Nobody’s Girl

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Go on, open it, then!’ Nana May urged Meg, beaming from ear to ear as she handed her a small parcel. ‘I do hope you like it. It was the best thing I could think of.’

  The weather was mild, and the house was warm enough for Meg to be able to wear the dress her mother had been making for her, with a cardigan over the top. She’d finished off the dress during some of her free time, sitting up in the quiet of the sewing room. Wearing the dress for the first time made her feel close to her parents, as if they were sharing her day.

  Now Meg stared down at the package the old lady had just pushed into her hands. It was wrapped in pretty paper with green Christmas trees printed on it, and tied with a thin red ribbon. The little label had flipped over, and she read, ‘To Meg, Merry Christmas, with love and deep affection from Nana May.’

  Meg somehow couldn’t drag her eyes away from the words, and felt a piece of her heart tear. Nana May had shown her nothing but the deepest kindness, she knew, wanting to heal her sorrow by wrapping her in peace and security. But this was Meg’s first Christmas, the first of a lifetime, without her parents, and the elderly lady’s kindness brought all the sadness gushing back.

  She forced a smile onto her face and somehow managed to mutter her thanks. She carefully unfolded the package. Her family had rarely been able to afford proper wrapping paper, and anyway, she’d want it as a keepsake of her friendship with Nana May, as important as the present itself. It was a book. Black Beauty. With a beautiful sable steed on its dust cover. Meg had taken Mrs C up on her offer to borrow books from the study, always handling them carefully and returning them to their correct place when she’d finished. She’d read several books in the short time she’d been at the house, but Black Beauty was her favourite.

  ‘You enjoyed it so much,’ Nana May smiled, ‘I thought you’d like a copy of your own. I know it’s very sad in places, but it does have a happy ending. And that’s what I want. For you to be happy in the end.’

  Meg blinked at her, moisture misting her vision. ‘Oh, Nana May, you’re so kind. You don’t know what it means to me.’

  ‘Oh, Meggy dear, please don’t cry. I didn’t want to upset you.’ She patted Meg on the shoulder, and Meg managed to swallow down her tears.

  ‘You haven’t upset me,’ she gulped desperately. ‘But it is hard. Though I’m not going to let it spoil Christmas for anyone. And Mum and Dad wouldn’t have wanted me to be sad. I’m trying so hard to imagine their smiling faces as they would’ve been on Christmas morning.’ She drew in a huge breath, clawing back her determination. ‘I’ve got a little something for you, too, Nana May. It isn’t much, I’m afraid. I’ll just take this up to my room and fetch it.’

  She hurried up the stairs, deliberately tamping down her emotions. She must be strong, must look forward, however much her heart ached. To cheer herself up, she forced herself to think back on the morning she and Jane had walked into the village. The other girl’s parents still lived there up a narrow mews, and while Jane was visiting her home, Meg had taken the opportunity to explore. The village was so much bigger than the one near her old home, with several shops as well as a pub and the church. Attractive, higgledy-piggledy old buildings clustered around a pretty village green. Most were brick built with timber frames, and the old pub was partially tile hung. Everywhere sagging old roof tiles slanted down precariously to uneven eaves, and altogether the place was as pretty as a picture.

  Meg had found the tiny newsagents-cum-sweetshop, run by a rather large lady and her equally voluminous daughter, all just as Jane had described to her. She’d bought half a pound of pear drops, Nana May’s favourite, and when she’d said who they were for, the confectioner had put them in a tiny pink cardboard box free of charge. Nana May was obviously a well-known visitor to the shop and a good customer!

  ‘Have a nice morning, did you?’ Meg had enquired of Jane when they met up again at the appointed time and set off back towards Robin Hill House.

  Jane shrugged. ‘Suppose so. Did a few jobs for Mum. She’s getting on a bit. Was a bit old when she had me. Reckon that’s why I’m a bit slow.’

  ‘Slow? Why should you think that?’ Meg asked, affronted on Jane’s behalf. The scullery maid wasn’t the brightest spark, it was true, but she was open and friendly and worked extremely hard.

