‘Well, sit yourself down at the table while I get it ready,’ the cook ordered bossily. ‘An’ you, Nancy, pour the young lady a cup o’ tea. I just made a fresh pot an’ it’ll be mashed now.’
While the cook set about loading a plate with food, Nancy did as she was told, eyeing Opal curiously. ‘So are you a friend o’ Mr King’s then?’
Opal flushed, not sure how to answer, but luckily she didn’t have to because the cook snapped, ‘Mind your own business, me girl! Why the young lady is ’ere is no concern of yours.’
‘Sorry, Cook.’ The girl gave Opal a cheeky grin and spooned sugar into her tea while the older woman placed a large plate of food in front of her.
Opal stared down at it. She had almost forgotten what bacon and sausage looked like and yet suddenly she was so nervous that she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to eat it.
‘Come on, now,’ the woman ordered, but her voice was kindly. ‘I hate to see good food go to waste, so get it down you.’
Opal did as she was told and once she had started her appetite came back with a vengeance and within minutes she had cleared her plate.
‘Thank you, that was delicious.’
The cook eyed her curiously. If the state of the girl’s shabby clothes were anything to go by, the poor lass had fallen on hard times and yet her manners were impeccable and she was clearly clean.
I wonder what the master wants with her, she thought. He was hardly known for his good deeds; in fact, there were many in the town that hated him. But then she supposed all would be revealed in good time.
Opal drank her tea, savouring every mouthful. It was a long time since she had been able to afford sugar. She had barely had time to drain the cup when Henry appeared in the doorway to ask, ‘Are you ready to meet Mother now, Miss Sharp?’
‘Er . . . yes.’ Opal rose hastily and, after smiling her thanks to the cook, she followed him from the room with her heart pounding, as Cook and Nancy looked on without uttering a word.
‘Now remember what I told you,’ he said, when he paused at the door that she discovered led into the day room. ‘Mother’s bark is much worse than her bite, so don’t let her intimidate you.’
When he pushed the door open Opal found herself in an elegantly furnished room, with long, green velvet drapes hanging at the two enormous sash-cord windows and a cheery fire glowing in the grate of an ornate marble fireplace. Her eyes were drawn to a large wing chair to one side of it, where a painfully thin, stern-faced woman sat staring suspiciously at her. She was dressed in a plain black bombazine gown, trimmed with black satin braid, and her steel-grey hair was coiled into two plaits pinned to either side of her head. About her neck hung a double strand of perfectly matched pearls, and diamond rings sparkled on her fingers. Her gnarled hands were resting on an ebony-topped walking cane, and a pair of gold spectacles were perched on the end of her nose. She peered at Opal over the top of them.
‘Well, come in then,’ she barked. ‘What’s wrong with you, girl? Has the cat got your tongue?’
Opal straightened her back, glared at her, and approached the chair.
The woman eyed her up and down. ‘Mm, you’re not very old are you?’
‘I shall be seventeen next month,’ Opal told her, lifting her chin.
‘Seventeen, eh?’ The woman chuckled. ‘Barely out of binders. So what makes you think you could be company for me?’
‘It was actually your son’s suggestion, not mine!’ Opal answered heatedly.
A small smile appeared at the corners of the woman’s mouth. ‘Well, you’ve got spirit at least,’ she commented approvingly and, before Opal could respond, she went on, ‘Can you read?’
‘Of course I can read! My parents made sure of it,’ Opal said indignantly. She was beginning to think this hadn’t been such a good idea after all, but the woman hadn’t done with her questions yet.
‘And what do you like to read?’
‘Some of my favourites are Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.’
‘All right, all right, you’ve made your point,’ the woman cut her off rudely. ‘But where do you get your hands on such books?’
It was obvious that Opal could never have afforded to buy them.
‘My mother and I used to go to the free reading rooms whenever we could and my father would read the books to us of an evening.’
‘You’ll be telling me next that you can speak French,’ the woman said sarcastically.
Opal flushed as she retorted, ‘I can’t, actually, but I’d like to!’
