The Parson's Daughter

by Catherine Cookson

  Mary was holding the door open for them and they turned on her baleful glances as they passed.

  After closing the door, Mary came back to the desk and looked at Nancy Ann sitting now with her head leaning against the back of the tall leather chair, and she said, ‘You did splendid, ma’am. The main battle’s over. Who’s next?’

  ‘Anderson.’

  When the top-floor maid was ushered into the room she did not show any sign of the civil insolence that had dictated her earlier manner when dealing with the mistress of the house, but she stood before the desk and said meekly, ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  Nancy Ann did not beat about the bush here, she said immediately, ‘You are being dismissed, Anderson. You’ll have your money in advance. It will be ready for you by the time you have your bag packed.’

  ‘Ma’am.’ The woman’s voice trembled. ‘What…what have I done?’

  ‘You needn’t ask what you have done, Anderson, you know what you have done. Apart from everything else, your manner has been offensive at times. But that is just by the way. I won’t embarrass you further by describing your disloyalty; you know only too well how far that went.’

  She now looked at Mary, saying, ‘Send in Appleby and Gillespie.’

  The woman did not take the hint that she had been dismissed but still stood, and then she said, ‘A reference, ma’am?’

  ‘I cannot give you a reference, Anderson. If it had just been your manner to me then I might have reconsidered, but you were in league with those who were above you and planned my destruction and unhappiness.’

  She felt a tinge of regret as she saw the woman almost stumble out of the room, yet she forced herself to remember how she had been treated by this servant.

  When the coachman and groom entered the room their faces were stiff and, as Mary might have put it, in their turn, looked ready for battle. But the wind was taken out of their sails immediately by Nancy Ann saying, ‘You two men were the means of bringing a person to this house unknown to the master of it. You showed no loyalty to your master and certainly none to me. Well now, you are both at liberty to find employment with the person who engaged you. You are dismissed as from now. You will have your wages in advance. That is all.’

  ‘But, my God, it isn’t!’ It was Appleby speaking. ‘I’ve worked for the master twenty years, he wouldn’t have…’

  She silenced him by lifting her hand, and, her voice raised high now, she said, ‘He would have. He dismissed his valet for the same offence and has given me permission to dismiss you.’

  William Appleby was a small thin man with a wiry body. Now he seemed to swell as he leant across the table towards her and he almost barked at her, ‘You won’t reign long. Parson’s Prig they call you and Parson’s Prig you are. His whore was worth a dozen of you and she’ll be in your place afore the end, God willin’.’

  Both the groom and Mary had now to hold the man and thrust him out of the door, and after Mary had banged the door shut she leant against it and looked to where Nancy Ann was sitting with her hand pressed tight across her mouth. Then she went to her and, patting her shoulder, she said, ‘There now. There now. Don’t upset yourself, ma’am. He was bound to go on like that. He’s had it easy for years, that one. They say he used to valet the master at odd times afore Staith came on the scene; and he was also hand in glove with Trice, especially where the wine cellar was concerned. You’re well rid of that one, ma’am. Is that the lot you want rid of, ma’am?’

  Nancy Ann shuddered. The man’s words were ringing in her ears. ‘And she’ll be in your place afore the end.’ After a moment she said, ‘Yes, Mary. Now…now I want you to go and bring Robertson here. No; wait. First of all I must talk with you. Sit down.’ She pointed to a chair, then looked at the young woman, her hands joined in her lap, and she said, ‘Do you think Agnes would be capable of controlling the nursery if she had someone there to help her?’

  Mary’s eyes crinkled at the corners for a moment. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said; ‘she’s capable enough, ma’am. Like me, she had training with our squad, the lot of them, as I said. But…but…?’

  Nancy Ann leant over the desk towards her, saying, ‘Do you think you could take the position of housekeeper? I’m sure you could, but do you think so? And would you like it?’

  ‘Me?’ Mary was now thumping her chest with her thumb. ‘Housekeeper, here?’

