by Nancy Carson
Poppy began to wonder what life would be like in this comfortable house among these people. She liked Aunt Phoebe. She had liked her from the moment she saw her; her plump homeliness, and her unassailable wisdom. She possessed also a sort of benign pomposity that seemed comical to Poppy and which might be fun to provoke from time to time. Aunt Phoebe exuded a reassuring confidence that told Poppy she would be safe, even protected, from the seedy side of life that Minnie was being drawn into. Poppy ought even to make a friend of Esther. After all, she was no better than Esther. She’d even aspired to being a maid, like Esther. And if these were the sort of comfortable surroundings a maid was privy to, then maybe it was not such a bad life.
Poppy lay down again and stretched contentedly, watching the warm water make a little pool in the dimple of her belly button. This was how other people lived, those more privileged, who did not have the transitory and uncertain life of living in navvy encampments, with the breadwinner hired and fired at the whim of the contractor. However, this home, she could already appreciate, was above and beyond what the average working family might enjoy, even those with settled roots. Routines here seemed sedate. There was no rush, no fuss. Nothing, it appeared, was too much trouble. She was certain she would be able to settle down happily here. For her part, she would try her best to fit in, to belong. She was already missing her mother, her brothers and sisters, but this offer of shelter from Aunt Phoebe – and in such a place – was a godsend she could never have foretold, and neither could she have refused it.
The bath water was cooling down and she stood up, feeling the simple pleasure of it trickling down over her body and her legs, seeing how her skin glistened in the fading daylight from the window. She reached for the towel that Esther had draped over a chair back and rubbed herself dry, delighted by the firm roughness of the towel over her skin. She stepped out of the bath onto the edge of another towel Esther had thoughtfully laid there, and dried her feet. Then she rubbed up her hair and looked at herself in the mirror … tousled, naked and comical. She laughed contentedly.
There was a tap-tap at the door.
‘Come in.’ She had not the slightest thought for her nakedness.
Esther opened the door and peered around it. ‘Oh! Pardon me, miss …’
‘Come in, Esther,’ Poppy chirped.
Esther looked with embarrassment at Poppy. ‘Ma’am said I was to try and do something with your hair. I’ll get you a dressing gown first, miss. You don’t want to catch a chill.’
Poppy felt a little guilty that Esther was running round doing things for her, things that she could easily do herself. The girl never stopped. To-ing and fro-ing. Fetching and carrying. She returned with a white dressing gown and helped Poppy into it.
‘If you’d like to sit at the dressing table, miss …’
Poppy stepped towards it and sat astride the quilted stool. ‘Esther, why don’t you call me Poppy?’
‘’Cause I’m supposed to call you “miss”, miss. I’m gunna dry your hair a bit more now, miss.’
Esther had brought with her another clean dry towel, and she began vigorously rubbing, shaking Poppy’s head from side to side, then forwards and backwards. But Poppy did not protest. When the maid had finished, Poppy looked again at her tousled mane that seemed more yellow than she had ever known it.
‘Your hair’s a lovely colour, miss.’
‘D’you think so, Esther? Honest?’
‘I wish mine was that colour.’
‘It generally goes a bit lighter in the summer. Now winter’s nearly here it’s goin’ darker again. But it always looks the brighter for a good wash.’
Esther picked up the brush with the silver handle and began gently brushing. ‘Mine always looks so dull.’
‘It’s funny how we always want something we ain’t got. Don’t you think so, Esther? But your hair’s nice. And a nice colour. I wun’t mind it.’
Esther smiled, grateful for the reassurance. ‘How long you stopping here for, miss?’
The relevance of the question suddenly struck Poppy. ‘A long time, I think. I hope so, any road …’ She was looking at Esther in the mirror as she spoke. ‘For as long as Aunt Phoebe wants me to stay, I s’ppose. However long it is, I hope you and me’ll be friends, Esther.’
Esther smiled again, evidently flattered. ‘Am yer her niece, then?’
‘No. I ain’t no relation. But I know her nephew.’
Poppy’s hair was taking on a well brushed, sleek look, her curls non-existent now.
‘Which one?’