Suddenly, the woman threw her head back and laughed. ‘You were right,’ she told her son. ‘She is bright and I think I might actually enjoy getting her ready for genteel society – although I can see there’s a lot of work to be done.’
Opal opened her mouth to object, but before she could get a word in the woman asked, ‘Are you trustworthy? My son informs me that your brother is a thief.’
‘He is not! He was merely seen picking up the wallet your son had dropped. He was going to return it to him!’
‘Hm . . . Well, here’s what you would be expected to do – should I decide to employ you. You would be responsible for helping me to dress, undress and bathe, and it would also be your responsibility to make sure that all my clothes are kept in good order – laundered and suchlike. Not that I would expect you to wash them yourself; we have a woman come in twice a week to do the laundry. You would read to me when I wished you to and would also accompany me should I wish to visit someone. When I am entertaining you will pour the tea and hand around the refreshments – but you will stay quiet unless spoken to. In other words, you would be my lady’s maid, or companion, as they term the post nowadays. My last one, Emily, retired some months ago and since then I’ve been at the mercy of my young maid, Nancy. She’s a very good maid, admittedly, but she leaves a lot to be desired in this role.
‘So, I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to do: I’ll give you a month’s trial and we’ll see how we get on. You’ll live in and be at my beck and call, although I will allow you every Sunday afternoon off. Should you stay, your wages will be paid quarterly and you will earn twelve pounds a year. I shall have to have some new clothes made for you as well, but I will pay for them.’ She peered at the ones Opal was wearing with an expression of distaste. ‘I can’t have you being seen in those rags when we go out. So, what do you say to that?’
Opal was inclined to tell the pompous little woman that she’d had a change of heart and didn’t want the job after all. But then, as she thought of the lonely nights at the cottage and her smashed windows, she had second thoughts. Charlie would be gone for seven years – it wasn’t forever and if she could only work until then, saving every penny she earned and using her Sundays to try and find Susie, it would give them a new beginning, surely.
‘I’ll accept your offer,’ she told the woman.
Mrs King nodded. ‘Good; you can start tomorrow. Now go and wait in the kitchen while I have a word with my son.’
Opal turned and left the room without another word, and the old woman grinned as she noted that she hadn’t even dipped her knee. Yes, the girl certainly had spirit, there was no doubt about it.
Once the door had shut behind Opal, she turned her attention back to her son. ‘Now you,’ she said, ‘just why have you become the good Samaritan all of a sudden?’
Henry grinned as he took a seat in the chair opposite, and held his feet out to the fire. ‘Like you, I saw promise in her and thought she deserved a chance to better herself.’
‘Huh! Stuff and nonsense!’ she snorted. ‘I happen to know that you have a position vacant in your own house for a laundry maid, so why didn’t you offer her that?’ Before he could answer she rushed on, ‘It’s because you could hardly go and marry a laundry maid, could you? What you forget, son, is that I know you inside out! She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? And with that lovely black hair and those deep, dark eyes, I’ve no doubt she’ll be a beauty in a couple of years.
You’ve not worried before about me not having a companion since Emily left, so why suddenly now, I wonder? I think what you actually want me to do is prepare young Opal to become your second wife. Would I be right?’
Henry had the good grace to flush, as he studiously avoided her eyes and stared into the fire. His mother had always been able to read him like a book.
‘Well . . . she is a very attractive young woman,’ he admitted cautiously.
Mrs King chortled with laughter. ‘Quite. I knew I was right, and in a couple more years, when I have taught her all the social graces, she’ll be ripe for the plucking, won’t she?’ She leaned heavily on her stick and narrowing her eyes, asked, ‘But what if she doesn’t wish to become the second Mrs King? You are over double her age.’
‘So?’ Deeply embarrassed, he glared at her. ‘I can be charming when I want to be, you know. I have a lot to offer a wife! And age shouldn’t come into it. The fact is, she’s the first woman I’ve been attracted to since Marianne died and . . . well, she’s young enough to bear me some children. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Some grandchildren, I mean?’
