The woman’s face was suspicious as she saw the tears shining in the girl’s eyes. For a moment she stood quietly, deep in thought. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision as she said, ‘Very well. Go around to the servants’ entrance at the back of the house and tell Cook Mrs Wood sent you. Then I shall go and see if Mr King will see you. But I can make no promise he will, mind!’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Straightaway, Opal took the path that led around to the back of the house and found herself in a large yard. There was a stable block to one side of it and two beautiful black stallions watched her progress from above the half doors of their stalls. To the side of the stables was a gate that led into what appeared to be an orchard where a young, heavily pregnant woman was busily pegging washing to a line that stretched from one side of the yard to the other.
She smiled at Opal. ‘You come after the job, have you?’ she asked cheerfully, and Opal was confused.
‘Er . . . no, I was hoping to see Mr King, actually. The lady who answered the door sent me round here.’
‘Ah, that’ll be Mrs Wood, the housekeeper.’ The girl pegged the last item to the line then, lifting the laundry basket, she perched it on her hip and pointed to a door. ‘That’s the kitchen there.’
Opal gave her a grateful smile and tentatively tapped on the door.
‘Come in,’ a voice shouted and she slowly opened the door and stepped into a kitchen that almost took her breath away. It was absolutely enormous, and the delicious smells of roasting pork made Opal’s empty stomach rumble.
A plump, rosy-cheeked woman in a voluminous white apron was basting a large joint on top of a huge range and she looked at Opal enquiringly.
‘Come for the job have you, luvvie?’ she asked, much as the girl she had seen outside had.
‘No, I’ve come to see Mr King, but the housekeeper told me to wait in here with you while she asks if he’ll see me.’
As Opal twisted her hands together, the cook smiled as she popped the joint back into the oven and wiped her hands. ‘Then sit yourself down at the table,’ she said kindly. ‘I reckon there’s some tea left in the pot, if you fancy, though it might be a bit stewed be now.’
Before Opal could answer, the cook crossed to the table that took up the centre of the room and began to pour tea from a large, brown teapot into a cup before pushing it towards Opal.
She perched self-consciously on the edge of one of the ladder-backed chairs situated around the table and took a sip. The tea was lukewarm but of a far better quality than she was used to, and it tasted like nectar.
The cook eyed her curiously. The poor girl wasn’t as far through as a lamppost and didn’t look at all well, but she was polite and clean and she was certainly pretty enough.
‘Mr King expectin’ you, is he?’ she asked curiously.
Opal shook her head. ‘No but—’
She stopped speaking abruptly as Mrs Wood appeared through a green baize door and told her, ‘The master says he will spare you two minutes Miss—? Sorry, I forgot to ask your name.’
‘It’s Sharp . . . Opal Sharp.’ Opal rose so abruptly that she almost overturned the cup in front of her and glanced apologetically at the cook as a small amount of tea splashed onto the tabletop.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll mop that up,’ the woman told her good-naturedly, inclining her head as Opal headed towards the housekeeper.
She followed the woman into a hallway, the like of which she had never seen before. There were black-and-white patterned tiles buffed to a high shine on the floor and the walls were covered in elaborate velvet-flocked wallpaper and adorned with beautiful gilt-framed pictures and mirrors. In the centre of the hall was a sweeping staircase that led up to a galleried landing, and Opal felt as if she had stepped into one of the pages of the magazines her mother used to buy occasionally as a treat. It was like another world, and she was so busy admiring it that she almost walked into the back of Mrs Wood when she stopped in front of one of the many doors that led off it.
‘The master is in here, but do remember he is very busy,’ the woman warned her. Then, opening the door, she ushered her inside.
Opal found herself in yet another large room, this one dominated by a long mahogany desk where a man was seated in a huge green leather chair, writing. Behind him, bookshelves reached from floor to ceiling, but she barely glanced at them, so focused was she on the man who held her brother’s fate in his hands.