‘Oh … Mr Robert Crawford.’ Poppy caught Esther’s eye in the mirror and at once felt herself blushing. A glance at her own reflection confirmed it. ‘Robert’s me friend.’
‘I thought he was engaged.’
‘Oh, he is …’ Poppy affirmed.
‘To you?’
‘No, not to me. Worse luck!’ She uttered a little laugh that held traces of sadness and embarrassment.
‘You fancy him then, miss?’
Poppy looked up from under a fringe of hair. ‘Wouldn’t you, Esther?’
‘Me? Oh, I got no chance of ever getting off with the likes o’ Robert Crawford. I ain’t pretty enough. I got a face like a turnip and figure like a bolster, and no two ways. He’s a likely enough lad for any wench to fancy. But not me. I got no time for all that fallalery, what with helping Dolly in the kitchen, keeping the furniture and household goods looking summat like, sweeping and cleaning. I’m glad there’s no men living in this house, spitting in the grates, walking on the carpets wi’ mucky boots and crumpling up the antimacassars with their greasy hair. Men in the house make too much mess.’
‘I don’t think all men am the same, Esther.’
‘Me own father’s worse than a dog. Maybe not your Robert Crawford, though,’ Esther conceded. ‘He seems betterer’n most.’
‘Did he used to come here a lot?’
‘From time to time.’ She bent forward to Poppy’s ear and whispered, ‘They reckon as his family’s one o’ the richest for miles.’
‘Honest?’
‘That’s what they say. But I expect you knew that already.’ Esther lifted Poppy’s hair away from her neck, holding it up to ascertain the effect. ‘Shall I try and pin it up afore it dries out, miss?’
‘If you like.’ She recalled Minnie’s efforts to do likewise.
‘I reckon it suits yer pinned up …’ Esther sighed. ‘I do wish I had hair this colour, miss.’
‘You could always dye it.’
‘Dye it?’ Esther chortled at the very notion. ‘Lor! Me mother’d kill me when she sid it. I daresn’t dye it.’
‘You could always keep your bonnet on.’
‘Or borry a wig,’ Esther quipped with a chuckle.
Poppy changed the subject. ‘How old is Dolly, the other maid?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘I ain’t had the chance to talk to her much.’
‘It’s her afternoon off. Gone a-courting, I ’spect. She’ll be back tonight. Dolly does most o’ the cookin’ and looks after the kitchen. I do the housework … and the donkey work … Oh, and then there’s Clay. You must’ve seen Clay afore. He does the gardening and anything to do with outside—’
Poppy grinned. ‘Clay? That’s a good name for a gardener.’
Esther laughed again, revealing the gap between her two front teeth. ‘I hadn’t thought about it, but you’m right. Any road, I think Clay used to work for Mr Newton afore he died, driving him about in his carriage. He still drives Mrs Newton about from time to time.’
‘But he don’t live in the house?’
‘No, thank the Lord. He lives over the stables. He cleans up his own mess.’
The hair was done, to the satisfaction of Poppy and Esther, and Poppy put on her one and only dress. She went downstairs to Aunt Phoebe who was laying the dining-room table for tea herself. Poppy had never seen a tablecloth so white.
‘My goodness, your face is glowing, Poppy my dear,’ Aunt Phoe
be remarked. ‘It must be the hot bath. Do you feel refreshed?’
‘Yes, thank you. D’you like the way Esther’s done me hair, look?’ She swivelled her head from side to side, seeking Aunt Phoebe’s approval.
‘Very elegant, my dear. Very elegant. Would you like to take tea now, or would you prefer to wait?’
‘Now, if you want. I’m hungry after me bath.’
‘Good. I prefer to take tea even earlier than this on a Sunday on account of going to church. But we shall have to forego church this Sunday – it’s been quite hectic, your moving in … Esther, would you make us a pot of tea? Poppy, would you be so kind as to go with Esther and slice and butter the bread, on account of it being Dolly’s afternoon off? Then bring it to the table with the jam and the cakes, if you please. I’ll lay out the crockery and find the serviettes.’
