Nobody’s Girl

by Tania Crosse

  There were, indeed, three females in the kitchen alone! At one of the sinks along the wall under the windows, the maid Meg recognised as Jane was busy scrubbing something immersed in a froth of bubbles. A massive dresser dominated another wall, and there seemed to be cupboards and shelves everywhere. In the centre of the room was an enormous table with drawers underneath all the way along. Strewn upon it were a variety of vegetables that were being prepared by a second young girl. To Meg’s delight, a stark brilliance spilled down from overhead, and then she noticed a strange-looking cupboard arrangement which she realised must be a refrigerator. So the grand house had electricity, just as she’d wanted in the farmhouse. She thrust the thought aside. No! She wouldn’t look back, only forward. And instead she admired the way the light glinted on the rows of polished copper pans of all shapes and sizes.

  ‘Mrs Phillips.’ Beside her, Nana May’s addressing the older woman bustling between table and range drew Meg’s attention back to the people in the room. ‘This is Meg, the young lady we told you about,’ Nana May went on. ‘We’ve been discussing it with Mrs C, and it’s been decided that Meg’s going to join us as a member of staff as a trainee lady’s maid. And as she comes from a farm, she’s going to help Ralph with the animals as well. Now, she’s not been in service before, so I hope everyone will make her very welcome.’

  ‘Well, child.’ Mrs Phillips, a thin woman with an even thinner face – nothing at all like the image of a plump and homely cook Meg had in her head – turned to her brusquely. ‘I’m sorry about your tragic circumstances, but if you’ll forgive me, I’ve little time to chat. I could’ve done with extra help in the kitchen.’

  ‘Well, if I have any free time, I’d be happy to lend a hand. If that’s all right?’ Meg added, turning to Nana May.

  ‘I see no reason why not, although don’t rely on it, Mrs Phillips. I think Meg’s other duties are going to keep her fully occupied.’

  Nana May surprised Meg with a surreptitious wink, and Mrs Phillips nodded with a grudging smile before turning back to her simmering pan. Nana May then pointed out a small door behind them that, as the two most senior members of staff, was Mr Yard, the butler’s, and Cook’s private day room.

  ‘Ah, while I think of it, Jane, you took Meg’s coat when she arrived. Where did you put it, dear?’

  ‘Erm,’ the girl hesitated thoughtfully, ‘let me think. Oh, yes, I put it in the guest room we got ready.’

  ‘Oh, well, yes, very sensible,’ Nana May said kindly. ‘Thank you, Jane. We’ll retrieve it later. Now come through this door, Meg. It’s what we call the servants’ hall.’

  As she followed Nana May through the door, Meg caught Jane smiling shyly at her before plunging her arms back into the foaming sink. It was all somewhat overwhelming, but Meg felt oddly reassured by the girl’s gesture.

  Being mid-morning, everyone was about his or her duties, so the servants’ hall was deserted. At the far end, however, was a small porch that was apparently the servants’ entrance to the house. Nana May picked out a relatively smart gabardine from a range of coats draped on a series of pegs, and then bent a little awkwardly to change into a pair of wellingtons from a neat line of rubber boots beneath. Meg slipped on her duffel coat and swapped her footwear, noticing that Nana May had armed herself with a stout walking stick.

  Meg felt the rush of cold air almost as soon as the ageing lady’s maid turned the door handle, and the fresh breeze settled her nervousness at once. So, they were off to see these forty acres of land. Now that was what Meg was really interested in!

  She had but a couple of seconds to wait. They only had to step around the rear corner of the house before the most stunning view opened up before them. They were standing on a flagstoned terrace that ran the length of the house, merging with the central courtyard. Steps led down to an extensive lawn in immaculate condition and bordered by a box hedge of no more than a foot high. Beyond it, open parkland sloped gently down to where the glassy ripples of a small lake shivered autumn black in the weak November light. At the far side, on rising ground, various open fields led into ancient woodland, and then in the distance, the countryside stretched away for miles, as far as the eye could see. She would have to unpack her art equipment and paint this spectacular view. It was an ocean of rich colour, like a painting, emerald from grassy hills and evergreen trees, and burnished gold and copper from autumn-gilded leaves. She’d lost her sense of direction, but Meg guessed that out there, somewhere, she imagined way to the right, was her home.

