Elizabeth and Lily

by Hilary Bailey

  In short, since the Warrens had moved in two months previously, a month after Elizabeth’s tenth birthday and two weeks after her father’s death, Elizabeth had learned that justice had nothing to do with the way matters at Linden Grove were decided.

  At school Frannie declared, ‘My father pays all the bills.’ She said this often, to establish her social position at Ferndene Hall, for Robert Warren, who owned clothing factories, was ‘in trade’ and therefore considered less respectable than the fathers of other pupils – solicitors, bank managers and the like – who had no contact with business. Once Frannie learned that Elizabeth, her father having been a doctor, outranked her, and that she received sympathy from teachers and pupils because he was dead, she began to concentrate her energies on undermining her cousin, and, to an extent, succeeded.

  Elizabeth was wretched. Cora and Frannie giggled at her behind her back and told tales from home which should never be told at school, about the kitten she was supposed to have lost, about Bella’s silly remarks at dinner and about the striped mittens stupid old Mrs Macfarlane had given to Elizabeth, not understanding she could not wear them to school, as they were not part of the uniform. Frannie had a wicked tongue; Cora joined in when she could. Elizabeth, unable to be away from her cousins ever, at school or at home, had to submit. If she complained, her mother would become distressed because, as Frannie pointed out, Robert Warren paid all the bills.

  The only place Elizabeth’s cousins could not penetrate was Mrs Macfarlane’s house, for Mrs Macfarlane would not let Cora and Frannie in. They had come to the door one day the previous week and asked to see Elizabeth, who was inside, reading a book by the fire, and Mrs Macfarlane had dismissed them. ‘Elizabeth,’ she told them, ‘is my particular little friend. And that, as far as you are concerned, is that.’

  The girls had run home to complain. Elizabeth knew nothing of this, but the campaign to prevent her from seeking shelter at Mrs Macfarlane’s began at once. ‘She goes to Mrs Macfarlane’s all the time,’ Frannie crowed at school. ‘She’s an old woman, just like a witch. Elizabeth goes to a witch’s house all the time. I expect she teaches her spells. What spells do you know, Elizabeth, lanky lamp-post Lizzie? Teach us some spells if you know some.’ And others in Frannie’s class, all big girls, had hopped round Elizabeth in the playground, shouting, ‘Teach us a spell, teach us a spell.’

  The Warrens also put pressure on Bella to stop Elizabeth from spending so much time at Mrs Macfarlane’s. ‘Such a miserable old woman. Is it really healthy for her to spend so much time there?’ Harriet demanded. But Bella resisted, only up to a point, saying faintly, when Elizabeth asked if she could go there, ‘Wouldn’t you rather stay at home?’

  Each night Elizabeth prayed that Frannie and Cora would die, knowing it was wicked because, as Frannie had said, if the Warrens weren’t there, her mother would have no money and would have to go to the workhouse, that big, grim building in Garth Street, near the bakery, where paupers went, where they wore old clothes and scrubbed floors all day long. When that happened, Frannie claimed, Elizabeth herself would have to go to an orphanage and be cruelly treated, and, when she was older, be made to go out to work as a scullery maid. Elizabeth didn’t care so much about the orphanage but she couldn’t bear the idea of condemning her mother to the workhouse. Her mother had suffered too much already. Bella often said so, declaring that she had lost the best husband a woman could have hoped to have, tragically soon after the death of both her parents.

  The house at Linden Grove was a place of ill-will. Frannie and Cora quarrelled with each other unless united against Elizabeth. Robert and Harriet had an unloving marriage. What united them was a common passion for money – for acquiring it, saving it, and discussing it. Who left lights burning in empty rooms? Why the excessive use of coal? How was it that the Sunday joint had failed to last until Tuesday? What of Elizabeth’s alarming growth, which began to make it look as if she would constantly need new dresses, while her old ones would have to be made over for Frannie, which was the wrong way around. It was at moments like this, while discussing economies, that the Warrens came together.

  It was after the argument about the hair ribbon, when the girls had left for school, that Harriet Warren, still in her wrapper, joined Robert at the breakfast table. ‘Breakfast was late,’ he remarked gloomily.

  ‘Where was Bella earlier this morning, then?’ she enquired.

  ‘She went to early communion at St John’s,’ Robert reported. ‘I suppose that’s why everything was behind.’

  ‘She’s getting very religious,’ Harriet said discontentedly.

  ‘Only natural in the circumstances,’ replied her husband.

  ‘I hope she’s not turning to religion when her energies could be better deployed keeping the household in order. Not a gift of hers at the best of times. She should be doing more.’

  ‘It’s interesting that you say that. It rather reflects some thoughts of my own.’

  His wife regarded him comprehendingly. They were now, unusually, as one. