‘It’s perfect,’ she told Annie with a lump in her throat and the woman scowled.
‘Well, I’d ’ardly call it that, lass. But then if yer happy wi’ it that’s all that counts. I dare say it’ll scrub up nicely enough wi’ a bit o’ spit an’ polish an’ a dollop of elbow grease. I’ll see as the missus gives yer time to get that done first so yer can settle in afore you do owt else.’
For the first time, Sunday realised that Annie wasn’t as harsh as she made out and she smiled at her. Then, throwing her small bundle into the deep bottom drawer, she followed Annie to begin her tour of the house.
‘I’ll show yer the downstairs first,’ Annie wheezed as she tackled the stairs again. ‘The lodgers ’ave bed, breakfast an’ evenin’ meal an’ they’re out fer most o’ the day workin’, but you’ll get to meet ’em all, given time.’
Finally, back on the ground floor again, Annie headed for the back of the house and entered an enormous kitchen. On one wall was a huge black-leaded range, although Sunday noted that it hadn’t been cleaned for many a long day. A large oak table stood in the centre of the room surrounded by a number of wooden ladder-backed chairs, which again all looked in need of a good scrub. Next to the back door was a deep stone sink with a pump attached to it that pumped in water from a well outside.
That should save some time, Sunday thought approvingly. Attached to the sink was a deeply grooved wooden draining board but it was covered in dirty pots and pans. Two large ginger cats lay asleep in front of the range and they flicked their tails and eyed Sunday suspiciously as she passed them. Glancing down at the floor she assumed it was covered in red quarry tiles but again, they were covered in the dirt of ages and so she couldn’t be certain.
‘Yer needn’t look like that,’ Annie bridled, seeing the expression on Sunday’s face. ‘This is a big place fer one woman to keep clean an’ I ain’t no spring chicken no more! It takes me all me time to get the meals on the table an’ see to the lodgers’ bedrooms, so it does.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t blaming you,’ Sunday assured her hastily. The last thing she wanted to do was offend the woman. ‘I was just wondering how you’ve managed, that’s all. It’s such a big, rambling place.’
‘It is that,’ Annie huffed, slightly appeased. ‘But now why don’t yer get what cleanin’ things yer need an’ go an’ get yer room ready? I’ve got to start preparin’ the lodgers’ evenin’ meal.’
After scouting around for a while Sunday found all she needed. A bucket and a somewhat dingy mop, some soda crystals and lye soap and a number of old rags. Annie was already seated at the kitchen table shelling peas by then so she silently made her way back up to her room. She was breathless by the time she got there. It had been no easy task balancing the bucket up two flights of stairs but she was eager to make a start. So much so that she forgot all about going to say goodbye and thank you to Lady Huntley. First of all, she gathered up the rugs that were scattered about the floor and placed them by the door. Later on she would take them outside and give them a good beating. She then opened the window as wide as it would go and set to with a vengeance, coughing and spluttering as the dust swirled around her in clouds. She was so absorbed in what she was doing that she started when Annie appeared in the doorway some two hours later.
‘Are yer deaf or what?’ she grumbled. ‘I’ve been bawlin’ me lungs out fer you to come down an’ ’ave something to eat.’ She looked around in amazement. The floorboards were gleaming damply in the light from the window that Sunday had cleaned, the whole room was spick and span, and the furniture smelled of beeswax polish.
‘Well, I’ll be . . .’ she said, greatly impressed. ‘You’ve certainly transformed this room, lass.’
Sunday sat back on her heels and grinned. She was in the process of wiping down the chest of drawers now, before cleaning inside the drawers, lining them with newspaper and then giving the whole thing a good polish.
‘I’ve almost finished. I hung the flock mattress out of the window and gave it a good shake but I forgot to ask you where I might find some bedding. I want to give the rugs a good beating too – and once that’s done you can tell me where else you want me to start.’
‘I’ll show yer where the linen cupboard is an’ yer can help yerself to whatever yer need. But leave this fer now an’ come an’ get somethin’ inside yer. We only ’ave a light meal midday but it’ll keep yer goin’ till yer dinner tonight.’
