Mothering Sunday

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘I shall press a couple between the pages of a book so that I can put them on Daisy’s grave when I get home,’ she told him, and he smiled at the kind thought. Although Sunday put her usual cheerful face on things he knew how much she was missing her friend.

  The following day, Jacob took them on a boat trip on the River Thames. They sailed all the way down to the Tower of London, and as Sunday thought of all the young queens who had been imprisoned there in years gone by she felt sad – although this was also one of the highlights of her trip.

  ‘It just goes to show that being rich and famous isn’t everything, doesn’t it?’ she commented thoughtfully. ‘It’s far more important to have good family and friends and a safe place to live, with people you love.’ She couldn’t help but feel a deep sorrow. Now that she had finally accepted that her mother was never going to try and find her she realised that Mrs Spooner and the people at Whittleford Lodge were probably the closest she was ever going to get to having a family of her own. Sensing the girl’s pain, Biddy squeezed her hand but then Sunday was smiling again and the moment had passed.

  ‘Why don’t you two get yourselves off to the theatre this evening?’ Mrs Spooner suggested the next day. ‘I’m too old to be gaddin’ about at night but there’s no reason why you two young things shouldn’t go.’

  ‘I think that’s an excellent idea,’ Jacob agreed and instantly went off to get tickets while Sunday and Mrs Spooner sat enjoying an afternoon tea amongst the potted palms in the dining room.

  Jacob soon returned, looking very pleased with himself. ‘I’ve got us tickets to go and see Lillie Langtry in The School for Scandal at the Prince’s Theatre,’ he told Sunday, waving the tickets in the air. ‘It’s near Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square. It’s also quite close to Chinatown, but we won’t be visiting there; the place is full of opium dens.’

  ‘You can wear your best gown,’ Mrs Spooner told Sunday, ‘and I’ll get one of the maids to come and put your hair up for you. You have to look the part if you’re going to the theatre.’ She was well aware that she should have chaperoned the girl, but seeing as they were in London, and not likely to meet anyone they knew, it would no doubt be all right. She trusted Jacob to behave like a gentleman.

  Sunday had never been to the theatre before and took special care when she was getting ready. As she had promised, Mrs Spooner sent a young maid up to her room, who piled her hair onto the top of her head in an elaborate style before teasing it into ringlets. She told Sunday that the queen often wore her hair like that. Sunday then put on her new lilac gown. It was an afternoon gown really, but seeing as she didn’t have an evening gown it would have to do. When she glanced in the mirror, she saw that the workhouse girl was gone and in her place stood an elegant young woman. If only Daisy and Tommy could see her now, with her hair like Queen Victoria’s!

  ‘You look a treat, miss,’ the maid who had dressed her hair told her cheekily. ‘Just mind your bonce on them lift doors on your way down.’

  When Sunday stared at her bewildered, the girl giggled. ‘Bonce – head to you. Sorry, miss, I forget everyone ain’t from London like me. But now I really should be orf. Have a lovely evenin’.’

  Sunday gave her a hug and a sixpence, then grabbed her shawl and hurried along to Mrs Spooner’s room. She didn’t want to make them late.

  ‘Why, Sunny lass, you look a picture,’ Mrs Spooner said approvingly. ‘But now let’s be havin’ you! Jacob’s got a cab waiting outside.’

  ‘Thank you so much for bringing me,’ Sunday suddenly said, and leaning forward she quickly pecked the old woman’s cheek, making her face flame beneath her rouge.

  ‘Oh, get off with you.’ Biddy waved her hand at them and, giggling, she hurried away.

  Sunday would never forget the night that followed; it would live on in her memory with its colours undimmed. She enjoyed every minute of it and wished that it could go on for ever. When she walked into the theatre on Jacob’s arm she got more than a few admiring glances but once the show started she never took her eyes from the stage for a single second.

  ‘Oh, wasn’t Miss Langtry just wonderful! And so beautiful!’ she said dreamily on their way home in the cab.