  ‘Well—’ Nancy Ann allowed herself to smile a small smile while saying, ‘I have no other house.’

  ‘Oh, but, ma’am, ’tis a big job and responsibilities. And would they accept me?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll accept you or they’ll go.’ There was a definite note of authority in Nancy Ann’s voice now, and she straightened herself up as she said further, ‘When I speak to the rest of them they will be given their choice. But we’re having no more Judases here if I can help it. Well, what do you say? There is nothing, as I see it, to the position except ordering the victuals and supervising the staff, and I’m sure you can do that. Anyone who can control children like you is capable of giving an order and seeing that it is obeyed. Then there is the salary. It would be almost doubled.’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter about that, but I’m not going to be a hypocrite and say it wouldn’t be welcome, especially at home. But, as for help up in the nursery’—Mary smiled widely now—‘I have another sister, Alice, ready to be placed out.’

  ‘Oh, that would be excellent. So shall we say that’s settled?’

  ‘Oh, ma’am,’ Now Mary put her flat hands on the desk and, bending over towards Nancy Ann, she said, ‘I bless the day I came under your care, I do that, ma’am,’ There was a break in her voice, and Nancy Ann, deeply touched, said, ‘It was a good day for me too, Mary. Now go and call in Robertson, please.’

  Mary walked towards the door but stood there a minute fumbling with her handkerchief; then, with a slight sniff, she went out.

  When Henry Robertson came into the office Nancy Ann wanted to say immediately to him, ‘Don’t look so perturbed, it’s all right.’ He was standing now before her desk, a man of medium height with reddish hair which seemed to clash with the nut brown of his uniform. This man had always been civil towards her and helpful when he could. She spoke again without preamble: ‘Do you think you can carry out the duties of butler, Robertson?’

  There was a second’s pause and a stiffening of the shoulders and pulling in of the chin before the man replied, ‘I could ma’am, I could, and serve you with loyalty.’

  ‘Thank you, Robertson.’ And now she asked, ‘Do we need two footmen?’

  ‘No, ma’am, not really, one would be ample.’

  ‘I will see one is engaged for you. Thank you, Robertson.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, and it’s obliged I am to you. Thank you.’ He turned smartly and marched out.

  When the door had closed on him Mary said, ‘One loyal soldier, or sailor,’ she smiled, then added, ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Well, let’s have the other loyal one, Mary, McLoughlin.’

  ‘Oh yes, ma’am, but he’s already enlisted on your side.’ …

  When Shane McLoughlin stood at the other side of the desk, she said to him, ‘You will have already heard that Appleby and Gillespie have been dismissed.’

  His voice was low when he replied, ‘I have, ma’am.’

  ‘Would you like the position of coachman?’

  She saw the broad chest expand, and on a breath that he slowly let out, he said, ‘I would that, ma’am. I would that.’

  ‘It might entail other duties. As my husband has not now got a valet, you might be called upon to stand in and assist him, such as at those times when he goes away on a shoot.’

  She now saw the man hesitate, and then he said candidly, ‘Valet the master, ma’am? Oh, I doubt if I’d be any good at that. I’m fumble-fisted. A horse now, I could handle, but to dress somebody…well.’

  ‘You would not be expected to dress the master, only lay out his clothes and things like that. It’s something that you ca
n soon learn. Mary there would help you.’

  At this, Mary looked at her wide-eyed. But when McLoughlin turned towards her, she said to him blithely, ‘’Twill be all right. You’ll soon get into the way.’

  ‘Well, if you think so, I’ll be only too pleased.’

  Now he turned and looked at Nancy Ann, saying in a characteristic Irish way that placed all human beings on a level, ‘You’ll not regret this day, ma’am; and you can tell the master so. I’ll likely make a mess of everything at first, inside that is, not outside. No, no; those stables’ll be run as they’ve never been run afore, and the carriage horses will be a credit, I promise you that. But upstairs. Well, once I get the hang of it, the master will never have been better served. You can tell him that from me. As for yourself, ma’am, I’m your servant from this day on. An’ I have been since I came into the place. But what you’ve done for me the day has made me sign me cross at the bottom of a document.’ …

  He was in full spate and would have gone on had not Mary, looking at Nancy Ann, prompted, ‘There’s Winter and Pollock, ma’am. Are you makin’ one or t’other of them a groom?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Winter and Pollock. Whom do you suggest, McLoughlin?’