After a few moments he glanced up, his expression stern, but as he looked her over, it softened. The girl was shabbily dressed but she was young and pretty with all the signs of turning into a great beauty.
‘So, my dear, how may I help you?’ He hurriedly rose and, coming around the desk, he pulled out a chair for her.
Opal licked her dry lips as she eyed him cautiously. He wasn’t as old as she’d expected; he looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties and was quite portly with fair hair touched with grey and deep-grey eyes. She supposed that he might have been quite good-looking at one time but good living had added pounds to his frame and his stomach strained against the buttons on his brightly coloured waistcoat.
‘I . . . I came to see you about my brother . . .’ Her voice came out as a croak and he frowned.
‘Your brother? Do I know him?’
‘Well . . . not exactly. His name is Charlie Sharp and he has been arrested for trying to steal your wallet. But he wasn’t, I assure you; he saw it on the ground and swears he was going to give it to you but the constable saw him lift it and thought he was going to make off with it!’
The words had come tumbling out and now she stared at him, waiting anxiously for his reaction.
The smile instantly slid from his face as he stroked his whiskery double chin. Normally he would have given anyone short shrift for invading his home, but there was something very appealing about this young lady and he wondered if he might not use the situation to his advantage. She was a very tasty little piece, after all.
‘I see . . . and what exactly do you expect me to do about it?’ he said, getting up from behind the desk and walking towards her.
‘I . . . I thought perhaps you could visit the police station and tell the police you don’t wish to press charges?’
He heard the note of desperation in her voice and forced a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m afraid it’s gone too far for that, my dear. His name is already down to come before the magistrates when they visit the town next week.’ To her shock and horror his hand suddenly snaked out and gently stroked her soft cheek. ‘But . . . were you to be nice to me, I’m sure I could put in a good word for him and lessen his sentence . . .’
She stared at him uncomprehending for a moment and then, as the meaning of what he was saying sank in, she jumped away from him, her cheeks blazing. Although Opal had led a sheltered life in many ways, her mother had explained what being loose with her favours with a man before marriage could result in and she didn’t want to end up like Meg Blower who had lived in the end cottage in Fenny Drayton with a host of kids all by different fathers.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Her face was red with indignation. ‘But I’m not that sort of girl!’
Henry King regarded her for a moment, wondering whether he should send her on her way. But . . . there really was something about her that intrigued him. Her curly black hair shone like silk, her eyes reminded him of warm toffee and her skin was like peaches and cream.
‘You misunderstand me,’ he said, hoping to placate her. ‘What I meant was . . .’ He paused as he tried to come up with a plausible excuse, and then it came to him. ‘What I meant to say was our laundry maid will be leaving any day now to have her baby and I’m looking for someone to replace her. It would be very kind of you if you’d agree to come and take her place. Finding honest, reliable help is so difficult these days.’
‘Oh . . .’ Opal felt foolish for thinking the worst of him and she supposed that she did need a job . . . But then
what would happen if Charlie were to be released? She didn’t want to leave him to fend for himself in the cottage.
‘Sorry, sir,’ she said quietly with her head held high. ‘Will your laundry maid be leaving before my brother goes before the magistrates?’
Seeing the way her mind was working, he shook his head. ‘I doubt it, and I understand that you’ll want to know what’s going to happen to him before you commit yourself. Will you consider the offer at the end of next week? Mrs Wood will explain what hours you would be expected to work and what your wages would be, and of course you would live in the servants’ quarters. In the meantime, if you would be so kind as to tell me where you are living, I will ensure that you are informed of when your brother is to appear before the magistrates.’
‘Thank you, sir . . . and you will try to help him?’
He inclined his head. ‘Of course.’
‘You promise, sir?’
When he nodded again, Opal told him what he wished to know. When she considered the cold, draughty cottage where she was living now, the job offer sounded like the answer to a prayer, but only if Charlie were to be sent down, which she prayed he wouldn’t be.