  Jacob gently took her hand. ‘Yes, she was – but she wasn’t half as beautiful as you.’ He then turned Sunday’s hand over and kissed the palm of it as her cheeks burned. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware of it, Sunday,’ he went on, ‘but I’ve grown very fond of you. It began at Christmas when Rebecca was so rude to you. I think up until then I’d looked upon you as little more than a child, but that night I suddenly realised that you were growing up. Now don’t look so worried,’ he said hastily as he saw her expression. ‘I realise that this might come as a surprise but what I want you to know is I’m prepared to wait until you feel ready – if you think you could ever feel anything for me . . . Do you think you might?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ Sunday stuttered. This was all so unexpected. ‘I do like you – very much.’ She thought back to the crush she’d had on him when she’d first gone to live at his aunt’s, but that had soon passed. And so much had happened since then.

  ‘Then that’ll have to do for now, but just remember what I said – and who knows what could happen in the future?’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Jacob?’ she said quietly. ‘I’m your aunt’s maid.’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think that would trouble her.’

  Suddenly for Sunday the night was slightly spoiled. She was flattered that Jacob liked her and, after all, he was very kind, and handsome too – everything a girl could want. Not so very long ago I would have been thrilled if he’d said this, she told herself as she tactfully withdrew her hand and tucked it beneath her shawl. Jacob could offer her love, and security – those things she had always yearned for, yet she knew that this wasn’t enough if she couldn’t love him in return.

  Sensing that she needed time to think, Jacob remained quiet, and for the rest of the journey the only sound to be heard was the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves.

  On their final day, Mrs Spooner took Sunday shopping at Liberty in Regent Street and once again it was a completely new experience for the girl. There didn’t seem to be anything that the enormous shop didn’t sell. There was a perfume counter where Mrs Spooner enjoyed herself, trying out at least half a dozen new scents, until the air around her was so cloying that Sunday could hardly breathe; there were shoes, hats, scarves, gloves, jewellery, everything a woman could wish for, and Mrs Spooner was in heaven. She bought Jacob a fine leather wallet and then, turning her attention to Sunday, she told her, ‘And now, young lady, we’re going to get you a nice warm coat for the winter. Don’t bother arguing, it’s my treat and I insist. I need to get a little gift for Annie too.’

  Biddy soon had the assistants rushing back and forth with coats of every design and colour as Sunday obediently tried them all on until at last she found one that she declared was just right. It was a similar colour to the burgundy crinoline she had had for her birthday, and it was so warm that when Sunday tried it on she felt as if she had been wrapped in a snug and very elegant blanket.

  ‘But it’s far too expensive,’ she breathed in Mrs Spooner’s ear.

  ‘Let me be the judge o’ that,’ Biddy Spooner said airily, then to the assistant: ‘We’ll take it. Wrap it up for us would you, dear?’ And she gave the name of the hotel so that it could be delivered that same day.

  Armed with other, smaller packages she then headed for the tea room with Sunday jogging behind her, trying to keep up, similarly loaded down. Mrs Spooner ordered afternoon tea for them and Sunday was glad to sink into her chair. As she had soon discovered, shopping with her employer was almost as hard work as being at home.

  She was grateful, however, to get a little respite from Jacob, who had shied away from what he called ‘women’s shopping’. Since he had declared his feelings to her their relationship had undergone a subtle change. He was still the perfect gentlema
n but she could sense him watching and waiting for her answer and she found it a little unnerving, so much so that she was looking forward to going home now and getting back into some sort of a routine.

  Admittedly, she hadn’t ruled out the possibility of building a life with Jacob; she would have been a fool to discount it. But sensibly, she knew that she was still very young to be making such a momentous decision and she didn’t want to be rushed into anything. It was almost as if her head was telling her one thing and her heart was telling her another. Her head was telling her that she might never get another offer from such a decent young man again; her heart was telling her that when she met the right person she would know. It was all very confusing. I just need a little more time, she convinced herself as she and Mrs Spooner waited to be served. A maid placed a three-tier stand of tiny sandwiches in front of them, whilst another arranged a silver teapot and two delicate china cups and saucers before them. They had been shopping for most of the day – in fact, the time seemed to have flown by so now they both tucked in, enjoying every mouthful.

  When it was empty, the stand was replaced by a similar one, on which were arranged a number of very appetising-looking fresh cream cakes, dainty iced cakes and scones.