Winifred King sighed. Henry had been a difficult child and he had grown into a difficult man, as his first wife had soon discovered. But still, she could see no harm in giving Opal the job. She seemed to be a sensible young woman and, although she was too proud to admit it, there had been times since Emily had retired when she had felt acutely lonely. It would be nice to have a young companion for a change, and if in time Opal showed no inclination to wed her son, then he would just have to live with the fact.
‘Let’s just see how things go,’ she said, picking up the tiny silver bell on the small table to the side of her; if she wasn’t very much mistaken, it was time for her morning coffee.
Soon after, Henry King took Opal back to her cottage to pack her things and, once he had left, she glanced around at her meagre possessions regretfully. There wasn’t much, but what there was had been her mother’s pride and joy. There was no way she could afford to have the things stored, so she decided that rather than leave it there to rot she would go and see their old neighbour in Fenny Drayton to see if she could make use of it.
It meant a long walk, and before she had gone far, the drizzling rain had soaked through to her skin, but nonetheless she hurried on.
‘Ah, luvvie, we heard about what happened to Charlie an’ we’ve been worried sick about you,’ Mrs Kitely greeted her, as she ushered her into her warm kitchen and handed her an old piece of towelling to rub her hair. ‘Come an’ sit by the fire an’ I’ll make you a brew. You look perished through.’
Gratefully, Opal did as she was told, and soon she had a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She told the kindly woman all that happened since Charlie had been imprisoned and about Henry King’s offer of a job.
Mrs Kitely frowned. ‘Well, I have to say it sounds rather out o’ character fer that one to be ’elping anyone,’ she commented. ‘But then this job offer does sound like a grand opportunity fer you.’
‘I don’t have much choice but to accept it,’ Opal answered miserably. ‘I’m too afraid to stay in the cottage alone at night now. At least there I’ll be safe.’
Mrs Kitely stretched her work-worn hand out to squeeze Opal’s. ‘Aye, you will, pet – an’ think of all the money you’ll be able to save till Charlie comes home. We all believe he were innocent an’ yer poor mam an’ dad must be turnin’ in their graves at what’s happened to him, God bless ’em. But things’ll come right in the end, you’ll see. And God willin’ you might even be able to trace young Susie, given time.’
‘I hope so,’ Opal muttered. ‘It’s bad enough that we lost little Jack. It feels as if the whole family has been ripped apart.’ And bowing her head, she gave way to a torrent of tears that threatened to choke her as the woman looked helplessly on.
‘Anyway, the reason I came,’ Opal eventually told her, when she had managed to pull herself together a little, ‘was that I wondered if you would like what’s left of our furniture? I can’t take it with me to Hollow’s House and it will just rot if I leave it in the cottage. Mam wouldn’t have wanted that and I know she would have liked you to have it.’
‘In that case, I’ll get me old man to pick it up wi’ the horse an’ cart first thing in the mornin’,’ Mrs Kitely told her. ‘An’ if there’s anythin’ as I can’t house I’ll make sure it goes to someone as can. How’s that, eh?’
Opal gave her a tearful smile. Her wet clothes were steaming in the heat from the fire now, but she knew that she must get back to the cottage and begin her packing.
Mrs Kitely, however, had other ideas. ‘You’re goin’ nowhere till you’ve got a good meal inside you,’ she told her, in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘I’ve a big pan o’ stew an’ dumplin’s cookin’ on the range, so sit where you are till it’s ready. That’s an order.’
So Opal sat back and closed her eyes. It was nice to feel cared for, even if only for a little while.
Chapter Eleven
Luckily, the rain had stopped by the time Opal set off back to the cottage early that afternoon – but as she approached she saw at a glance that yet more damage had been done to it. The door was hanging off its hinges and someone had climbed up and smashed even more holes into the roof, exposing the small kitchen to the elements. Shattered roof tiles and her mother’s precious mismatched china were scattered about the floor, and the curtains had been ripped down from the windows. This was supposed to have been the last day and night she would spend there, but now she knew she must leave immediately. Whoever was out to get her meant her harm and she couldn’t risk staying there for another minute longer.
