Mothering Sunday

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘So,’ she said instead, pulling herself together with an enormous effort, ‘let’s go and meet Mrs Spooner then, shall we? You never know, my dear. This could well be the beginning of a wonderful new chapter in your life.’

  Chapter Twelve

  They pulled up some time later in front of Whittleford Lodge on the Stockingford side of town.

  Sunday stared at it from the window. The house was enormous, with three storeys that seemed to stretch up into the sky. Wide stone steps led up to a stout wooden front door. A large brass door-knocker was attached to it in the shape of a lion’s head but Sunday saw that it was badly tarnished. In fact, the whole of the house, which must once have been beautiful, now had a sad, neglected air. Dirty white paint was peeling from the window frames and the lace curtains that covered the panes were tattered and grey. Low, wrought-iron railings ran along the front of the Lodge with steps to one side of them that Sunday rightly guessed must lead down to the basement kitchen.

  ‘Are you ready then, my dear?’ Lady Huntley gently squeezed her hand, sensing the girl’s nervousness. ‘Don’t be afraid. I am assured that Mrs Spooner’s bark is much worse than her bite.’

  Sunday gulped deep in her throat then straightened her back as the driver came to assist them from the carriage. They climbed the steps side-by-side and shortly after Lady Huntley had rapped on the door with the lion’s head knocker they heard footsteps on the other side of it shuffling towards them.

  ‘Yes? Whadda yer want?’

  They were confronted by an old woman who might have been a witch straight from the pages of the fairy-story books Mrs Lockett had occasionally read to them.

  ‘I am here to see Mrs Spooner and she is expecting me,’ Lady Huntley told her imperiously as she dabbed at her nose with a tiny scrap of handkerchief scented with rosewater. The smell of stale sweat that was issuing from the woman was eye-watering. ‘Would you kindly inform her that I am here.’

  The woman sniffed. ‘I dare say yer’d best come in then.’

  Lady Huntley and Sunday stepped into a spacious hallway that looked just as neglected as the exterior of the property. Sunday thought the tiles on the floor might be black and white but they were so grubby it was hard to be sure, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling.

  ‘I’m afraid if you do decide to take this position you are going to have your work cut out for some time to come,’ Lady Huntley whispered as the old woman shuffled away to tell the lady of the house that they were there.

  ‘Hard work never hurt no one,’ Sunday told her with a determined air and Lady Huntley smiled to herself. Without a doubt the girl had spirit.

  A door along the narrow passageway that ran off the entrance hall opened then and the old woman who had admitted them reappeared and crooked an arthritic finger in their direction.

  ‘The missus says as she’ll see yer now. Come this way an’ be quick about it. I ain’t got all day, yer know.’

  Lady Huntley sailed ahead, her full skirts trailing across the dirty tiles with Sunday close on her heel. The two found themselves in a large drawing room which must have been quite magnificent at some stage. There were two enormous windows, one at either end of the room, framed by thick curtains that were so dusty it was difficult to assess what colour they were. Fine-fringed Turkish rugs were scattered about the floor and a marble fireplace graced the centre of the opposite wall. China dogs stood at each end of the deep mantelshelf with a collection of other china trinkets dividing them. The whole room was cluttered with imposing items of furniture but again, in here the air of neglect continued. There were heavy mirrors and paintings on the walls, tiny rosewood tables containing yet more trinkets scattered about, and on either side of the fireplace stood a pair of magnificent wing-backed leather chairs. A velvet settee stood between them and after a while the voice that issued from it made them both start.

  ‘Well, are you coming in or ain’t you then?’

  Tentatively they both stepped forward and Sunday got her first glimpse of the woman who could possibly soon be her employer. It was a shock, to say the least, for to describe her as ‘flamboyant’ would have been putting it mildly.

  An elderly woman of indeterminate age was glaring fiercely up at them as she clung to an ebony-topped walking stick with one hand and gesticulated to them irritably with the other.

  ‘Sit down,’ she ordered. ‘It hurts me neck to have to look up at you.’