  ‘Oh, come off it,’ Jane shrugged. ‘Everyone knows I am. And Esme’s always telling me so. And I know I am. I say and do daft things, and I forget things I’ve been told. But I do try to do everything Mrs Phillips tells me. She’s all right is Mrs Phillips. ’Course, she ain’t a proper trained cook. The mistress couldn’t afford one of them. Knows about food herself, does Mrs C. She trained Mrs Phillips up when the last cook left. She was a rotten cook anyway,’ Jane giggled behind her hand. ‘So Mrs C started working on Mrs Phillips, who was just a kitchen maid like me. Well, I’m not even that. I’m just a scullery maid. But Mrs Phillips has brains and I don’t.’

  Meg considered it best to ignore Jane’s last remark, but was amazed how chatty the girl could be when given the chance. ‘Mrs Phillips does very well, then. I didn’t realise she wasn’t trained. Perhaps that’s why she gets a bit het up when she’s really busy.’

  Jane sniffed. ‘Maybe. She was just plain Ada before she was promoted. And of course she had to become Mrs Phillips, even if she ain’t never been married. Even I can see how daft that is. But it’s traditional, ain’t it? But anyway, when she became cook, it meant she could afford to take over the rent of her dad’s little house in the village when he died. Think it makes her feel a bit posher than the rest of us. Though why she wants to walk half an hour each way every day, I dunno. Specially in the dark in the winter.’

  ‘Well, I noticed there’s a small bed in the private room she and Mr Yard have. Does she ever sleep in there?’

  ‘Yes, sometimes, if the weather’s very bad, or like at Christmas when she’s really busy. I like Christmas, I do. Try to give the pans an extra shine so they look nice in the candlelight.’

  ‘Candlelight?’

  ‘Yes, we’re allowed some candles in the kitchen to make it look more Christmassy. Strictly under Mr Yard’s eye, of course. So I like my pans to look good.’

  ‘Well, I always think you make a super job of them anyway. See your face in them, you can.’

  The smile Jane threw at her positively glowed with pride, and Meg was glad the girl felt confident enough with her to chat away as if they’d known each other all their lives. Meg really couldn’t understand why Esme always seemed to put poor Jane down. But then Esme always seemed to be in a bad mood and tried to direct snide remarks at her, too – provided she was out of earshot of Mr Yard or Mrs Phillips, Meg had noticed!

  Now, as she paused for a moment in the attic room she shared with the unpleasant housemaid, Meg set her chin determinedly before she collected the little box of sweets and the painting of the cats she had done for Nana May. She particularly liked cats, did Nana May.

  Meg was sure the day was going to be so busy that there wouldn’t be time to listen to the sadness that swirled in her breast. And she certainly wasn’t going to let any nasty words from Esme spoil any enjoyment she could tease from the festive day. No. Meg was determined she was going to enjoy herself, come what may!

  Twenty-One

  Her heart had indeed been lifted by the sight of the family gathered together for Christmas, as if she really was part of it, too. Wigmore’s brother, Peregrine, had arrived with his family on Christmas Eve, and the household had at once broken into chaos. Meg judged that Mr Peregrine was a little younger than Mr W, and although there was a strong similarity between them, he was the one with the really good looks. He sported a full beard in need of a trim, and arrived wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a long, loose coat which, when he removed it, revealed a baggy, patchwork jumper – every inch the eccentric artist, Meg mused. His wife was equally as bohemian, dressed in long, flowing garments, with a scarf wound about her head and long, garish beads around her neck – reminding Meg of
a photograph of the famous actress, Lillian Gish, that her mum and dad had kept in the hall as a souvenir of the one and only time they’d ever been to the cinema together.

  Meg had felt the sharp pain as the grey cloud shadowed her mind yet again. She should’ve been with her parents at this time of year. But she refused to let the sadness linger. And indeed, she could see she wasn’t going to have much chance to dwell on her sorrow.