  ‘Come on,’ Mrs Spooner encouraged as Sunday refilled her cup for her. ‘They charge ridiculous prices here so we may as well eat up. I hate to see waste, I do.’ She then bit into a large cream horn as Sunday selected a truly extravagant chocolate éclair. Ten minutes later, Sunday was feeling slightly sick, and when Mrs Spooner again pushed the cake-stand towards her she held her hands up in a gesture of defeat.

  ‘I couldn’t eat another single mouthful,’ she giggled. ‘At this rate I shall be having to let the seams in my dresses out.’

  Mrs Spooner grinned. ‘I reckon my hatred of seein’ food go to waste comes from when I was a nipper,’ she confided. ‘Before I met my husband I often went to bed with an empty belly. There were a large family of us, see, an’ the lads used to wolf down everything they could get their hands on. My mam reckoned they had hollow legs, so even when I married and didn’t have to worry any more about where the next meal was coming from, I never forgot those times.’

  It wasn’t often that Mrs Spooner spoke of her poor background and Sunday felt touched that she had confided in her.

  ‘Anyway, that’s enough o’ that,’ Mrs Spooner said then, clicking her fingers for the bill. ‘I reckon we’ve still got another couple of hours left to get some more shoppin’ in, so chop chop. I still need to find Annie a little present, an’ a bit o’ something for Nell and Mickey too.’

  Sunday was only too happy to go along with the suggestion as she wanted to buy some small gifts for the folks back at home too.

  By the time they got back to the Belgravia Hotel, where Jacob was waiting for them in the foyer, Sunday felt as if her arms were at least six inches longer.

  ‘Now you see why I didn’t want to come along,’ he grinned as he took the bags off them both. ‘I know my aunt when she goes on a shopping spree.’

  He escorted the two ladies up to their rooms then Sunday excused herself as Mrs Spooner began to show her nephew all her new things.

  ‘I think I’ll get my packing done now to save having to do it in the morning.’ she said.

  ‘All right, dear. Jacob . . . what do you think o’ this?’ Sunday slipped away as Mrs Spooner began to haphazardly tip her purchases out onto the bed.

  The packing took no time at all and although Sunday was tired and had intended to have a rest before dinner she found that she couldn’t settle. In less than twenty-four hours she would be home and her very first holiday would be over. She wasn’t altogether sorry although she had enjoyed herself immensely. It had been wonderful not to have to keep glancing across her shoulder in case Mr Pinnegar was there every time she ventured out. He seemed a million miles away here but soon now they would return home and his taunts would start all over again. She shuddered at the thought but she had missed Nell, Annie and Mickey and couldn’t wait to tell them all about the sights she’d seen and the places they’d visited.

  She put on her best gown again and paid particular attention to her hair that evening after helping Mrs Spooner dress for dinner, and when they arrived in the foyer where Jacob was waiting for them, as usual he complimented them both.

  ‘May I just say how ravishing you ladies are looking this evening?’ he said. Then, with one on each side of him, their arms tucked into his, he led them through to the dining room for dinner. The meal was delicious, all five courses of it, although Sunday was still so full from the afternoon tea that she couldn’t really do it justice.

  When it was over they retired to the lounge where they had coffee, then Jacob asked, ‘Would you like to go out somewhere, Sunday? It is our last evening here and I’m sure my aunt wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Sunday answered demurely, ‘but I’m rather tired as it happens so I think I’ll go to bed early, ready for the journey home tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m ready for my bed an’ all, lass. All that shopping has caught up with me.’ Mrs Spooner smothered a yawn as Jacob looked hopefully at Sunday again, hoping to change her mind but without success.

  He didn’t argue. Instead he saw them both to his aunt’s room and bade them good night, leaving Sunday to help his aunt prepare for bed.

  ‘Have you realised our Jacob’s got a soft spot for you?’ Biddy asked in her usual forthright way as Sunday was unlacing her stays.

  Sunday’s blush was her answer and the woman told her sternly, ‘You could do a lot worse for yourself, yer know. Everything I own will be his when I pass on. Think on it, lass. You’d never go short of anything.’

  ‘I’m a little too young to be thinking of settling down just yet,’ Sunday answered diplomatically and hoping to change the subject she added, ‘I hope we’ll find everything is all right at home when we get back.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be? Annie is more than capable.’ Mrs Spooner yawned again then, so after tucking her into bed and settling her with a magazine, Sunday scooted off to her own room where she sat on the bed staring pensively into space.