  It seemed that now Shane was considering, and then he said, ‘Winter’s the first stable lad. He’s a good fellow is Winter, though he’s not as old as Pollock, and Pollock’s been here, so I understand, some longer time. He’s forty if he’s a day, but he’s not as bright up top as Johnny. I would say, raise the first stable boy, ma’am.’

  ‘Then it is Winter. Well, when you go out, you can tell him to come and see me. But that will leave you short of a stable boy.’

  Almost before she had finished speaking he put in, ‘I can soon rectify that, ma’am, with one of our lot, I mean me younger brother, Benny by name and bright up top. He’s very good with dogs, training them that is. He’ll fall into the ways of the horses. Can I tell him, ma’am? He’s already helping out a bit in the yard.’

  ‘Yes, do. He may come and see me tomorrow.’

  ‘’Tis settled then, ma’am, ’tis settled.’ He jerked his head twice at her, a grin on his face from ear to ear; and then he said, ‘Will that be all at present, ma’am?’

  As the door closed on him both Mary and Nancy Ann looked at each other, and Nancy Ann knew that Mary was about to give vent to one of her body-shaking laughs, and she wagged her finger at her; but the admonition was directed towards herself, too, for she knew full well that if she gave vent to laughter it might become hysterical and end in a torrent of tears. And so she turned her attention to the list on the table.

  ‘Do you know anything objectionable about any of the others?’ she asked.

  Mary thought for a moment, then said, ‘No, ma’am, except that, to keep their jobs, as I said, they’ve had to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. No, I think you will find all the rest all right, ma’am. But there’s Benton the lodgekeeper and his wife. They keep to themselves. And yet they were in with the other lot. But they and the gardeners and the farmhands come under Mr Taylor the Ground Manager.’

  Nancy Ann was considering again; and then she said, ‘The cottages. Those of Trice and Appleby are already furnished; they will have only their personal belongings to take with them. But there might be some quantity of these, so you can inform them they may stay on till the end of the week, until they find some other place to live. Appleby’s cottage can then be taken over by McLoughlin and his brother. As for the other one, it was a very nice cottage, Trice’s, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Very nice indeed, ma’am, being for married quarters.’

  ‘Well, I have ideas about who will occupy that one.’ She now rose from her chair, saying as if to herself, ‘Let us get it over.’

  When she entered the hall it was to be confronted by what appeared to be a sea of troubled eyes. As she remarked later to Mary, it was as if they were expecting the devil.

  She began immediately. Standing with her hands joined at her waist, her head held well back on her shoulders, she said, ‘You are all aware by now what has taken place. If any one of you wishes to leave my service you can report to me in my office tomorrow morning. That is all. Oh…just one thing.’ She had half turned from them. Now she was looking down the hallway to where, at the far end, was a green-baized door which opened into the corridor leading to the kitchen and the staff quarters. And near this door stood Jennie Mather, and she said, ‘I would like to see you in my office for a moment, please.’

  Jennie Mather looked about her, then took one step forward and, pointing to herself, she said, ‘Me, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you.’ And on this Nancy Ann turned away and went back into her office; and Jennie Mather slowly followed her.

  Jennie Mather was now a woman nearing thirty. She had been a beautiful young girl. There were still traces of the beauty on her face because sorrow and humiliation do not alter the bone formation, merely the skin and the look in the eyes. Her skin was pale, colourless; her eyes were large and of a deep sea blue, but they held no light, there was a dull subdued look in them.

  She was doubtless surprised when her mistress said to her, ‘Please, sit down.’