  A barb of sadness tore at her heart, but she drove it out.

  The view was spectacular. She heard Nana May give a satisfied sigh, and when she turned to look, the older woman was smiling wistfully.

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it? It’s why they bought the place. The house needed a lot of work, but they had to have it because of that view!’

  Certainly Meg couldn’t drag her gaze from the magnificent panorama. She could well understand why the Stratfield-Whytes hadn’t been able to resist it. A trickle of contentment flowed hesitantly through her, a sense of release from the black despair that raged inside. She could never be free of her grief, but the feeling of being at one with nature filled her with some sort of purpose. She’d never imagined she could be happy at Robin Hill House – it simply suited her plan – but perhaps with that view, the parkland and the livestock, she could actually find some inner peace.

  As if to compound the glimmer of happiness that was dawning inside her, Mercury suddenly materialised from one end of the lawn, and raced across the grass and up the steps to her, jumping up and barking joyously as if he hadn’t seen her for days instead of only half an hour. Meg ruffled his fur as he was instantly joined by four other dogs all seeking her attention: a venerable, elderly looking terrier, a golden Labrador and two further specimens of doubtful breed.

  Meg squatted down on her heels to fondle them all, the terrier pushing himself forward, quite clearly in charge even though he was the smallest. Then she saw an older man with bandy legs shambling across the lawn towards them. She straightened up as he came up the steps to meet them.

  ‘Morning, Miss Whitehead,’ he said with a deferential nod of his head, and Meg recalled that was how Nana May had introduced herself on the phone. ‘Ah, I see you’ve met our unruly pack,’ the fellow went on, smiling at Meg. ‘Your chappie won’t run off, will he?’

  ‘He never did at the farm, but then it was his home.’

  ‘Well, we’ll all keep an eye on him. And once he’s been fed a few times and he’s happy playing with this lot, he’ll stay put.’

  ‘I hope he will, Gabriel. The poor girl’d be devastated if he disappeared.’

  ‘I’m sure she would.’ Gabriel gave a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re Miss Chandler, aren’t you? Our son’s told us all about you. My sincere condolences.’

  He doffed his cap again, and Meg dipped her head in acknowledgement. The man, whom she assumed was Ralph’s father, the head gardener, seemed very pleasant.

  ‘Well, I must get on, if you’ll excuse me.’

  ‘Of course. And it’s too chilly to stand around talking. I’m showing Meg around the grounds.’

  ‘You’ll see Ralph, then. He’s tidying up the rose beds. See you later, then.’

  Meg was reluctant to leave the breathtaking view, but was nonetheless enchanted by what lay beyond the gate in the stone wall to one side of the house that Nana May took her through next. The fully enclosed square was divided into quarters by gravelled paths, creating beds that were bursting mainly with roses but also with other plants and shrubs. Some Meg could put a name to, but others she didn’t even recognise. The roses had more or less lost their leaves, as had many of the shrubs, except of course for the evergreens such as lavender and deep, glossy ceanothus. Meg could imagine that, together with the climbing roses and clematis that covered the walls, the garden would be a tranquil oasis of soft hues and heady fragrance during the summer. She might still be able to taste bitterness on her tongue, but
if she was allowed to snatch a few minutes of this beautiful haven once in a while, life wouldn’t be so bad.

  She couldn’t resist rubbing the spiky leaves on one of the lavender bushes and then sniffing her fingers. Her mother’s favourite scent. But she quickly thrust the thought aside and pulled herself together. She glanced across to the far side of the garden where Ralph’s now familiar form was bent over, pulling out any remaining weeds and cutting back growth from the shrubs and other plants that required it. Meg could clearly see where he’d got to, and had to admit to herself – grudgingly – that he must be a hard worker and evidently knew what he was doing.

  As he straightened up to pull the garden fork from where he’d spiked it into the soil, he evidently spied the two women coming towards him. He dipped his head as they approached him, pausing in his work.