  The two newcomers obediently sank onto the leather chairs, and now that they were on a level with the woman, Sunday stared at her curiously. Her face was heavy with powder and rouge that had sunk into her wrinkles, and a ridiculous wig adorned her head. Her dress was a mass of frills and lace, and bangles jangled on both her arms every time she moved. There was also a heavy jewelled ring on each finger and, about her neck, a stunning necklace made of blue and white stones that caught and reflected every sliver of light that managed to fight its way through the murky windows.

  ‘So this is the wench you have in mind to help me with the lodgers, is it?’ she asked Lady Huntley.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Spooner. This is Sunday Small, from the Union Workhouse.’

  ‘Hmm!’

  Most young people would have been alarmed as the old woman stared at her closely but Sunday merely stared calmly right back.

  ‘An’ what sort of a name is that then? Sunday, indeed!’

  ‘It’s the only one I have,’ Sunday replied coolly, and to her surprise the old woman grinned.

  ‘Hmm, an’ what are you like at cooking an’ cleaning?’

  ‘I’m very good at cleaning. I’ve had lots of practice in the workhouse. I’m not so good at cooking though, as I haven’t had a lot of practice at that, but I’d be very willing to learn,’ Sunday replied honestly.

  Mrs Spooner suddenly hooted with laughter and started to bang her stick on the floor as Lady Huntley and Sunday looked at each other in bewilderment. The old woman who had admitted them stuck her head around the door and Mrs Spooner told her, ‘Fetch us a tray o’ tea in, would you, Annie?’

  Annie gave the guests a nasty look as she swiped her hands down the front of her grubby apron, saying rudely to her employer: ‘An’ what did yer last servant die of then, eh?’ Still mumbling, she disappeared and Mrs Spooner again turned her attention to Sunday.

  ‘Can you read an’ write?’

  ‘Of course I can. And I’m told that I’m very good at it,’ Sunday answered indignantly.

  The woman laughed again. ‘You can stick up fer yourself, I’ll say that for you. An’ you’d probably look respectable enough if we were to get you a few decent togs to wear.’

  ‘Sunday is a very hardworking, intelligent girl,’ Lady Huntley interjected quickly. ‘She is also very conscientious and caring, as Mrs Lockett, the vicar’s wife, will gladly testify. I truly believe she will be an enormous help to you.’

  They chatted for a few moments more, before Annie butted the door open with her backside, then dumped a tray down on a small table placed close to Mrs Spooner, sloshing tea all over the place.

  ‘Do yer reckon yer can manage to pour it?’ she asked sarcastically.

  Mrs Spooner waved her hand graciously. ‘I should think so, Annie. That’ll be all.’

  ‘Don’t you come yer airs an’ graces wi’ me, Biddy Spooner,’ Annie warned angrily, waggling a finger at her. ‘Don’t forget I know where yer come from. Yer were just a kid from the Ford, same as me, till your Herbert made an ’onest woman o’ yer.’

  At that moment a large golden spaniel bounded into the room, almost knocking Annie over in the process, and to Sunday’s amazement Mrs Spooner greeted it with open arms.

  ‘Ah, come here to Mammy, my sweet girl,’ she crooned, then looking at Sunday she told her, ‘I’d sooner have animals than people any day o’ the week. Animals love you and are loyal whereas people can hurt and betray you.’

  Apart from a stray cat that had used to call regularly at the workhouse looking for scraps of food, Sunday had never been in such clos
e proximity to an animal before and she was a little nervous. She had become very fond of the cat and had used to sneak it titbits from the table until Miss Frost had caught her at it one day. It had cost Sunday a day in the punishment room and, she remembered sadly, two days later she had found the cat dead outside the laundry room. It had been poisoned, no doubt by Miss Frost who thought all animals were vermin, and Sunday had been inconsolable for days. The dog looked friendly enough, however, and after a few moments when it wagged across to her she tentatively stroked it. To her amazement it dropped to the floor and after rolling onto its back at her feet, it raised its legs into the air.

  ‘She wants a belly rub,’ Mrs Spooner informed her with a laugh. ‘An’ you can think yourself highly honoured. She only usually does that for me.’

  ‘Dirty creatures, dogs,’ Annie grunted, looking disgusted.

