heeded her, then all her plans would come unstuck. Worrying about it had made her miserable and her work here had become drudgery again. Even today with the April sun warm and promising, it wasn’t easy to put all these questions to the back of her mind and unwind for an hour or two.
But it was good to be out of the place, if only for a few hours, to be back by four. Today, with no restriction, she could please herself what she did. She hadn’t realized just how much freedom would come to mean. She’d known it all her life. Even in the shadow of poverty and hard work and in the constant wariness of a lascivious and violent father, she’d known freedom to a certain extent; but no longer.
At the beck and call of those over her, she’d become a prisoner; but maybe not for too long if the plans she had in mind could eventually be put into practice.
‘Don’t the park look lovely?’ Dora’s voice broke through her thoughts. ‘What shall we do today?’
Ellie turned her face to her with a smile. ‘Anything you like,’ she said.
Six
It had been a lovely day exploring Victoria Park. In the very centre of London’s East End it provided an expanse of open country and a marvellous breath of fresh air. There were wide lawns where families picnicked and little wooded areas to make a person feel they were nowhere near a busy city with its ever-present pall of smoke. There was a huge lake and neat paths that led strollers past clumps of daffodils, reminding them of little yellow carpets, and everywhere were small park trees just coming into pink and white blossom. Behind a wire fence deer browsed and, hidden at the very far end, an unusual edifice called the Stone Alcoves, once part of old London Bridge, which sat silent, mysterious, almost creepy, like a small part of some faraway Greek ruin.
More jolly were the bathing lakes and the Memorial Fountain, a favourite with children, today as always laughing and squealing as they banged the zinc cups on their chains against the stone trough surrounding the monument, the metal misshapen from years of children’s not-so-tender handling. It had been presented to the park in 1862, the plaque said, by a Baroness Burdett-Coutts, and had since become a well-known meeting place. ‘Meet you by the fountain,’ was the usual comment.
Wearied by so much walking, Ellie and Dora had gone to a little café to have tea and cake on the pennies they’d been saving for weeks. Later they had fish and chips, a ha’penny bit of cod and a ha’p’orth of chips each, with plenty of salt and vinegar. The fish had been sweet and white and covered in crispy, oily batter, the chips so hot they burned the tongue, crispy on the outside, lovely and floury on the inside.
They’d
taken their meal back to sit on a bench by the Regent’s Canal and eat straight from the newspaper it had been wrapped in, washed down with a ha’penny bottle of sherbet fizz. Food fit for a king or for two young girls who usually had to eat in silence and with some haste at the kitchen table under Mrs Jenkins’s watchful eye for any lapse of table etiquette, even below stairs.
Here, free of any restrictions, they had giggled, flicked bits of left-over batter at one another, bundled up the soiled, oily newspaper into balls to bat back and forth to each other, put their thumbs over the opening of the bottles to shake up the contents so that a minor release of the thumb would send the fine gassy liquid shooting in all directions. They finally settled down to enjoy a small cornet, licking with absolute relish the tiny ball of ice cream it held, by now keeping an eye on the time.
With the sun beginning to dip towards the west, they quickly tidied themselves, Ellie pinning up her hair again, which had come loose during their frolicking. In two weeks’ time, she’d be sixteen, but already she was required to wear her hair up, not only denoting her as being considered adult now but also as being neater for her work. Dora’s long tresses were still tied back with a plain brown bow, she being only twelve.
Tidied up, they made their way back to the narrow, three-storeyed house in Roman Road where Doctor Lowe lived and practised. Running down the steps to the basement area, they arrived breathless to find Mrs Jenkins waiting for them in the kitchen, hands on hips.
‘So you’ve decided to come back home at last. It’s four o’clock.’
‘We ain’t late, are we?’ asked Ellie, seeing no need to apologize.
‘Well, you’re not early, that’s for certain! You just about made it.’
‘It was our day off.’ This time Ellie did not sound so polite.
By the look on Mrs Jenkins’s face she was in danger of overstepping the mark. But she felt confident. Yesterday Doctor Lowe had paused in the front hall as she was about to take a pail of dirty suds back to the kitchen to empty.
‘How are you coming along?’ he had asked.
She’d given a little bob. ‘Very well, sir, I think.’
‘Good,’ he had said and continued on his way upstairs to find his wife. He hadn’t spoken to Ellie since, but it was a start, she thought. And her wages had risen to five shillings a week – better than some in her position, she had found out, and without her asking, proving he must be thinking about her. Dora had been given a sixpence rise, bringing her wages to three shillings. It left both feeling almost wealthy. Ellie was making her sister put a bit away each week, while she was putting nearly every penny she earned into a little money box to start her on her way, one day, to seeking her father.
‘Now, don’t be cheeky!’ came Mrs Jenkins’s sharp retort. ‘There’s an ocean of difference between being back early and being back at a respectable time. Your supper’s waiting, then off up to bed. You’ve had a full day. It’s up bright and early in the morning, as usual. No lingering, saying you’re tired. Now, get on with supper. I need to clear the kitchen ready for the morning.’
Supper was leftovers from their employer’s dinner: a slice of cold lamb and bubble’n’squeak – potatoes and cabbage mashed together and fried – a slice of bread and a mug of cocoa. Food in this house was good and plentiful, far better than some Ellie had heard about. She wondered if she might not end up as plump as the rest of them here. But her thinness came from her mother. She’d never be fat.
* * *
‘Who, may I ask, gave those two girls permission to take their day off both at the same time yesterday?’
Mary Lowe’s small round face was contorted with fury as Mrs Jenkins stood before her in her sitting room.
