‘You’re an awful child, you know.’ Hilda was leaning towards her, a broad grin on her face; then she added, ‘But life would be very dull without you. I hate the idea of you goin’ to that school. You don’t like it very much yourself, do you?’
‘No, Hilda, I don’t…Hilda, why should anyone wash a child’s hair in tea?’
‘Wash hair in tea?’
The three women now looked from one to the other and smiled, and it was Jane who said, ‘To dye it, likely. My Aunt Sal used to do that. Her hair should have been white but it was a queer brown. What makes you ask that?’
‘Well, truthfully’—and she nodded her head from one to the other now—‘I took Gyp out and he got under the fence into the estate…Rossburn’s. He was chasing rabbits and I couldn’t get through and I had to go into the water and round the fence, and…and when I found him he was with a little boy, and the little boy had been washing his hair, trying to get the tea out of it. He said somebody called Jennie washed his hair in tea.’
‘You…you went into the estate’—Hilda’s voice was full of awe—‘and saw a little boy?’
The women were looking at each other again, and it was Cook who said, ‘What was he like, miss?’
‘He…he would have been pretty, but his hair was all streaked. It was light in parts, almost…well, fair, and then had patches of brown. The ends were all dark though, and it was long, right onto his shoulders.’
The women once more exchanged glances, and it was Jane who now said, almost in a whisper, ‘Eeh, my! I thought he never got out, only when she walked him; she had to keep him in the attic.’
‘He spoke about the attic…or the roof.’ Nancy Ann nodded at them again. ‘He said it was very hot up there. I think that’s why he wanted to come out. He was a nice child. Who does he belong to?’
No-one answered her question for a moment; then Hilda said, ‘One of the staff, miss, and if I was you, miss, I wouldn’t mention to the master or the mistress that you saw the boy.’
‘She’s not stupid.’ Jane’s voice broke in curtly. ‘She’s not gona let on that she was where she shouldn’t be, an’ on a Sunday afternoon at that.’ She turned now and looked down on Nancy Ann and added, ‘She’s got a head on her shoulders, haven’t you, miss?’
Nancy Ann didn’t give an answer to this compliment; but when she shivered Jane said, ‘Look at that now. I’ll bet she’s in for a cold. What about a hot drink for her, Cook, eh?’
‘Yes, yes, the very thing.’
Now began a scurrying around the kitchen: a pad being put on the end of the table, and an old sheet thrown over it, and the flat iron stand placed on the corner of it; then the kettle was pressed into the heart of the fire and a jar marked ginger taken down from the cupboard shelf. And all the while they talked to each other in an undertone, and the gist that Nancy Ann could catch here and there conveyed to her that Cook had been talking to the assistant cook from the House, who had told her that the master of the house was due home next week and that they had been ordered to get ready for a shooting party coming. Apparently at the moment he was in London.
When suddenly she sneezed, Cook exclaimed, ‘There you are then! This is the beginnin’. Is that kettle boilin’?’
‘Yes, Cook.’
‘And have you squeezed that lemon, Hilda?’
‘’Tis all ready, an’ I’ve mixed half a teaspoonful of ginger with it.’
‘Oh, that’s too much; it’ll burn her bowels up.’
‘Well, I’ve done it now.’
‘Put more water in it then, an’ thin it down.’
‘Oh dear, dear.’
‘There you are, miss, sip that.’
‘Thank you. Thank you, Cook.’
At the first gulp of the hot liquid Nancy Ann coughed and almost choked. But Cook insisted she keep on sipping, and when the glass was half empty and she could take no more she gasped and pushed it from her, and at that moment the kitchen door opened and, to the consternation of all, her mother entered.
Rebecca Hazel came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the room and she looked from one to another of her small staff; lastly, her eyes rested on her daughter huddled in the shawl and now sneezing, and slowly she said, ‘What is this?’
None of her maids answered but stood silent, eyes cast down. And then she was standing in front of Nancy Ann who, sniffing loudly, said, ‘I’m sorry, Mama, I fell in the river.’
‘You what?’