‘Thank you, sir.’ She edged towards the door, feeling uncomfortable in his presence. ‘Goodbye for now, sir.’ She dipped her knee respectfully and left the room as swiftly as she could, while Mr King stared after her, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Chapter Seven
‘Now come along, Suzanne, your mama will not be pleased with you if you don’t take your medicine.’
The child stared up at the nanny resentfully. ‘My name ain’t Suzanne, it’s Susie,’ she declared defiantly. ‘An’ she ain’t my mama. My mam is dead!’
‘That is quite enough of that sort of common talk,’ the nurse said strictly. ‘And it’s isn’t, not ain’t!’
Susie stared stubbornly back at her. The woman was tall and thin with sharp features that reminded the child of the ferret one of their neighbours back in Fenny Drayton had once had. It had been a vicious little thing, just like the woman in front of her. She was dressed in a long black dress over which she wore a white apron, and on her head was a mob cap trimmed with lace.
The first few weeks in her new home had passed Susie by in a blur. She had been too poorly to know where she was, or even to care for that matter, but now she was well on the road to recovery and she just wanted to go home to Charlie and Opal and Jack. They were her family, not the woman who talked posh and who had told her that from now on she was to call her Mamarr! Mothers were called Mam, as far as she was concerned. And the woman was not her mam.
She was still not allowed out of bed except to use the toilet because the woman insisted that she still wasn’t strong enough, and four times a day the nanny, Agatha Deverell, made her take two spoonfuls of the vilest medicine she had ever tasted. At first, she had been too weak to resist, but now as Agatha hovered over her with the first spoonful in her hand, Susie raised her hand and knocked it away. It splashed all over her lovely clean apron and Agatha’s lips compressed into an angry straight line.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ she scolded. ‘I shall have to go and change and you can be sure I shall tell your mama how naughty you have been when she comes up to say goodnight.’
Susie shrugged, not much caring, and watched the nurse stamp away to the door that led into her own room, which adjoined the nursery. Once she was gone, Susie slid out of bed and crossed to the window to peer through it, but all she could see were rooftops and the street below, which looked a very long way down. There was lots of traffic and everything looked so strange to her that she knew she must be a very long way away from home. She had heard Agatha say something about a place – Mifair or Mayfair, or something like that, but she had no idea where it might be. She was still standing there when Agatha reappeared and tutted.
‘Get back into bed immediately,’ she ordered, just as the door opened and a woman appeared.
‘Oh Suzanne, my darling, whatever are you doing out of bed?’
She was dressed in a beautiful gown of pale-lilac silk, heavily trimmed with white lace. Around her throat and dangling from her ears were jewels that almost matched the colour of her dress. Her silver-blonde hair was arranged high on her head in soft curls and she smelled of flowers. ‘Come along.’ She placed her arm about the little girl and gently but firmly led her back to the bed. ‘Daddy and I are going to the opera this evening,’ she informed her, as she tucked the blankets about the girl’s small frame. ‘And tomorrow I shall tell you all about it. Don’t forget, dear Dr Willis is calling to see you again tomorrow, and he said if you had been very good he might let you get up for a little while. That will be nice, won’t it?’
Susie folded her arms and glared at the woman. ‘I want to go home!’ she stated and, as if by magic, the woman hastily produced a tiny scrap of lace handkerchief from the bosom of her dress and dabbed at her eyes.
‘Oh, please don’t say things like that, sweetheart,’ she implored. ‘You’ll make poor mama cry.’
‘You ain’t my mama,’ Susie declared stubbornly. ‘And I wanna go home!’
Seeing that her young mistress was getting distressed, Agatha took control of the situation. ‘You just get off and have a good evening, ma’am,’ she urged. ‘Suzanne will be quite all right here with me and I’m sure she’ll be in a better mood in the morning when she’s had a good night’s rest.’
‘Yes . . . I’m sure you’re right, Nanny. Goodnight. Goodnight, Suzanne.’