  Before Nancy Ann could continue, Mary interrupted quietly, ‘You won’t be requiring me any more, ma’am, for the time being?’ It was a very tactful question, and Nancy Ann, looking at her, said, ‘No, thank you, Mary. That will be all for the present. I will be up in the nursery shortly.’

  ‘Very good, ma’am.’

  Left alone, the older woman looked at her mistress whom she considered a young girl, her slim body almost lost in the great leather chair. That was until she spoke; and what she said caused her whole expression to change, her eyes to widen, her lips to move one against the other as if they were speaking silent words, and the colour to flood her pale skin, for this young mistress was saying to her: ‘I’ve wanted to speak about this matter for a long time, Jennie.’ She did not say ‘Mather’ but ‘Jennie’, then went on. ‘I think that you have been treated badly in this house. If I’d had my way when I first came here, I would have had your son recognised in some way. But it wasn’t to be. That is, up till now. Your boy is highly intelligent. It’s a credit to you that he can read and write. Some weeks ago I was looking at the books that I suppose he had been reading up in the attic and I marvelled at his advancement. But that is only one side of education. In the ordinary way he would already have been at a school for some years now, so I intend the wrong to be rectified, at least in that way. Would you agree to this?’

  Jennie Mather couldn’t speak. She had been sitting upright in the straight-backed chair, now she was slumped, her head was bowed on her chest. And as Nancy Ann watched the tears rain down the young woman’s face, she had great difficulty in restraining her own. And she said softly, ‘Please, please, don’t upset yourself. Come. Come now. Let us talk about this. We both have his welfare at heart.’

  It was some minutes before Jennie could say, ‘Oh, ma’am, I never thought to live to see the day when I should hear someone speak for us…because, I have been made to suffer.’ Her voice now broke again and, her head drooping forward once more, she shook it from side to side as she muttered, ‘Oh, God, how I have been made to suffer.’

  ‘There, there. Please don’t distress yourself. Come; dry your eyes, and answer me this. Why, when you have been humiliated so, did you stay? You could have taken your boy and gone, surely?’

  Again it was some time before Jennie answered, and then she asked simply, ‘Where, ma’am? Where could I have gone? I had only one living relative, an uncle, and he in Australia. I had no money except my wage and that a pittance, because my son had to be paid for out of it.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I had to pay for his keep until he was able to work in the boot room.’

  ‘Who ordered that?’

  ‘The housekeeper, ma’am.’

  It was on the point of Nancy Ann’s tongue now to say, Dear God! But, as if her tongue
was loosened, Jennie Mather began to talk. Looking across the table, the tears still raining down her face, she said, ‘It was either the workhouse or the attic. And it wasn’t even an attic, it was right under the roof. And I couldn’t bear the thought of the workhouse at that time, because I used to think I’d be in for fourteen years before I could leave. You see they don’t allow you to leave until your child can work for himself. Little did I know then that I would do almost fourteen years of hard labour here. It couldn’t have been worse there, it couldn’t. Yet I must admit, ma’am, I hoped against hope that the master would relent. I thought that once he saw my son who looked the spit of his father, who was his own brother, he would forgive and accept the boy. I would have been quite willing to leave, to go away altogether as long as my son was recognised in some way. But no, he hates the sight of him. And my only wonder is, feeling as he does, he has allowed us to stay. It is only because we have hidden away as it were. But now…but now, ma’am, you were saying you would send him to school, a proper school. Oh, at this moment, I feel there is a God after all.’

  ‘Well now, listen to me. I would rather it weren’t known that I shall be paying for the boy’s education. It will have nothing to do with the master, and I couldn’t see how this could be hidden until a moment ago when you said that your only living relative was an uncle in Australia. Does he write…correspond with you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, now and again I get a letter. He moved around when he first went out, but for some years now he’s been settled in a place called Kalgoorlie. He and another man have set up a grocery business. And in his last letter he talked about buying some land. He even said that when David was old enough he would send for him.’

  ‘Well, that has solved the problem, at least my problem. You can say that your uncle has sent you the money with which to educate your son. How about that?’