Nobody’s Girl

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Make more bombs to kill more people,’ Meg scoffed bitterly.

  Wig turned to face her and took her utterly by surprise when he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Sadly, we don’t live in a perfect world. You’re young and idealistic. You believe in working hard for a living, I can see that. And that everybody should just get on with their lives. But it doesn’t always work like that. If there’s going to be another war, there’s nothing you or I can do about it. With the way Herr Hitler’s behaving, I can see war coming as much as Winston Churchill can. And if it does, the best way to shorten a war is to have enough bombs to blast the enemy into submission as quickly as possible. It’s a kill or be killed situation, I’m afraid, and that’s the brutal truth of it.’

  His words came into Meg’s head again now as Mrs C went off to call him on the telephone. Meg’s heart darkened at the prospect of another war like the terrible one her father had fought in. Surely life held enough horrors as it was.

  ‘Come and see, Meg.’ Nana May’s voice brought her back to the present.

  Meg felt her chest squeeze. She prayed the mistress wasn’t proved right, and hoped the fire was only small and that there wouldn’t be much to see. But as she joined Nana May and Mr Yard by the window and looked towards London, her heart sank. On the distant horizon, a monumental dazzling glow pierced the inky dome of the night sky. Flames must have been leaping a hundred feet into the air, appalling and mesmerising at the same time.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Wig.’ Clarissa returned to the room, her face pale. ‘I caught him before he left his club. The news is all over London and he’s going down to watch. What a dreadful night. It’s Crystal Palace.’

  ‘Crystal Palace? Oh, good heavens!’ Mr Yard exclaimed in horror. ‘It’s such an icon, a monument to British engineering. A national symbol. Oh, this is dreadful!’

  ‘No one was hurt, though, it seems,’ Clarissa went on with apparent relief. ‘They think it just started as a small fire in an office, but it took hold and now it doesn’t look as if they can stop it.’

  Meg turned her eyes back to the distant scene of devastation. She’d never seen anything like it, and hoped she never would again.

  Mrs C opened the French doors and they all stepped outside onto the terrace as if doing so was somehow paying their respects to the famous landmark that was being destroyed before their very eyes.

  Meg realised then that there were others gathering on the lawn below them. Mrs Phillips, Tabitha, Louise, Jane and Esme had been joined by Ralph and his parents who must have noticed the fire from the windows of their cottage. There were few words spoken, just a sense of awe and sadness.

  At last the little crowd began to disperse, people shaking their heads and some shivering from mild shock rather than just the cold of the last night in November. Mrs Phillips declared that the drama had robbed her of her appetite and so instead of having supper before she left, she set off with her trusty torch on the walk home to her little house in the village. Meg joined the other staff in going back inside through the servants’ entrance at the side of the house. It’d been enough excitement for one night.

  ‘You bloody little idiot!’ Esme suddenly turned on Jane as they reached the kitchen, and then proceeded to grab Jane’s collar, almost choking her. ‘Getting us outside and nearly freezing to death, and now look! Our dinner’s burnt!’

  Meg sprang across the room and dragged Jane, who looked close to tears, from Esme’s hold. ‘Let go of her! The dining-room door was slightly open and she heard Nana May cry out that there was a fire, so what else was she supposed to do but get us all out? If the house had been on fire, she’d have saved our lives. And I saw you were quick enough to run outside!’

  ‘Huh! And now I’ll probably die of pneumonia.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t Jane’s fault you were in such a hurry to save your own skin you didn’t think to put your coat on. And you could’ve come back inside as soon as we knew the house wasn’t on fire, instead of staying outside to watch.’

  Meg felt the flush of heat whip through her body, and it wasn’t because they’d come straight from the cold night air into the warmth of the kitchen. She was furious with Esme. It was bad enough the girl always being short with her for no apparent reason, but why did she have to be so horrible to poor innocent Jane as well?