  ‘My Mabel is not dirty,’ Mrs Spooner snapped. ‘It’s just a pity as you’re not so pertic’lar about keeping clean as she is, Annie – if the smell o’ you is anything to go by!’

  Annie glared at her and for a moment Sunday feared that the two women might come to blows.

  ‘Shut yer mouth, yer silly old bat!’ Annie retaliated. ‘I’ll be glad when yer get somebody to take over from me, so I will, though I doubt that there’s any bloody daft enough.’ With that she stomped from the room with her nose in the air as Sunday and Lady Huntley looked on, speechless.

  ‘She doesn’t mean it – not really,’ Mrs Spooner confided when she had left the room. ‘Me an’ Annie knew each other as girls. But now, lass, would you pour the tea.’ It was said more as a command and Sunday hastily began to do as she was told. ‘An’ while yer doin’ it yer can tell me a bit about yourself.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell really,’ Sunday admitted as she poured milk into the cups. ‘I was found on the steps of the workhouse as a newborn and I’ve lived there ever since. I liked working in the nursery there with the babies but I didn’t like the punishment room. We were locked in there if Miss Frost thought we had misbehaved. My best friends, who are still there, are called Daisy and Tommy Branning, they’re brother and sister.’ She looked sad for a second as she handed Mrs Spooner her tea before going on, ‘I love reading and writing and arithmetic and that’s about it.’

  ‘Hmm, and have you no idea who your parents were?’

  When Sunday silently shook her head the old woman concluded, ‘So you have no one then.’

  ‘I have Daisy and Tommy. They’re like family to me.’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t afford to take them in as well,’ Mrs Spooner told her in her forthright way. ‘Would you still be allowed to go and see them?’

  ‘Every Sunday afternoon if I was allowed,’ Sunday told her hopefully.

  ‘So what you’re saying is, if I take you on – and I say if – you would want every Sunday afternoon off?’

  Sunday nodded, ‘Yes, and a couple of hours every Sunday morning so I could go to church to see Mrs Lockett. She’s always been ever so kind to me for as far back as I can remember.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Mrs Spooner asked caustically. She had to hand it to the girl, she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it, although she had had every intention of allowing her to have her Sunday afternoons off anyway. In actual fact she reminded Biddy Spooner very much of herself at that age. But would she be up to the job that was going, that was the question. She was only a little scrap of a thing and looked as if a hard day’s work would see her off.

  She chewed on her heavily painted lips for a moment as she stared thoughtfully down into the cup of tea that Sunday had poured for her, then making a decision she suggested, ‘How about you start on Monday and do a month’s trial for me? You’d get your bed and board and a couple of shillings a week to start with, that would be the best I could do. If at the end of the month you ain’t come up to scratch, you go back to where you’ve come from. How does that sound?’

  Sunday glanced at Lady Huntley and when the woman gave an imperceptible nod of the head, Sunday turned back to Mrs Spooner.

  ‘Very well. But would I get my time off on Sundays as I requested?’

  ‘You ain’t backward at coming forward, are you, girl?’ Mrs Spooner said, but there was a twinkle in her eye. ‘And yes, you can have your time off on Sunday. But now we’ll start as we mean to go on. I think Sunday is a silly name so I shall call you Sunny – is it agreed?’

  Sunday nodded as Mrs Spooner turned back to Lady Huntley, asking, ‘Can I leave it to you to make all the necessary arrangements?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lavinia told her. ‘There will be release papers to sign but I can do them on your behalf if that is agreeable to you?’

  Mrs Spooner inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Lady Huntley. It might be for the best. Old Annie grumbles a lot but she’s a good sort really. I know she’s about ready to clear off though, an’ then I’ll be up the creek wi’out a paddle wi’ all them lodgers to care for, so the sooner we can get this sorted the happier I’ll be.’

  And so it was decided.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They arrived back at the workhouse to find Daisy down on her knees scrubbing the floors, but the younger girl didn’t ask how things had gone. Miss Frost was hovering close by and she didn’t want to give the woman another excuse to punish her.

  The housemother came to greet Lady Huntley, studiously ignoring Sunday to ask, ‘Well, how did it go?’

  ‘It went very well indeed, thank you. But now I must discuss the situation with the housemaster. Excuse me, Miss Frost.’ With that, she set off in the direction of the housemaster’s office.