Sunday stood up and wiped her hands on her apron before following Annie downstairs.
‘I’ve taken a tray in to the missus,’ Annie informed her, ‘but she’ll eat in the dinin’ room wi’ the lodgers this evenin’. You’ll eat in the kitchen wi’ me.’
As they entered the kitchen the smell of new-baked bread reached Sunday and her stomach growled ominously. She suddenly realised that she hadn’t eaten at all that day; she had been too nervous at breakfast, not that she had missed much. The porridge that was served to them in the workhouse always left a nasty after-taste and often made her feel nauseous.
Now she gazed in amazement at the two loaves that were cooling on a rack on the table. They looked nothing at all like the dry grey bread that she was used to and her mouth watered at the sight of them.
‘I do me own bakin’ at least three times a week,’ Annie informed her proudly. ‘There’s one thing I’ll say fer the missus, she don’t skimp when it comes to feedin’ her lodgers – an’ though I say it meself, I’m a fair old cook.’ She chuckled then. ‘I’ve ’ad to be. I ’ad eleven nippers to see to an’ they was always hungry so I ’ad to make me money go a long way. They’ve all long since grown up an’ flown the nest but I still pride meself on keepin’ a good table. Now sit yerself down an’ stick in, lass.’
Sunday plonked herself down on one of the kitchen chairs and stared at the food spread out before her.
‘That’s the remains o’ the leg o’ pork left over from last night’s dinner,’ Annie informed her. ‘An’ there’s some pickled onions an’ cheese there along wi’ the butter. That should keep yer goin’ till later.’
As she spoke she was sawing off a great wedge of the fresh-baked bread and she placed it on Sunday’s plate along with a thick slice of succulent pork and the most enormous pickled onion the girl had ever seen. She then added a good-sized wedge of cheese and told her, ‘Well, get stuck in then.’
As Sunday bit into the bread, liberally spread with golden-yellow butter, she sighed with delight. She had never tasted anything like it in her life and before she knew it she had made a pig of herself.
‘Oh dear,’ she apologised. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been rather greedy, but your food is so tasty, Annie.’
Annie grinned as she swiped a straggle of grey hair behind her ear. ‘Never you mind. I like to see a lass wi’ a good appetite. I used to tell my lot they’d got ’ollow legs. I could never fill the little bleeders up. It ain’t the same when yer only ’ave yerself to see to, that’s why I offered to come an’ help the missus out when her old man died.’ As she spoke she was filling a mug with tea to which she then added milk and a liberal amount of sugar before pushing it across the table to Sunday. ‘Now get that down yer an’ then per’aps yer’d like to tackle the washin’ up afore yer finish yer room. I’m going to put me feet up at the side o’ the range fer an hour or two now afore I have to get the meat in fer tonight’s dinner. We’re ’aving lamb an’ roast potatoes.’
Sunday happily began to add the dirty pots to the pile already teetering on the draining board. The back door was open and the only sound to be heard was the birds singing in the trees. The girl felt a sensation of well-being wash over her. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be so bad living here after all, she found herself thinking.
Chapter Fifteen
As she had been told, Sunday dined in the kitchen that evening with Annie and when they had eaten Annie donned her coat and set off for home, telling Sunday, ‘I can leave you to clear up the pots, can’t I, lass?’
‘Of course.’ Sunday wished h
er good evening then, left to her own devices she set to with a will. After washing up every pot in sight and transferring the clean ones to the table, she then scrubbed down the huge oak dresser that took up almost one wall before putting them away. The floor was next, and after giving it its second thorough mopping she was gratified to see the red-brick tiles shining through the dirt. She would have liked to tackle the heavily tarnished copper pans that were suspended all along the shelf in the fireplace but it was growing dusk by then and she was so tired that she was sure she could have fallen asleep on her feet.
Still, at least I’ve made a good start, she thought as she glanced around appreciatively. Already she could picture what a lovely kitchen it would be when everything in it was bright and shining. It was at that moment that the door leading into the hall swung open and Mrs Spooner appeared, making her jump.