  Turning her back on Esme, she went over to the stew Mrs Phillips had been cooking on the range. Yes, it had stuck a little on the bottom of the pan, but they could easily ladle out what was on top and avoid the burnt bits. She proceeded to rescue what she could and pour it into a serving dish, clenching her jaw to hold her tangle of emotions in check. But it wasn’t just her anger at Esme: it was the destruction wreaked by the fire. Perhaps she had too vivid an imagination, but what if the fears Mr W had expressed the other day proved right and there was another war and Germany did attack London? Meg’s mind was turning cartwheels. Just a couple of months ago, life had been so simple. So idyllic. Now she was an orphan, she’d lost her home, and the very place where she’d sought refuge of sorts was making her so acutely aware that not just her future, but that of the whole country was now in question!

  She glanced round the kitchen. Jane, Tabitha and Louise were still staring, shocked more by the row between herself and Esme, she reckoned, than the distant fire. Taking charge, Meg directed them to fetch plates and the potatoes baking in the range oven, and take everything into the servants’ hall while she carried in the stew.

  As they all sat down at the table, Esme’s face was like thunder. Why should she do what that bloody girl was telling her? Why should she have all the privileges when she, Esme Carter, had to work non-stop? And she’d been working there for five years, so if anyone had been chosen to be trained up as a new lady’s maid for Mrs C, it should’ve been her, not some flibbertigibbet who’d just wheedled her way into the household. And far more than that, Meg Chandler was responsible for Nathaniel being locked up for months on end. Wouldn’t he just love to know all about it when Esme went to visit him again?

  Prison! She’d been unable to believe it when the news had filtered down to the servants’ hall. Six months of separation, when she’d expected to be reunited with Nathaniel in a few weeks! She’d barely been able to contain her anger when everyone else was tutting and saying that he’d only got what he deserved. But she must keep her feelings to herself.

  Nobody knew she’d made it her business to find out where he was serving his sentence. After all, he wouldn’t be able to write to her, would he? Any letter would probably have HMS Prison stamped all over the envelope, and their secret would be out in the open!

  As luck would have it, he’d only been sent to Maidstone, which wasn’t too hard to get to. She didn’t want it getting back to Robin Hill that she was visiting him though, so that first time she’d gone, she’d given a false name, and she’d worn a hat that came down low over her eyes, and had swathed a scarf about her mouth and chin, so that even Nathaniel hadn’t recognised her for a moment or two. He’d been so surprised that he hadn’t said a lot. But he’d called her his clever girl, and Esme had felt more than pleased with herself.

  Nobody ever asked her where she went on her days off, so there was no problem there. She’d never been particularly popular among the staff, so it had been wonderful to have a friend – or possibly more – in Nathaniel Green. So now that Meg Chandler, the cow who’d so nearly taken him away from her, had turned up at Robin Hill, plotting revenge against her was joy indeed. The slut had no idea what she had coming!

  *

  Nathaniel’s heart sank as he was taken to the visitors’ room. Not bloody Esme Carter again – or Susan Something-or-other as she was calling herself? He’d thought the one advantage of being banged up was that he could get away from her. He wasn’t expecting the little idiot to come visiting! She was of no use to him now, and God forbid, she might be after something more permanent than a romp in the hay – not that their relationship had quite reached that level. He supposed he co
uld refuse to see her, but she was the only visitor he was likely to get, and it did relieve the monotony of the day. And, if he were honest with himself, he found her attempt at disguise quite amusing. His caution had well and truly rubbed off on her.

  ‘Sue,’ he greeted her casually, thinking that shortening the false name would sound more plausible if the prison guard was listening.

  ‘Nat, how are you?’ Esme asked, her smile almost sly, Nathaniel considered with a questioning frown.

  ‘OK, I suppose,’ he answered. ‘And you? Any news from Robin Hill House?’

  ‘Oh, funny you should ask.’ She leant forward, and he could see malice glinting in her eyes. ‘We have a new maid. Not a housemaid, more training as a lady’s maid to Mrs C for when old Whitehead pops her clogs. And would you believe, she comes from farming stock, so she’s been put in charge of the animals, as well. Her name’s Meg Chandler.’