So Aunt Phoebe and Poppy sat down to tea together. Although she was hungry, she did not want to disgrace herself, and was restrained when it came to filling her plate with sandwiches. Eclairs and custard pies also sat invitingly on the crystal glass cake stand before her. But she first took a sandwich and began munching it.
‘How old is Robert, Aunt Phoebe? He never told me.’
‘Robert is twenty-four. He will be twenty-five next May. He is now the black sheep as far as his family is concerned, you know,’ Aunt Phoebe declared conversationally. ‘However, he just happens to be my favourite nephew.’
‘Why is he the black sheep?’
‘Because he was expected to join the family firm. His going away has delayed that. He went much against his father’s wishes. However, he has always wanted to be independent of his father, and that has always been in his favour as far as I’m concerned. From a small boy, he had his heart set on becoming an engineer, though, like Mr Stephenson and Mr Brunel, whose work he has followed and studied assiduously. Of course, he has had the privilege of meeting Mr Brunel himself and working with him on the Oxford, Worcester and Wolverhampton project.’
Poppy listened with wide-eyed interest as she ate. Robert had never discussed his family.
‘So he applied himself to civil engineering and, when he was nineteen, he dashed off to Edinburgh, with his father’s blessing, to study the subject at the university there. Would you like another sandwich, Poppy?’
‘Can I have one of those as well?’ She pointed to a custard pie.
‘Of course. Help yourself.’
Poppy reached over and put one on her plate. ‘Where’s Edinburgh, Aunt Phoebe?’
‘Why, Scotland, my dear.’
‘Oh, Scotland …’ She nodded thoughtfully, at the same time eyeing up her custard pie. ‘That’s when he must’ve had the idea to build that funny two-wheeled machine he rides everywhere. He said he had the idea in Scotland …’ Poppy was pleased she’d made the connection between his education in Scotland and his machine. But there was still plenty more she wanted to know. ‘So when did he meet that girl he’s engaged to?’
‘Her family have been involved with Crawford’s for many a long year, I understand. I suspect she and Robert have known each other a long time. But their engagement was announced, oh … less than a year ago.’
‘Do you know this girl, Aunt Phoebe?’ She took a bite from the custard pie.
‘I know of her. I have been acquainted with her family. They are respectable and very affluent—’
‘Affluent? What does affluent mean? Robert was always teaching me the meaning of words.’
‘Affluent means wealthy. It stems from the Latin word affluere, to flow to. So, when money flows to you, you are considered affluent.’ Aunt Phoebe smiled indulgently, pleased that her new protégée was not inhibited about asking such questions.
Poppy returned the smile, still munching, grateful in turn for the explanation. She had so much to learn in this world and she was a late starter. Another word kept cropping up as well, and it seemed these people of quality were preoccupied with it.
‘Why does everybody make such a fuss about being respectable, Aunt Phoebe?’
‘Oh, my dear!’ Aunt Phoebe picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. ‘To my mind, respectability is all. To my mind, unless you earn the respect of people you are nothing.’
‘So how do you go about earning it?’
‘Initially, by not speaking when your mouth is full, Poppy.’
‘Oh … Sorry.’
‘One earns respectability simply by conforming to the standards of behaviour and etiquette expected of decent people. If you are deemed respectable you merit esteem. You do not merit esteem if you behave in a manner likely to cause offence or nuisance, if you behave immorally, dishonestly, or deceitfully, with no regard for others. Being respectable is being aware of your obligations and duties, and upholding them conscientiously. Being respectable is not putting a foot wrong. Respectability is an important word – a beautiful word – and I am pleased that you have asked me about it.’
‘So, if Robert were to give up this girl he’s engaged to and go off with somebody else, he would not be esteemed or seen as respectable?’
Aunt Phoebe looked at Poppy askance. ‘I’m sure it would depend on the circumstances. But why would that be of interest to you, Poppy?’
Poppy shrugged, feigning indifference, and popped the last piece of egg custard into her mouth. She made sure she had finished eating it before she spoke again.
‘There’s something I don’t understand, Aunt Phoebe,’ she said with a frown of puzzlement. ‘If this girl’s family are so well known to the Crawfords, how come you don’t really know her?’