  Her two biggest dreams had almost died now. The first had been to find her mother, the second to own a house big enough to take in foundling children. Both seemed so unrealistic now. Perhaps marriage to Jacob was the only way to go, after all? The trouble was, she didn’t love him – even if he could help make her second dream come true. Some instinct was telling her to wait for something – but as yet she didn’t know what it could be.

  With a sigh she started to get ready for bed.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Mrs Spooner noted that the atmosphere on the way home was somewhat strained but she wasn’t overly concerned. As her mother had always told her, ‘the path to true love never runs smooth’. And so now that Sunday was aware that Jacob thought fondly of her, the way the old woman saw it, all she had to do was sit back and let nature take its course. After all, Sunday was a bright girl and she’d soon realise how lucky she was to have a chap like Jacob look kindly on her.

  They were all relieved when the train eventually chugged into the Trent Valley railway station at Nuneaton and whilst the porter fetched their pile of luggage and many new packages from the guard’s van, Jacob went off to find a cab. In no time at all they were loaded up and heading for home, and Mrs Spooner was secretly glad. She’d enjoyed her break but had begun to realise that she was getting a little old for gadding about.

  ‘Ah well, at least the house is still standing,’ she said with a wry grin when the cab pulled up outside. But the grin was soon wiped off her face the instant she set foot through the door to be welcomed by Annie, who looked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  ‘Well, I’d have expected a smile instead o’ bein’ met by a face like a wet weekend,’ Mrs Spooner said. ‘What’s up with you, woman?’ Then sniffing the air and wrinkling her nose she asked, ‘And what’s that awful smell?’<
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  ‘We’ve had a terrible time of it since yer’ve been gone,’ Annie answered, screwing her apron between her hands. ‘You’ll need to sit down fer this. I hardly know where to begin. The first night yer were gone we locked up as usual an’ everythin’ was fine an’ dandy. But then when Mickey came down the next morning he found the chickens squawkin’ about the yard. Someone had released them from their coop although they hadn’t harmed any of ’em this time. That damn wily old fox did though – two of ’em he had fer his supper. Two mornin’s later we found someone had opened the stable door in the night an’ Mickey caught up wi’ Treacle wanderin’ along Haunchwood Road. Also, the night after yer left, someone set a fire right outside the kitchen door, an’ then . . . an’ then . . . Nell got attacked.’

  ‘What!’ Mrs Spooner was horrified. ‘Is she all right? And how much damage did the fire do? Was anyone burned?’ The other incidents, although worrying, were nothing compared to this.

  ‘I’ll make yer a cup o’ tea. I dare say yer all ready for one then I’ll explain everythin’.’ So saying, Annie bustled off to the kitchen as Sunday helped the old lady to take off her outer things.

  Ten minutes later with a pot of tea sitting in front of them in the drawing room, Mrs Spooner asked again, ‘Is Nell all right, Annie?’

  Annie nodded and began to explain. ‘Yes, I’ll tell yer all about that in a minute but I’ll start at the beginnin’. As I said, the fire happened the night after yer left. We’d noticed a couple of shifty-lookin’ blokes hoverin’ about outside earlier in the afternoon an’ they made me feel a bit nervous like, so I’d asked everyone to keep a watch out for ’em comin’ back. I was in bed dead to the world that night but thankfully Mickey had got up to check on the sow. She’s due to drop a litter any day as yer know an’ he’s been keepin’ a beady eye on her. Anyway, as he came down the stairs he smelled burnin’ and when he went into the kitchen there were flames lickin’ up the inside o’ the back door. I dread to think what might have happened if he hadn’t come down when he did.’ She let out a long, whistling breath as she thought back, then went on: ‘Anyway, he managed to put the fire out afore it came right into the kitchen although we’ve had to have the carpenter come to measure up fer a new door. It could have been so much worse though. Had he not come downstairs we could all have been burned to death in our beds. Outside the back door he found a pile o’ twigs an’ branches on the step, them that hadn’t burned. Someone had deliberately made a fire there an’ then scarpered.’