‘I…I fell in the river.’
Rebecca Hazel was about to ask, How on earth did you do that, child? but she couldn’t at the moment bear to hear the explanation, true or false as it might be.
‘Come along…Come!’ she said, holding out her hand towards her daughter. Nancy Ann sidled from the wooden settle and when she stepped off the clippy mat that fronted the open fireplace onto the stone floor she sneezed again.
Rebecca, tugging her up the kitchen now, murmured under her breath, ‘Your papa will be greatly distressed about this, greatly distressed. And on a Sunday, too. Whatever next will you get up to, child!’
Her father was sitting by the side of the bed and holding her hand, and he said, ‘I am to blame. I should have insisted that you attend Sunday school. Your mother is right, quite right. I am to blame.’
‘No, Papa. No, Papa.’
‘Oh, yes, yes. This is what happens when we do things to please ourselves and those we love without taking into consideration there are rules to be obeyed in all things and if we break them we must stand the consequences. In this case, poor child, it is you who are suffering from the consequences. But how on earth did you manage to fall in the river? You’re so surefooted; you run like a deer without tripping.’
‘I…I went after Gyp, Papa.’
‘And…and he swam into the river?’
She waited for a moment, her mind racing around to find an outlet that wouldn’t be a lie. Then she saw herself hanging on to the dog as he paddled furiously and in a small voice she said, ‘Yes, Papa, he…he swam in the river.’
‘Well, if he swam, my dear, he wouldn’t have drowned. You shouldn’t have gone in after him.’
‘He had never been in the river before, Papa.’
She wasn’t lying.
‘No, you’re right; he’s still little more than a puppy. How old is he now?’ As he considered she said, ‘Nine months, Papa.’
‘Yes, yes, of course’—he smiled at her—‘Nine months.’ He rose from the chair, and saying, ‘Be a good girl. And don’t worry, I’ll take the blame,’ he stepped back from the bed smiling, and her throat was so full she could make no comment. Dear, dear Papa. She was overcome by guilt …
A short while later, when her brothers came in, she felt no such emotion. ‘Well! Well!’ Peter laughed down at her, and James said, ‘Leave you for five minutes and this is what you get up to.’ He bent above her. ‘What really happened? Come on now, that pup is terrified of water. I tried to get him in myself.’
Forgetting for a moment how her head and throat ached, she said, tartly, ‘If you had taken me with you it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘What wouldn’t have happened?’ Peter demanded, sitting down on the side of the bed now. ‘You had a fight or something…the McLoughlins?’
‘No, no, I didn’t have a fight or something. I…I had an adventure.’
‘Oh! Oh!’ The brothers exchanged glances and pulled long faces, and James said, ‘She had an adventure.’
‘Oh, I love adventures.’ Peter wriggled on the bed, and joined his hands under his chin then, his voice changing, he said, ‘Come on, spill it out.’
She looked from one to the other before she asked the same question of them as she had of the maids, but put in a slightly different way. ‘Why should you wash your hair in tea?’ she said.
‘What!’ they both said together, ‘Wash our hair in tea? What do you mean?’ James added.
‘Just that. Why should anybody wash a small boy’s hair in tea?’
Now James pul
led a chair up to the side of the bed and, his face straight, he said, ‘Let’s have it from the beginning.’
And so between much coughing and clearing of her throat she told them what had happened; and when she had finished she was surprised at their remaining silent, and she watched them exchange glances again, then look down at the bed quilt.
It was Peter who, getting to hIs feet and letting out a long drawn breath, said, ‘Well, the only explanation I can give you is that the child’s mother didn’t like the colour of its hair. People do dye their hair with tea, you know.’
‘They do?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it looked funny; it was all streaky and he didn’t like it. Sticky, he said it was. And he had been trying to wash it off.’
‘Oh, well. Mothers can do what they like with their own children. Now go on to sleep, trouble.’ Peter bent and kissed her on the brow; then James did likewise; and when they reached the door they turned and waved to her, and she said, ‘I wish you weren’t going tomorrow.’