‘Ah, I was wondering if I’d catch you before you went to bed, Sunny. I was going to ring the bell in the parlour but I thought you might have already gone up.’ She stared about her for a moment but she didn’t make any comment before turning her attention back to Sunday and saying, ‘I was aware that you might need some clean clothes to change into so I got my dressmaker to run these up for you. I had to guess the size, of course, but they’ll be good enough to wear about the house no doubt, and Lady Huntley tells me she’s given you some clothes that might be suitable for walking out in once you’ve had time to alter them.’
Colour burned into the girl’s cheeks as she gratefully accepted the clothes that were folded across the old woman’s arm. Biddy Spooner was gripping her walking stick and told Sunday then, ‘You may turn in whenever you wish now. No doubt you will be tired. Good night, Sunny.’
‘Good night, ma’am.’
The minute the old lady had left the room, Sunday laid the clothes across the now clean table-top and began to examine them. There were two identical gowns made of a thick cotton material in a navy-blue colour trimmed with white piping. They were fairly plain but by far the finest that she had ever worn and she stroked the material reverently. There were also a number of white petticoats and undergarments as well as two fine lawn nightdresses. Sunday’s eyes shone as she examined them and she could hardly wait to try them on. But then she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace. Her hair was thick with dust and there were smuts of dirt on her cheeks. It would be a crime to put these clothes on in the state she was in. Making a hasty decision, she filled the kettle and put it on the range to heat. Before she went to bed she would wash her hair and every inch of herself from top to toe. It was unlikely she would be disturbed as Annie had told her no one ever ventured into the kitchen of an evening.
An hour later, after laying the fire ready to be lit the next morning, she wearily made her way up to her room, clutching her precious new clothes and feeling clean as a new pin. She lit the oil lamp in her room with the candle she had carried up there, then after taking off the hated uniform she flung it into a corner and slipped one of her new nightdresses over her head. There was an old pitted mirror hanging above the washstand and as she caught sight of herself in her new finery she did a little twirl about the room. The nightdress was slightly long, with full sleeves and a tiny collar trimmed with lace. She felt like a princess and was very grateful to the woman who had supplied her with the first brand-new item of clothing she had ever owned. She yawned then as the long day caught up with her and the smile slid from her face as she thought of Daisy and Tommy still trapped in the workhouse. They would have been in bed for hours now and suddenly she missed them desperately.
Crossing to the newly made bed she turned back the covers and again realised how lucky she was. The pillow was feather-filled and the sheets were crisp white cotton. The blankets were soft and thick and Sunday wished with all her heart that her friends were there to share such luxury with her as she slid into the bed. For a while she lay there listening to the night noises and trying to adjust to her change of circumstances. She loved the feeling of the open space all around her. Eventually she snuggled down and within seconds exhaustion claimed her and she slept.
The sound of a cock crowing woke her early the next morning and for a second she blinked, wondering where she was. And then it all came back to her and she hastily scuttled out of bed and washed in the jug of water she had placed ready, realising she hadn’t asked her new employer what time she was expected downstairs. It wouldn’t do to turn up late on her very first day. Once she had dressed in her new finery she brushed her hair and glanced into the mirror. Her hair had grown back to chin-length now and hung in soft curls about her face, and her eyes were glowing. The dress, which fitted tight into the waist, was far more flattering on than off, and again she did a little twirl of pure pleasure. It was a shame about the ugly boots but there was nothing to be done about them for now so she hastily tidied her bed and hurried downstairs.
She was making her way along the first-floor landing when Mrs Spooner suddenly emerged from one of the bedrooms there and she stared at Sunday in amazement.
‘I hardly recognised you,’ she remarked eventually. ‘That dress fits very well, considering I had to guess your size. But don’t let it go to your head, mind. You have to earn what those clothes cost me now.’
‘Oh, I will, Mrs Spooner,’ Sunday promised. ‘Do you need any help getting down the stairs?’