  ‘Hello, Uncle Wig, Aunt Clarrie!’ the elder of two boys, both dressed equally as casually as their parents, had called on his arrival as he darted across the hall and into the sitting room without stopping. ‘Where are the dogs?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, out in the grounds somewhere, I expect,’ Wig had answered over his shoulder as his younger nephew raced past him after his brother. ‘Peregrine, Sofia, Merry Christmas to you both. Hope you had a good journey.’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you, Wiggy, dear,’ Sofia had purred, making a loud noise as she kissed the air next to Wig’s cheek, and then did the same to Clarissa. ‘And who’s this beautiful child?’ she demanded, spying Meg who was standing by Mr Yard to assist in taking hats and coats.

  ‘This is Meg, the young lady we told you about.’

  ‘Oh, you poor darling thing.’ Sofia Stratfield-Whyte had startled Meg then by stepping across and taking both her hands. ‘Well, we’ll all try and make this a happy Christmas for you. You will get the gramophone out, won’t you, Wiggy? I’ve brought some new records. I do so love to dance, don’t you, Meggy, dear?’

  ‘Well, I don’t really know how,’ Meg had muttered unsurely.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I still adore the Charleston. It’s such fun. Now where are those boys? Boris! Max!’

  An instant later, the brothers had reappeared, each cuddling one of the house cats they’d found snoozing beside the fire in the sitting room.

  ‘Can we go outside, Sofia?’ one of them asked, stunning Meg who’d never before heard anyone address a parent by a Christian name.

  ‘Yes, boys. That’s all right, isn’t it, Wig? Let them run off steam after the long journey.’

  Meg saw Mrs C raise her eyebrows and exchange glances with her husband as if to say they didn’t have much choice in the matter. But Meg thought they were probably only too happy to have these two rascals out of the house. They both dropped the cats they were holding, which scooted off airily back to toast themselves in front of the sitting-room fire. The boys then sped to the glazed doors in the corridor that opened from the hall. Flinging them open, they fled across the terrace, down the steps and disappeared across the lawn.

  ‘You wouldn’t like to go and keep an eye on them, would you, Meg?’ Mrs C had begged. ‘I always worry they’ll fall in the lake or something.’

  ‘Oh, they’ll be fine,’ Peregrine assured her. ‘They’re old enough to look after themselves now.’

  ‘That’s all right. They can help me put the goats and the hens away for the night before it gets too dark,’ Meg offered, although she was somewhat apprehensive about how she’d deal with the two tearaways. ‘I’ll just go and change. Oh, unless they need to change as well to be near the animals?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Sofia beamed back at her. ‘They’ll probably get themselves filthy anyway!’

  Less than five minutes later, Meg had caught up with Boris and Max in the gardens. They’d only got as far as the lawn and were playing tag with the dogs who all seemed to think it great fun, chasing the boys up and down and barking furiously.

  ‘This one’s new, isn’t he?’ Boris asked with a breathless grin, ruffling Mercury’s head.

  ‘Yes, he’s mine. Mercury.’

  ‘He’s gorgeous,’ Max agreed. ‘Came from a farm, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. And I’m looking after the animals here now. D’you want to come and help me?’

  ‘Yes, please! I’m fed up after being in the car so long.’

  ‘It’s a long way from Cornwall, isn’t it?’

  ‘We stayed at a hotel halfway, and even then, we hardly stopped. Just long enough for Perry and Sofia to change over seats. She drives even faster than he does!’

  Meg had found herself warming to the two chatty boys. They were certainly live wires, but as Mrs C had said, they were good at heart. But at the mention of driving at speed, a squall of rage burned through Meg’s veins. Given the right conditions, she understood you could drive fast quite safely. Her heart nevertheless gave a painful thump as she led the way to where the goats had been tethered for the day. Untying them, she gave Boris and Max one each to lead, and took the rest herself. The boys roared with laughter at the wayward animals’ antics as they were led towards the barn, and Meg forgot all about the boys’ comments.

  ‘You ever been to Cornwall?’ Max asked innocently as they took the goats into their stalls.

  ‘No, I haven’t. It looks lovely in photos, though, and the paintings of your dad’s. Is it really like that, with all the cliffs and little sandy coves?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You should see the waves breaking over the rocks in winter. Whoosh! I really miss it now I’m at boarding school. Maxie still has a governess to teach him at home, but that’s just for babies.’