‘So do we,’ said James. Then bending forward he hissed, ‘Don’t forget about my engagement.’
‘No, no, I won’t.’ She smiled and nodded at them, and when the door closed she snuggled down into the pillow and waited for her grandmama’s visit …
But her grandmama was delaying her visit; she was sitting in her room looking at her two grandsons who were seated as far away from the fire as they could get, which wasn’t all that far for the room was crowded with furniture and the backs of their chairs were tight pressed against the foot of her bed.
Peter was now saying, ‘Do you think he’s been kept up in the attic all these years? He must be four now.’
‘All maids sleep in the attics. She’s likely had to keep him up there in one room. You two were up in the nursery until you were five. What’s the difference?’
‘A great deal, I should say,’ said James. ‘Nancy Ann said she heard a person scolding the child for being outside.’
‘Well, of course, she would have to, because what would happen if he was running wild and Mr Big-head Dennison Harpcore came across him. That was the agreement, so I understand; that he was kept out of the way.’
‘I never knew exactly what did happen,’ Peter said. ‘I knew there was a mighty fuss after the brother was drowned; but what took place before exactly?’
‘Well, you were both at school at the time and such things were of little interest to you. You know the outline of the story: Jennie Mather was put into service there when she was ten. She came half-day to school here. She was a pretty child. She had no parents, but an uncle, Tom Bristow. He drove Gibbons’s cart. He was a youngish fellow, well set up. Anyway, Jennie eventually became chambermaid and when she was sixteen she came under the notice of Timothy. He was eighteen. A nice pleasant young fellow, as I remember him, very fair, but not a very strong and brewster character like his brother. Anyway, Harpcore was five years older and already making a name for himself, and not just academically. So, as I said to myself at the time, what right had he to act like an outraged father when his brother came into the open? And yet, on the other hand, it must have been like a gun at his head when Timothy, at nineteen, told him not only that he had got one of the maids into trouble but also that he wanted to marry her. The young fellow was very much in earnest. Jennie had grown into a very beautiful young girl and she had a bit of a brain to go with it apparently. She had been bright at school and had kept up her reading, and as Peggy down below would say, she didn’t act common. But nevertheless, she was a chambermaid, and when people of her class give way to their masters’ whims, they should know what to expect.
‘Well, the story goes that Harpcore, naturally, was for sending her packing, but that young Timothy threatened to go with her. It must be said for Harpcore that he loved his brother. You see, the mother had died when Timothy was seven and Dennison had, in a way you could say brought him up, because they had been inseparable until Dennison was packed off to school. And he felt all the more responsible for his younger brother when their father died when Timothy was twelve. And so here was Timothy telling his brother, who was now master of the estate, that he intended to bring a working-class girl, a maid, into this old, well-connected family. It just wouldn’t be even discussed. I understand that he tried to make the boy see that his feelings were just a flash in the pan. He even consented to providing for the girl as long as Timothy had nothing more to do with her. But apparently Timothy wouldn’t see it this way. Anyway—’ She paused here and said, ‘Hand me that glass of lemon water off the table, James. I’m thirsty; I’ve never talked so much at once for years.’
James handed her the glass, and after draining it she wiped her mouth and said, ‘Where was I? Oh yes. You remember the big flood? It started just as a spring tide, but then it rained for a solid week, and the wind blew and trees came down. Well, you won’t recall it because you were at school, but, you know, the river along the stretch where that little monkey went today is always hazardous; even when the water’s running calm, there’s eddies there. Well, what possessed the young fellow to take a boat out in that weather God alone knows; but you know the rest, they found the boat a mile down the river. But they didn’t find the body until four days later. They said that Dennison nearly went insane. One thing he did do was order the girl to be sent from the house. And now this is where her uncle comes in. He was a strong-minded fellow, Tom Bristow: he agitated for unions and the like for every kind of work; he spoke on platforms; he was that kind of a man. Anyway, what does he do but storm into the house, after levelling the footman, and come face to face with the half-demented Dennison. As far as I can gather and again it was hearsay, but he said as much that the child that was to be born was of that house and of his blood, and that if Dennison turned the girl out there was no place except the workhouse for her because he himself was about to emigrate to Australia, but that he wouldn’t go until he saw justice done. And his justice demanded that she remain in her post and the child remain there.