She held her hand out to assist her but the old woman slapped it away. ‘When I want your help I’ll ask for it,’ she told her peevishly. ‘Now go an’ see if Annie’s arrived yet an’ make yerself useful. I haven’t employed you to stand about lookin’ pretty. An’ tomorrow morning I’ll expect you to be up a bit earlier to light the fires afore everyone gets up.’
‘Yes, Mrs Spooner.’ Sunday clattered away down the stairs, stifling a giggle. She could be a crusty old devil that was for sure but already Sunday had discovered she had a good heart. She had almost reached the kitchen when a young man with a newspaper folded under his arm appeared from Mrs Spooner’s drawing room.
‘Ah, you must be Sunny.’ He gave her a smile and extended his hand and Sunday cautiously shook it as colour flooded into her cheeks.
‘My aunt has told me all about you. How did your first evening here go? I trust you slept well? Oh, and I’m Jacob Bartlett, by the way.’
‘I slept very well, thank you, sir,’ Sunday replied, taking in his neat suit and cravat. ‘Now I err . . . really ought to get on,’ she mumbled.
‘Of course.’ He gallantly stepped aside and Sunday almost tripped over her skirt in her haste to reach the kitchen and close the door between them.
Now why did I behave like that? He’ll think I’m some sort of a simpleton, she silently scolded herself. She had never been addressed by a young man like that before but she didn’t have long to think about it, for at that moment, Annie bustled in saying, ‘Phew, I swear that walk down Church Road gets longer every day. Either that or me old legs are wearin’ out good an’ proper.’ Looking Sunday up and down then she smiled her approval before suggesting, ‘I should get yer apron on if I were you, lass. Yer wouldn’t want to go spoilin’ that nice new frock, now would yer?’
Sunday hurried over to take her apron from the nail on the back of the door as Annie threw some coal into the range and placed the kettle on top of it.
‘We’ll ’ave us a nice cuppa, I think, afore I start the breakfasts,’ she said, sliding her shawl from her shoulders. ‘An’ you can look lively an’ go an’ set a match to the fire in the dinin’ room.’ She cocked her thumb towards the ceiling then. ‘Sounds like everybody’s up an’ about now. They’ll be comin’ down like a pack o’ vultures soon, you just mark my words. You can carry the food into the dinin’ room an’ place it on the sideboard for ’em this morning. They help ’emselves from there. It’ll be one less job fer me to do.’
‘Of course,’ Sunday agreed willingly as she hurried away to light the fire. When she returned she set out two cups and saucers. Soon the kettle was singing and once Annie had
made the tea she carried the teapot to the table and set it aside to mash.
‘So does Mrs Spooner’s nephew live here?’ Sunday asked curiously. ‘I just met him in the hallway.’
‘Ah, yes he does, that’s young Jacob,’ Annie replied, lifting the lid of the teapot and giving it a good stir. She glanced towards the door then to ensure that they were alone and confided, ‘His mother were Biddy’s sister – an’ a right little madam she were an’ all if yer get me drift.’ She tapped the side of her nose as Sunday stared at her blankly then sighed. How could she explain to a thirteen year old? ‘He were born on the wrong side o’ the blanket so to speak, then Biddy’s sister dumped him an’ ran off when he were no more than knee-high to a grasshopper! No one’s seen hide nor hair of her since, so Biddy an’ the mister brought him up as their own. An’ a right good job they did of it an’ all. Sadly, they couldn’t ’ave any of their own so young Jacob fulfilled a need in ’em.’
‘How sad.’ But at least his mother didn’t dump him on the steps of the workhouse like mine did, Sunday found herself thinking as her idyllic picture of her mother slipped for just a moment.
They drank their tea then Annie started breakfast and for a time they didn’t think of anything but the job in hand. Soon Sunday was carrying platters of sizzling eggs, bacon, kidneys and all manner of treats into the dining room and placing them on the sideboard, which she noted was just as neglected as the rest of the house. I’ll tackle this room next, she decided before scuttling away as the first of the lodgers entered the room.
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