  ‘No, it’s not. And you’ve only been at boarding school a term! I’ll be going there, too, when I’m thirteen. But I will miss the sea, too.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to describe it to me. I know the coast’s different up here, but I’ve never been to the seaside, you know.’

  ‘Never been to the seaside?’ Both Max’s and Boris’s eyes stretched wide. ‘You poor thing! Well, it’s really lovely, and the air smells different, all sort of salty and seaweedy.’

  Meg had soon become enchanted with these two young lads who seemed to her simply to have too much energy to know what to do with themselves. She also found their parents fascinating: Mr Peregrine seemed somewhat mysterious, but had a talent for teasing his more serious brother and then exploding in laughter, and Mrs Sofia could be draped languidly across a sofa one minute, and performing a frenetic dance called the jitterbug the next. Most intriguingly, though, was this thing about the family bearing the distinction of being vegetarian. Mr Peregrine was so strict that he wouldn’t even eat the yolk of an egg, only the white! And Mrs Phillips had continued to get in a proper tizzy at preparing this strange food!

  ‘Right, young Meg,’ Mr Yard declared after the presents had been exchanged. ‘I could do with your help setting the table for dinner. It’ll be served at four o’clock today. And I think Mrs Phillips has already said I want you to help me serve.’

  A delicious pride curdled in Meg’s stomach. It was a token of trust and acceptance. When she’d first taken up Mrs C’s offer to come to Robin Hill House, it was because it suited her. There’d even been an element of satisfied revenge in playing the situation to her own advantage. But all that was slowly disintegrating as each day passed, and despite herself, she found she was enjoying her new life.

  Of all the beautiful rooms in the house, the dining room was probably her favourite. It had an atmosphere all of its own, possibly because of the large white tiles that made up the floor. Meg could imagine how it would make it feel cool on a hot summer’s day with the French doors opened wide onto the terrace. It would mean that the dogs and cats could go in and out freely, and apparently the hens and bantams were allowed to wander in when they felt like it, to peck at any crumbs inadvertently left underneath the table. It reminded Meg of how the hens at the farm often tried to do the same and her mum would chase them out again.

  The amusing memory made a bittersweet smile tug at Meg’s lips as she made the oval oak table look lovely with shining silver cutlery, sparkling glasses, scarlet napkins folded into fans and a beautiful table arrangement crafted by her own hand under Nana May’s instruction. Ralph had provided her with the best the greenhouses had to offer, and every room seemed to be filled with flowers. The conversations between herself and Ralph had at least been civil, and she appreciated that; although he was on
ly doing his job, without his help she wouldn’t have had the materials to create the displays everyone had admired.

  Ralph had also led an expedition into the woods, showing everyone where they could collect holly encrusted with bright red berries. The party had trooped back to the house, carrying armfuls of holly, ivy, laurel and other types of greenery. Every mantelpiece in the house, including the servants’ hall, was decked with foliage intermingled with ribbons and tinsel, greenery was woven about the banisters of the main staircase, and Meg had assisted Ralph and Nana May in creating a huge Christmas wreath with pine cones daubed with silver glitter to hang on the front door. It seemed that, although making use of the estate’s natural resources as much as possible, no corner was left unturned to transform the house into a festive dreamland.

  Serving at the family dinner actually proved rather fun. The laughter and gaiety around the table was infectious, and although there was certain etiquette to follow, there wasn’t too much standing on ceremony. There couldn’t be with Boris and Max wriggling in their chairs, and Sofia, who’d clearly had too much to drink. She already had her habitual scarf – a glorious red one this time – spiralled around her head, its long feather tipped drunkenly to one side. But when the crackers were pulled, she perched her paper hat on top, and seemed utterly oblivious to how ridiculous she looked.

  ‘Well done, Meggy, and thank you,’ Mrs C beamed when the meal was over.

  ‘It isn’t normally like that,’ Mr Yard warned Meg later. ‘Dinner is usually a more sober affair, but that’s an impossibility with Mr Peregrine and Mrs Sofia here. But you did well and I’m proud of you.’

  A tingle of satisfaction slithered down Meg’s spine. She seemed to be adding more strings to her bow almost daily, and she felt very much at home.