‘Apparently, at this, Dennison yelled to his servants to throw the man out to prevent himself from laying his hands on him. But when the butler and the second footman came into the room the fellow took up such a stance that they were awed by him, or, as the tale goes, by the ornaments he scooped up from the table in order to throw at them.
‘Well, he is supposed to have given Dennison an ultimatum: either he let the girl stay in her job, or he provide her with a house and income, or he himself would give the story to the newspapers together with the information that his brother had wanted to marry the girl. And how would Dennison stand up to that scandal, he is said to have demanded.
‘But Dennison couldn’t have said much because nothing seems to have been passed on. I think though he must have considered that setting up the girl in a house would have been taken as acceptance of the responsibility for his brother’s child; or, on the other hand, that should he turn her out it would create a scandal that the newspapers would spread countrywide, whereas if he let the girl stay and ignored her existence, the affair would not reach beyond local bounds. And…well, that’s what he has done: Jennie was allowed to stay, but she was relegated to the kitchen; and it was understood through the household that when the child was born the master mustn’t set eyes on it; and, too, that if they wanted to remain in his employ they didn’t speak about the matter outside the house.’
She nodded from one to the other, then said, ‘And now about the tea business. Young Timothy was very fair, as fair as Dennison is dark. His hair was almost golden, and I’ve heard that when the child was born it had hair on its head the colour of silver. And over the years the child seems to be growing into a replica of its father. Again, so I am told. So now you can understand the tea business, for had the child’s hair been left alone and Dennison had come across him, he would have recognised him immediately. But a brown-haired child might pass unnoticed, or be taken as belonging to one of the outside staff. That’s if he takes notice of any men
ial the short time he’s home.’
‘But what’s going to happen when the child grows up? Will he make a claim on him do you think? I mean on Mr Harpcore.’
‘Perhaps. I don’t know, that’s in the future. The present is that your little sister has the knack already of creating chaos wherever she goes.’ She smiled now, then added, ‘I was for trying to persuade your mother—with an iron hand in the velvet glove, you know—’ and she smiled, ‘to forget about this Dame school business, because I shall miss the little monkey, but after this, I think a little discipline and the company of other than the village children might help to shape her future.’
‘What a hope!’ James rose to his feet. ‘I can’t see her changing. Anyway, Grandmama, you wouldn’t want her to really, because she’s too much like yourself, isn’t she?’
‘Well, is that a bad thing?’ The voice was curt.
James shrugged his shoulders as if, were he to reply, it would be positively. But there was a smile on his face, and she cried at him, ‘Go on, get yourself away. I’ll have to go in to her now and listen to the story for myself; and knowing the teller, it will undoubtedly be embroidered for my benefit, being an old lady who has to be entertained.’
As they both made grunting sounds, the bell ringing in the distance turned them towards the door and Jessica, a tight smile on her face, said, ‘There’s your appetiser before your meal. I’ve always disliked Sundays because you’re expected to pray more on a Sunday, and for less food. Enjoy your cold repast. I’m so glad I’m ill and can have warm gruel.’ She laughed wickedly, and the boys laughed with her.
When they muttered something as they opened the door, she said, ‘What’s that you say?’ And Peter, poking his head towards her, said in an undertone, ‘You heard. You’re a wicked woman.’
She still continued to laugh after the door had closed; then getting up smartly, she walked across the room, unlocked the drawer of her writing desk, took out a flat tin box, lifted up the lid, and extracted from the box a small meat pie and a fruit tart. Then, spreading a clean handkerchief on the small table to the side of her fireside chair, she laid the pastries on it. But before sitting down again she went to the door and pushed in the bolt. It was known in the household that she always bolted the door when she was relieving herself. Returning to her seat, she made herself comfortable, stretched her feet out and rested them on the rim of the scalloped brass fender; then picking up the pie, she bit into it and munched happily.
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