The mistress swept from the room in a rustle of silk skirts and, when she was gone, Agatha glared at the child. Little devil, going and upsetting the poor young woman like that! She should be grateful that a lovely couple like the Darby-Joneses had adopted her, though why they couldn’t have chosen a younger child or a baby she’d never know. The little brat had been hanging on to life by the skin of her teeth when they’d first arrived home with her and for a while it had been touch and go. But thanks to careful nursing, she was on the mend now and when she was completely well again, Agatha was determined to knock some sense into her. In her time as a nanny, she had cared for much worse-behaved children than Suzanne but she’d tamed them all in the end. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’ was her motto, but of course she didn’t dare risk bruising her while the doctor was still visiting her.
Once more, she picked up the medicine. ‘Now,’ she said sternly. ‘There are two ways you can take this. One I shall hold you down and tip it down your throat or two, you can take it nicely. Which is it to be?’
Knowing that the woman would do exactly as she threatened, Susie meekly opened her mouth and swallowed the foul-tasting liquid, gagging as it slid down her throat.
‘That’s better,’ Agatha said approvingly, with a wicked gleam in her eye. ‘Now, I’m going downstairs to have a cup of tea with Cook and when I come back I want to find you fast asleep. Is that quite clear?’
Susie nodded, and once the nanny had left the room she turned her face into the pillow and sobbed. She missed her family and, somehow, someday she would run away and find them again, she promised herself.
The doctor arrived mid-morning the next day and, to Susie’s delight, he told the woman who called herself Mama that he considered she was now well enough to get up for a few hours.
Alicia Darby-Jones clapped her hands with delight, just as a small child might have done, and flew across to the wardrobe that housed all the new clothes she had bought for Susie.
‘What would you like to wear, darling?’ She withdrew a very pretty dress with a lace-trimmed pinafore and held it up for Susie’s inspection, but when Susie made no comment she delved into the wardrobe again, dragging out a royal-blue velvet one. ‘Hm, this one might be a little too warm,’ she mused.
And so it went on, until at last she had made her choice.
‘Nanny, can you see that she is dressed and looking her best?’ She handed the woman two lengths of blue ribbon to match the dress she had chos
en for Susie to wear. ‘These are for her hair,’ she instructed Agatha. ‘I shall send the butler up to carry her downstairs when she’s ready. Miss Timson and Lady Arcourt will be here any minute to take morning coffee with me and I can hardly wait to show my little gem off to them. I’m sure after all this time of her being ill that they are thinking I don’t really have a little girl of my very own at last.’
Susie scowled at her as the nanny bobbed her knee. ‘Of course, ma’am. I’ll ring the bell when she’s ready to come down.’
Alicia leaned towards Susie to give her a kiss but Susie turned her face away and with a sigh the woman swished from the room.
‘Right, we’d best do as your mama says.’ Nanny whipped the blankets and sheets back but Susie continued to lie there. ‘Did you hear me?’
Susie found herself focusing on the hairs that were sprouting from the nanny’s chin and then suddenly she felt a stinging slap on the leg and she started.
‘That’s what you’ll get if you disobey me or ignore me from now on,’ the woman told her, her eyes glinting with malice. ‘You’re better now, so it’s time for you to start learning some manners.’
Tears started to fill Susie’s eyes, but she held them back. The smack had really hurt but she wouldn’t give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She slowly climbed from the bed and stood impassively as the woman dressed her. There were so many layers: a warm liberty bodice, bloomers, woollen stockings, layers of petticoats and finally the dress. She then pushed her feet into a dainty little pair of button-up leather boots. They were slightly large for her, but they were by far the best she had ever worn and she couldn’t help but admire them as the woman none too gently attacked her long, curly hair with a wooden hairbrush.
‘Well, I have to say you at least look the part of a little lady,’ Nanny remarked. ‘Let’s just hope you don’t have to open your mouth or you’ll let yourself down. But I’ll tell you now, if I hear that you’ve been rude or not minded your manners, you’ll get another slap when you come back up here and it will be harder next time. Do you understand?’
The Winter Promise Page 5