‘You must understand, Poppy, that I am no blood relation. I am only related to the Crawfords because my husband was the brother of Robert’s mother, Clarissa. Since my husband died, I have had little to do with any of them … or, rather, they have had little to do with me – save for dear Robert, bless his heart, who has not forgotten me.’
‘No, Robert wouldn’t forget you, Aunt Phoebe. He always struck me as being thoughtful.’
The next day saw Poppy being shown more of the house and gardens, now that she was a resident. The back garden seemed vast once you were in it. The ground rose up from the house so that when you reached its extremity and looked back you could actually see the Clent Hills over the slate roof. Mature trees were in abundance and provided some shade, which would be delightful on a hot summer’s day, as would the secluded summer house she saw overhung with climbing roses. Flowerbeds were everywhere, with no formal arrangement to them, but straight borders ran alongside the ancient brick walls that formed the boundary on either side. Poppy was introduced at last to Clay and the smell of his pipe tobacco reminded her poignantly of her father. He told her it was twist and she told him she liked it. It was enough to establish a regard for each other.
A great source of curiosity was the old square piano in the drawing room. The first time Poppy was close enough, she felt compelled to press down a key and was immediately delighted with its musical plink. She beamed an apologetic smile to Aunt Phoebe. Perhaps, when she was alone some day, she could return and plink some more keys, and discover the kinds and combinations of sounds it might be possible to produce.
About halfway through the morning, Poppy sat at the desk in the library with Aunt Phoebe, who was determined to get Poppy to read to her so that she could assess her progress. Poppy read a page from Pride and Prejudice, which Robert had given her.
‘Have you read that page before, Poppy?’
‘No, Aunt Phoebe. I just carried on from where I’d got to.’
‘And how long have you been reading?’
Poppy shrugged. ‘Not till after me dad died. Less than six months, I s’pose.’
‘You read remarkably well. I see you have ploughed some way into the book. Are you enjoying it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she enthused. ‘It’s so funny. I love the bit where—’
‘What have you gleaned about manners and etiquette?’
‘Etiquette?’ Poppy looked unsure.
&n
bsp; ‘Pride and Prejudice is full of it. How people behave towards each other in a way that is polite.’
‘Oh, yes. That.’
‘I suspect it was the reason Robert gave it to you. So that you would learn from it. Well, I shall teach you etiquette along with everything else. We shall make a proper lady of you, I have every confidence.’
Somebody knocked at the door and Aunt Phoebe called for whoever it was to come in. Dolly entered looking agitated.
‘What is it, Dolly?’
‘The butcher, ma’am. You know we ordered a rabbit to make a stew, but the one he’s sent ain’t bin skinned and drawn, ma’am. And he knows very well how I can’t abide messing with ’em. Should I send Clay back with it so’s he can do it for me?’
‘Clay’s busy, Dolly,’ Aunt Phoebe declared. ‘If I interrupt him with such trivialities we’ll never get the garden tidied for the winter. Is it such an awful task to skin and draw a rabbit?’
‘It’s still got the yed on,’ Dolly added. ‘I hate doing it, ma’am. It turns me stomach.’
Poppy looked first at Dolly, then at Aunt Phoebe. ‘I can do it,’ she said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. ‘I can skin and draw a rabbit. I’ll do it for you, Dolly, if you like. Save disturbing Clay.’
Aunt Phoebe huffed disapprovingly. ‘Really, Poppy, I don’t think that is quite the sort of thing I would expect you to do … And what about your lesson?’
‘Oh, I don’t mind, honest. I’ll gladly do it. I’m used to it.’ She got up from the desk and moved towards Dolly.
‘Just this once then. To show Dolly and help her overcome her aversion.’
‘There’s nothing to it,’ Poppy said affably, as the maid led her towards the kitchen.
‘Well, thank the Lord you can do it, miss. I’m that grateful, honest I am. I hate and detest messing with the things.’
‘It don’t bother me.’
‘So where did you learn how to do such things, miss?’
‘Oh, I used to have to help me mother,’ she said artlessly. ‘I was always having to pluck chickens and ducks. I was always pulling the innards out of something or other. Men was always bringing things for us to cook – things they’d poached or pinched.’