  Sunday hastily lowered her eyes so that Miss Frost wouldn’t see the devilment in them. It was nice to see her being put in her place for a change.

  ‘Ah, so you’re back then. Good afternoon, Lady Huntley.’ Mr Pinnegar was in the process of eating a huge slice of fruit cake and crumbs were sprayed about the desk. ‘Do sit down,’ he invited her and she graciously did as he requested whilst Sunday stood meekly at the side of her.

  ‘So was the lady in question interested in employing Sunday?’

  When Lady Huntley nodded, he swallowed a morsel down the wrong way and had a fit of coughing.

  ‘Very interested indeed, sir,’ Lavinia replied once he had mopped his streaming eyes. ‘She would like her to start in her employ next Monday, for a trial period of one month.’

  If she had been expecting him to be happy with the outcome she was disappointed when he spluttered, ‘Next Monday? But that is quite out of the question, madam! Sunday isn’t fourteen for a few weeks yet.’

  ‘I am aware of that,’ she answered with a steely glint in her eye. ‘But that is neither here nor there if a good position is being offered.’

  Albert Pinnegar could see the chances of having Sunday as his secret mistress slipping away. The girl continued to fill his thoughts as no other before her ever had – but how could he argue with one of the guardians?

  ‘Is the lady in question respectable?’ he enquired, desperately looking for some excuse to stop Sunday leaving.

  ‘Of course. I would never have entertained the idea of a young person going to her if she wasn’t,’ Lady Huntley replied indignantly.

  There was a tap on the door then and Miss Frost entered. ‘So will Small be leaving us then?’ she asked bluntly. Unlike Mr Pinnegar she could hardly wait to see the back of the dratted girl, as was obvious from her manner.

  ‘I can see no valid reason why she shouldn’t,’ Lady Huntley answered haughtily.

  ‘Excellent.’ Miss Frost glanced at the housemaster who looked like a mouse that had been trapped in a corner by a cat. He yanked at the collar of his shirt and ran his tongue across his thick wet lips.

  Sunday could see small crumbs of fruit cake trapped in his moustache and felt as if she might be sick. If she never had to clap eyes on him again it would be too soon for her, but she still regretted the fact that she would be leaving Daisy and Tommy behind.

&nb
sp; ‘So may I inform Mrs Spooner that Sunday will start on Monday?’ Lady Huntley asked. Something was making her feel vaguely uneasy. Mr Pinnegar was clearly not a happy man – but why? It didn’t make sense.

  ‘Of course you may,’ Miss Frost answered for him as the colour in his face changed from pink to red.

  ‘Then that is settled.’ Lady Huntley rose from her seat in a rose-scented flurry of skirts that floated about her like a cloud. ‘I shall personally call for Sunday early on Monday morning to escort her to her new home, and as Mrs Spooner is elderly and fairly housebound now I shall also sign any necessary release papers on her behalf.’

  ‘Thank you, that will be most acceptable.’ Miss Frost stared at Sunday then and said, ‘You may go back to your work now, girl. You still have to earn your keep until you leave.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Sunday flashed a grateful smile at Lady Huntley and sidled from the room, then raced towards the laundry with her thoughts all over the place.

  Just a few more days then she would be gone from this place for ever – if her month’s trial worked out, that was, but she was determined that it would. Mrs Spooner could no doubt be a bit of a tartar but anyone would be easy compared to Frosty. And better still, Sunday would never have to feel Pinnegar’s fat fingers on her again.

  Once the office door had closed, Albert Pinnegar sat silently seething. Throughout his recent advances, Small had merely stood as still as a statue with no sign whatsoever on her face of what she was feeling. Physically she was quite fragile but her spirit was strong and he admired that. As yet he had not dared to try and deflower her, for there was always the risk that Miss Frost might appear at any moment. But now he was painfully aware that time was running out. In just a few short days, Sunday would be gone from the workhouse for good. It was time to put the next part of his plan into operation.

  Daisy was bursting with curiosity to hear all about the visit, and when the girls retired to bed that evening, Sunday had to relate every tiny bit of the afternoon that she could remember at least twice.