Facing the smaller woman’s wrath, Nora Jenkins’s reply was respectful but dignified. ‘I thought you were aware of it, madam.’
‘I was not aware of it! I was not told. As cook/housekeeper you have full charge over the staff here. We do not have enough staff as it is without allowing two of them to have time off together.’
‘Well, it wasn’t me, madam!’ Mrs Jenkins began to feel piqued. She wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to as if she was a servant of the lowest order. She was housekeeper as well as cook. She ran this place. Each week she came to Mrs Lowe and went over the accounts with her. She was entirely honest in her management of the house, not like some, who craftily fiddled a bit of cash here, a few provisions there, and did nicely out of it. She was not prepared to have her honesty questioned.
‘I wasn’t told neither, madam,’ she said huffily. ‘I’d no idea – not until they both paraded past me all dressed up to go out. When I confronted them they said they’d been given the day off together. I assumed it was you who give them permission, being that the younger girl is mostly in your charge, so to speak, or I would’ve come and told you. But I can assure you, madam, it weren’t me!’
‘Then who?’
‘All I can think of would be Doctor Lowe himself.’
‘He said nothing to me. Are you sure he mentioned nothing to you?’
‘Quite sure. They was off out before I could find him to ask. Anyway, he was in surgery and couldn’t be disturbed – not by me any rate.’
Nora Jenkins’s reply was terse. Being asked if she was sure indeed! She wasn’t pleased and she made certain Mrs Lowe knew it.
She obviously did. ‘Very well, Mrs Jenkins,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll have a word with my husband. If it was he who sanctioned the two girls’ day out, I will make very sure it will not happen again. We cannot have two absent at the same time with such a small staff. But thank you, Mrs Jenkins; I am sorry to have troubled you.’
Nora did not acknowledge the polite observance of her position in this house. Turning on her heel as abruptly as her bulk allowed, the cluster of keys, that housekeeper’s badge of office, at her waist rattling sharply as if to emphasize her indignation, she left the room, closing the door firmly.
Mrs Lowe’s annoyance was justified. She, too, was annoyed. Her authority had been undermined and she intended to have a strong word with those two young people.
‘Mrs Lowe is very upset by the both of you taking your day off together,’ she said after summoning the two girls to the little parlour off the kitchen reserved for her. The room was quite small, with hardly space enough in it to swing a cat, but she adored it. It was her home, her retreat after a long day. No one else came in here unless in need of a dressing-down, like today.
Hidden from view by a folding screen were a single bed, a wardrobe and a washstand with an oval mirror above. Her living area was cosy, with a rug in front of the little fireplace, a small table for meals, two chairs, one upright, one reclining, with arms and cushions for comfort – all of it given by Mrs Lowe – and a single wall cupboard for a few personal things.
‘I’ve been put to great embarrassment,’ she went on before they could open their mouths, glaring at Ellie.
‘It was understood yesterday was your day off and I naturally took it Mrs Lowe gave your sister permission too, but that don’t seem to have been the case. Who did? Speak up!’ The sharp command made Dora flinch, but Ellie stood her ground.
‘It was Doctor Lowe. I asked if he minded us having our day off together and he didn’t make no objection.’
‘You asked the master…’ Words almost failed Mrs Jenkins, but not for long. ‘You went to him personally? How dare you, girl! You go through me in these matters. And if I’d known it was the two of you I would’ve said no – definitely no!’
‘I didn’t go to him,’ Ellie protested. ‘He spoke to me as he came out of his doctor’s surgery. He said it was time I ’ad me day off, so I asked if my sister could ’ave her day off as well and he said he saw no harm in it. So—’
The rest was cut short by Mrs Jenkins shaking a fist at her. ‘That’s enough! Your sister answers to Mrs Lowe and should have gone to her for permission.’
‘It all ’appened sudden, Cook,’ Ellie said, leaning back from the angry gesture. ‘I
was off to bed. When Dora said the mistress would be out visiting the next day and wouldn’t be back till six o’clock and wouldn’t need her, I thought that was why the master said we could.’
It was no lie. It was how it had come about: a misunderstanding. But Ellie was already seeing her and Dora’s employment here being terminated, her hopes of a good future dwindling. She needed desperately to put things right.
Next morning, despite Mrs Jenkins’s warning that all requests must go through her, Ellie took her time cleaning out the grate and laying and lighting the fire in Doctor Lowe’s study. There were questions she needed to ask the man; the business of her and Dora’s day out together was now the least of her concerns.
His coming into his study, something he always did prior to his having breakfast, finally rewarded her slowness. Seeing her still there, he hesitated at the door, but to her relief came on into the room.
She stood up and bobbed. ‘Good morning, sir.’
He was smiling. ‘Good morning, my dear.’
The ‘my dear’ took her completely by surprise. Yesterday, around mid-morning, his wife had spoken to Mrs Jenkins to say that from now on Ellie and Florrie would be addressed only by surname. Florrie would be addressed as Chambers and Ellie as Jay. So his calling her ‘my dear’ so soon after his wife’s request took Ellie aback a bit.
In larger houses with an army of servants everyone would answer to their surname, even among the servants themselves. The upper orders would address the lower ones this way, while they would require to have Mr or Miss attached to theirs, and cooks and housekeepers were Mrs, whether married or single.
In this house, with only four staff, this had never been the case, apart from with Mrs Jenkins herself. Now, suddenly, Doctor Lowe’s wife had issued an edict that Ellie was to be referred to as Jay, and Florrie as Chambers.
But to Ellie’s astonishment and anger her own sister would now be addressed as Miss Jay, since Mrs Lowe had also given out yesterday that Dora was now officially her personal maid – a kid of thirteen!