  ‘I know you two are already acquainted,’ Nana May began in the straightforward way Meg had already become accustomed to, ‘so I needn’t introduce you. I’m just giving Meg the guided tour.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  Ralph’s tone was flat, and Meg knotted her lips. She’d actually felt a twinge of relief at seeing him when there were so many other new faces and names to learn – to say nothing of their owners’ personalities to judge. But if he wanted to keep distanced from her, so be it. She was sure she’d find friendship enough among some of the other servants, and she wasn’t there to make friends anyway. She was there to work and, through Mrs C’s generosity, add a little to the nest-egg that would be hers when she came of age.

  She didn’t want to upset Nana May, though, who was clearly as proud of Robin Hill House as its owners. ‘This must be beautiful in the summer,’ she commented, surprised at the genuine enthusiasm she felt.

  ‘And in the spring,’ Nana May told her. ‘Clarissa’s pride and joy. Now then, we’ve a lot more to see if we’re to be back indoors for lunch. By the way, Ralph, Meg’s going to be joining us as staff, so you’ll be seeing plenty more of her.’

  As Meg went to follow Nana May through the walled garden and out the far side, she caught the slightly sardonic lift of one of Ralph’s eyebrows. But she wasn’t going to let him think she’d been taken down a peg or two, arriving expecting to be a guest only to find herself demoted to a servant!

  ‘I wasn’t going to let them treat me as a charity case,’ she hissed over her shoulder once Nana May was out of earshot. ‘I was the one insisted that I earn my keep.’

  Ralph gave what Meg could only describe as a grunt. ‘I’m sure you were,’ he answered enigmatically.

  ‘So I’ll see you in the servants’ hall at lunch.’

  ‘No, you won’t. I live with my parents, so I eat with them.’

  ‘Oh.’ Meg felt faintly ridiculous – not to say humiliated by Ralph’s words. She knew she had a lot to learn, but he needn’t mock her over it! ‘I’d better catch up,’ she said haughtily. ‘I’m going to be taking over the farm animals, so I need to take a look at them. I understand it’s going to leave you more time to help your father.’

  ‘Really? Oh, that’s good. He’s getting a bit long in the tooth for all the heavy work. So I’m indebted to you.’

  ‘Don’t be indebted to me,’ she answered testily. ‘It was Nana May’s idea. I’d far rather be looking after my own entire farm, which, as you pointed out, I’m considered too young to be able to manage.’

  She spun on her heel before Ralph had a chance to answer, but not before she noticed his mouth drop open in protest. At least her sarcasm had found its target, which gave her a certain amount of satisfaction. Teach him to try belittling her again!

  She caught up with Nana May as they stepped outside the walled rose garden and came to more fields adjacent to the side of the house.

  ‘I expect you saw the cows at the front,’ Nana May said. ‘They’ll be coming in for the winter very soon, but you’ll be in charge of all that now. We’ve got all these fields as well as the ones you saw just now. But the farmyard’s over the other side of the house, near the kitchen garden. We’ll do a circuit down by the lake and I’ll show you everything.’

  Their progress was slow as Nana May clearly found it difficult walking on the uneven grass, but Meg was revelling in the lovely surroundings. But it didn’t seem fair to her that one couple should own such beautiful and extensive grounds.

  ‘Would Mrs C mind very much if I sat and enjoyed the gardens, too, sometimes?’ she asked, tamping down the rancour that had risen to the surface again. ‘When I’m not supposed to be about my duties, of course. I like painting, especially flowers, so I’d love to do some here.’

  ‘I see no reason why not,’ Nana May replied. ‘As long as you don’t disturb anyone else. But you don’t strike me as the sort to make a nuisance of yourself.’

  ‘I’m not. I’d stand up for myself, mind, if I thought I was being treated unfairly.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, I think you would,’ Nana May nodded. ‘But I think you’ll find Wig and Clarissa very fair employers, and of course, you’re free to leave at any time you wish. But I don’t think you’re going to want to leave here. Not for some while, anyway.’

  Meg scarcely heard her last words. Had she heard right? Wig?

  The stunned amusement must have shown on her face. ‘Short for Wigmore,’ Nana May was telling her. ‘It’s an old family name. It’s why the staff all call him Mr W. Just like they call Clarissa Mrs C. Much less of a mouthful than Stratfield-Whyte, I’m sure you’d agree.’