  Having dropped her bombshell, Esme sat back in the chair with a satisfied smirk. Nathaniel had to stop his jaw from falling wide open. Meg Chandler. The name resounded in his skull. To think of the bitch getting her feet under the rug at Robin Hill House made him want to explode with anger. But as the news sank in, the cogs of his evil mind started whirring. Perhaps Esme’s visiting him wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

  ‘Oh. Well,’ he stuttered, ‘I hope she settles in well. It’s surprising how uncomfortable you can feel in a new place like that,’ he said meaningfully.

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d do everything in my power to help her along,’ Esme grinned back.

  ‘I thought you might. And when I get out of here, perhaps there’ll be something I can do to help.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure we’ll think of something. After all, I’m sure she won’t want her life to be uneventful.’

  ‘Of course not. We’ll have to see what we can do, won’t we, my clever girl?’

  Nathaniel’s blood curdled with malevolence. Perhaps Esme could be useful to him, after all. For a while, at least. Until they’d made Meg Chandler suffer, until she rued the day she’d been born. And when he felt satisfied, Nathaniel could drop Esme like a stone.

  Twenty

  ‘I don’t know, gone and abdicated for that woman, and him not even crowned yet,’ Mrs Phillips complained vehemently, shaking her head in protest for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Where’s his sense of duty is what I want to know? Where would we be if we all threw in the towel? If I decided I’d had enough of fiddling about planning for a vegetarian Christmas with Mr Peregrine and his family coming when I’ve got everything else to think about as well? Eh? Answer me that!’

  ‘Well, I think it’s rather romantic,’ Jane put in innocently. ‘And what’s it matter to us anyhow? Hark the herald angels sing, Mrs Simpson’s pinched our king!’ she sang out tunelessly.

  ‘It’s no laughing matter, my girl!’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs P.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure it’s not a decision he took lightly.’ Meg tried to defuse the situation. ‘And I’ll make time to help you in the kitchen.’

  ‘Hmm, well there’s someone who’s got her priorities right,’ the cook conceded, hiking up what bosom she had. ‘Thank you, dear. Always the same when Mr Peregrine comes. Not that I dislike the man and his family, you understand me. But they do have some strange ways. Why can’t they just eat meat like the rest of us, instead of my having to concoct Brazilian quenelles, if you please?’

  ‘But they’re just nut roast made into patties, aren’t they?’ Louise chipped in. ‘They’re easy to make and we’ve done them loads of times for Mr Perry.’

  ‘Huh, well. And then there’s our contribution to the food for the village children’s party…’

  ‘Have you planned out a timetable?’ Meg asked.

  Mrs Phillips looked slightly affronted. ‘A what?’

  ‘A timetable. So that you know exactly what needs to be ready when. I mean, I know you made the puddings ages ago—’

  ‘My best recipe and all, and with two silver sixpences apiece,’ Mrs Phillips declared proudly.

  ‘And the cake’s made and you’re feeding it with brandy each day.’

  ‘Still got to be marzipanned and iced yet, though. But I suppose I can start on that tomorrow.’

  ‘And we can all help with the mince pies,’ Louise put in. ‘I am supposed to be kitchen maid, so I can—’

  ‘Oh, here’s the delivery van,’ Mrs Phillips interrupted as a horn honked outside and they all heard a vehicle draw up on the drive gravel. ‘You can certainly all help me carry everything in. Now where’s that Bob Thorpe when you want him?’

  They all trooped out to bring in the boxes of food from the grocer’s van. It was one of several deliveries over the following days, from the greengrocer bringing whatever hadn’t been grown in the garden, to the butcher bringing sausages, bacon, and a beef joint, together with an enormous turkey and a brace of geese. Meg offered to pluck them as Mrs Phillips was getting into such a flap about it all. She’d never seen such a mound of food, but she supposed there was going to be a lot of mouths to feed over the holiday. And she was quite looking forward to meeting Mr W’s eccentric brother and his family that she’d heard so much about.

  A couple of days later, just as she was up to her elbows in feathers, Jane ran into the kitchen, clapping her hands excitedly.

  ‘Ralph and Bob are bringing in the Christmas tree!’ she cried, and then ran out again.