With a heavy heart, she fetched a pillowslip from the bed and folded the few clothes she had into it. There wasn’t much: odd bits of underwear, a nightdress, her Sunday-best skirt and blouse. She consoled herself that at least it wouldn’t be heavy to carry, and Mr Kitely would be coming early the next day to salvage anything that was worth keeping. With a sigh, she ran her hands across her mother’s dresser. Her father had made it for her shortly after they were married, and it had always been one of her mother’s most prized possessions.
Then, picking up the pillowslip, she took one last glance around the room. Tears came to her eyes again as she pictured Jack, Susie and Charlie there. I have no one now, she thought, clutching her mother’s precious wedding ring; she had never felt more alone.
It was only when she set off with the pillowslip over her shoulder that she realised she had nowhere to go. Mr King had promised to fetch her the next morning. He would wonder where she was if he arrived and found that she wasn’t there. Her mind raced as she set off up Haunchwood Road. She would have to visit his house and explain what had happened.
When she arrived, the door was opened by Mrs Wood, the housekeeper she had met on her previous visit, and when she saw Opal standing there on the doorstep she raised an eyebrow and looked less than pleased to see her.
‘Hello again. Was it Mr King you were wishing to see?’
Opal nodded, her face a picture of pure misery. ‘If you please.’
‘Well, you should really make an appointment. He only just got in and he’s in his study, I believe. You’d better come in while I go and see if he will see you.’
Once again, Opal found herself in the elegant hallway, although it didn’t look quite so impressive now she had seen the one at Hollow’s House.
‘He’ll see you now, if you come this way,’ Mrs Wood announced primly when she returned, and she led Opal down the hallway.
‘He’s in there,’ Mrs Wood said pompously, pointing to a door, and with that she turned about and hurried away as Opal nervously raised her hand and tapped on it.
‘Come in!’
Opal stepped into a room where a fire was roaring in the grate, and saw Mr King sitting at a huge mahogany, leather-topped desk.
‘Ah, Opal, what can I do for you?’ His tone was pleasant. ‘I thought we had agreed that you wou
ld start in my mother’s employ tomorrow?’
‘W-we did, sir,’ she stuttered. ‘But I went to see an old neighbour of ours this morning and when I returned someone had ransacked the cottage and—’ Her voice broke and she began to cry.
Instantly he came round the desk, patting her arm kindly. ‘Why how terrible. You did right leaving there immediately,’ he said, concealing a smile. The petty criminals he had employed to terrify her had clearly done a good job and he would try to remember to slip them a little bonus the next time he needed to call on their services.
‘I . . . I only came to tell you because you had said you would fetch me in the morning and you would have wondered where I was if I wasn’t there,’ she gulped.
‘Quite,’ he agreed. ‘But where are you planning on staying tonight?’
Opal hadn’t thought that far ahead, and shrugged.
‘In that case, I think I should take you to my mother’s. I’m sure she won’t mind you being there a day early and it will give you a little time to rest before you start your new post. I’m certainly not going to leave you with nowhere to go.’
‘Y-you’re very kind.’
‘Not at all, my dear. You just sit there and rest while I ask my groom to prepare the coach. I’ll get Mrs Wood to bring you a nice hot drink while you’re waiting.’
Opal sat there, listening to the ticking of a large grandfather clock until Mrs Wood entered the room and slammed a tray down on the desk in front of her.
‘Your tea,’ she said, her voice heavy with disapproval as she looked pointedly at Opal’s shabby attire.
She had been shocked when Henry had told her that his mother would be employing the girl as her companion. Personally, from what she had seen of her, Mrs Wood thought she would have been far more suited to the post of laundry maid. So why is he taking such an interest in her? she wondered. But then, the girl was pretty! Could it be that Henry had designs on her? Mrs Wood had served Henry King faithfully for more years than she cared to remember, in more ways than one – even more so since the death of his wife – and she had hoped that eventually it might be she who became the second Mrs King. She was clearly much more suited to the role than this little slum girl.
The Winter Promise Page 8