  ‘Oh, definitely.’ Meg returned her smile. ‘I’d heard Ralph say Mr W, but I thought that stood for Whyte. I’ll know now. And what should I call you, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘Well, Gabriel and Mr Yard still call me Miss Whitehead, but they’re a bit old-school. Everyone else calls me Nana May.’

  Meg found herself beaming at May’s wrinkled face. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. It’s… homely.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to think anyone would turn to me if they needed anything,’ the old lady smiled back.

  By the time Nana May took her back to the servants’ hall, Meg had been shown all of the immediate grounds and much of the parkland beyond. She’d learnt that the three Jerseys were house cows, not kept for commercial purposes but to provide milk for the household, their calves being staggered so that there was an uninterrupted supply. As Meg had seen on the approach to the house, there was a small flock of sheep mainly to keep the grass down. But she’d also been introduced to a herd of goats that were tethered out each day wherever their nibbling duties were required, and several pigs were kept in sties behind the barn.

  Beyond a well-stocked orchard, Nana May had pointed out a couple of quaint old cottages. One was occupied by the Hilliers, and the other was for the chauffeur. Meg had nodded stiffly. Although a new chauffeur was now apparently installed, she felt the gall sting into her throat at the thought that it was there that Nathaniel Green, the man who had murdered her parents, had lived. She thought she would never be able to pass by without shuddering, and vowed to avoid the cottages as much as possible. It would also mean that she’d see less of Ralph, too.

  The extensive kitchen garden was a more pleasing sight. Its fruit and vegetable plots were immaculately tended and clearly hugely productive. Once again, Meg had to bunch her lips in reluctance. Even though it was mainly Gabriel’s domain, she knew that Ralph would have had a hand in this, too.

  A series of greenhouses completed the tour, and by the time they returned to the house, Meg’s head was reeling with everything Nana May had told her. She was sure, though, that she could find her way around, but if she ever wanted to sit for a few minutes to absorb the tranquillity the grounds offered, she could always claim she’d got herself lost!

  ‘Now then, you’ve already met Mrs Phillips, and Jane, too,’ Nana May recapped as she claimed everyone’s attention back in the servants’ hall, where most of the staff had gathered for lunch. ‘Louise you saw in the kitchen, too, and Esme and Tabitha are our housemaids, and this is Bob Thorpe. He does od
d jobs, cleans the boots and the silver, all that sort of thing. The new chauffeur’s called Vic, but he’s usually up in London with Wig during the week. He’s got the cottage, of course, but he’s a single man with no wife to look after him, so he takes his meals with us in the house. Now then,’ she resumed, ‘Mr Yard will be busy serving lunch to Clarissa, so I’d best go and join her. So I’ll leave you here, Meg dear, to get to know everyone. Oh, and after lunch, Esme, will you please help Meg carry all her things upstairs. She’s to share your room.’

  As she watched Nana May leave the room, Meg was aware of a little knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. But she must be strong. She’d tried to memorise the names of the various maids and their different roles. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? She smiled and nodded at everyone, and even Mrs Phillips seemed less harassed now she’d finished cooking the meal. The housemaid called Esme was the only one who shot Meg a sideways, tight-lipped look. Oh, Lordy Love, wasn’t she the one Nana May had said she was to share a room with? But perhaps she had merely mistaken the girl’s expression.

  ‘Oh, dear, now where shall we put you?’ the cook wondered aloud.

  ‘Can she sit next to me, please, Mrs Phillips?’ Meg was relieved to hear Jane ask.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ the cook agreed. ‘It’s not as if we keep to any hierarchy here. That’d be far too old-fashioned for Mr W and Mrs C. So, yes, lay a place for Meg next to yourself, and let’s all make her welcome.’

  ‘Do take a seat.’ The young man – Bob, if Meg had taken in the introductions correctly – sprang forward to pull out a chair, and once she’d sat down, he settled himself on her other side. ‘My sincere condolences on your tragic loss,’ he said with grave sincerity.

  ‘Yes, we was all very sorry to hear about you being an orphan,’ the girl Meg was sure was named Tabitha nodded sympathetically. ‘Must’ve been awful losing both your mum and dad like that. I couldn’t bear it if I lost mine.’

  ‘Let’s try not to remind Meg of her loss,’ Mrs Phillips chided. ‘Go and fetch the tureen of soup, Tabby, and let’s get started.’