  Ah, now this was something Meg really wanted to see. Her parents had never been able to afford one, and she’d seen the Robin Hill specimen, which was apparently carried inside each year, growing in the shade at the edge of the woods. She unstuck all the feathers from her hands and, washing them under the tap, went to join everyone in the corridor that ran along the back of the original part of the house.

  Ralph and Bob were bringing the tree in through the double doors. With Gabriel’s help, they’d managed to transport it up through the grounds on the biggest wheelbarrow they had, and had potted it up in an enormous tub out on the terrace. But now they were struggling to carry it along the corridor to the stairwell of the grand staircase. Everybody grabbed a bit where they could, being careful not to prick themselves, and at last the tree was installed in its temporary home.

  After a lot of oohing and aahing, Mrs Phillips clapped her hands. ‘Everyone back to work, now!’ she called, and all her underlings trudged obediently back to the kitchen.

  Meg, though, lingered a little to admire the huge tree whose tip reached right up past the ceiling of the ground floor. Ralph and Bob were both panting, sweat running down their faces. Clarissa and Nana May had come to the door of the drawing room, and were smiling happily.

  ‘Oh, well done, boys!’ Mrs C praised them. ‘That can’t have been easy. We’ll go and find the decorations after lunch.’

  Meg noticed that Ralph and Bob both dipped their heads as Mrs C and Nana May went down the corridor in the opposite direction towards the dining room.

  ‘Phew, well, I reckon that’s the last year we can bring this one in,’ Ralph proclaimed. ‘It’s just getting too big and heavy to move, and if we disturb the roots anymore, it’ll die. We’ll have to start off again with a much smaller one next year.’

  ‘It certainly is huge,’ Meg said admiringly, momentarily forgetting her grudge against Ralph. ‘I’ve never seen one that big before. However d’you decorate it?’

  ‘Ah, well, we’ll be bringing in the ladders this afternoon,’ Bob told her. ‘It does look amazing with all the lights and the tinsel and everything. Everyone’s allowed to help.’

  Oh, what fun it was going to be, Meg considered. And then pulled herself up short. Should she be enjoying herself so much when her parents weren’t there to share her happiness? But life went on, didn’t it? She really mustn’t feel guilty. They would want her to be happy, she knew.

  The tree really did look splendid, magical almost when it got dark and they turned on the lights later that evening. Tinsel, lametta and prettily coloured bauble
s shimmered like tiny stars. In the kitchen, they’d been making shortbreads and ginger biscuits with holes in the centre to tie on with narrow red ribbon, and a huge silver star twinkled on the very top.

  Meg couldn’t help but feel excited. Everyone had been making secret little presents to give to each other, and she had painted little cameos, thinking what each person would like best. Grudgingly, she’d simply done some flowers for Esme, as she had no idea what the girl would like. It would be lovely to see the faces of all her new friends opening their gifts.

  The following afternoon, the day before Christmas Eve, was the party for the children in the village. Wig was now home for Christmas, and the Daimler was loaded with the hampers full of food. Clarissa, as patron for the village committee, had presided over the organisation of the event, and she invited Meg to join her for the afternoon. Meg couldn’t help but notice how happy Mrs C looked, mingling with all these little people and directing the games she’d prepared. There were lots of other adults mucking in, too, and although she could see that everyone respected Mrs C, they were very fond of her, too. When all was cleared away afterwards and they returned to Robin Hill House, they were exhausted. But Meg really felt that her spirits had been lifted and that she could look forward to celebrating Christmas.

  On Christmas Day, after an early breakfast, the proceedings began with walking to the village church for the Christmas Day service. Meg wasn’t sure she believed in God anymore, especially one who’d taken her parents when they were both still relatively young. She didn’t say that was her reason, but she offered to stay back to help Mrs Phillips in the kitchen. The cook was grateful for her help, and they even found time to sit down with a cup of tea while the house was quiet.

  Upon their return from church, Wigmore, Clarissa and Nana May came into the servants’ hall to distribute their gifts to the staff. It was traditional, Mrs C had told Meg, to do so on Boxing Day, but she didn’t see why they should have to wait when they had all put in so much work for the Yuletide celebrations.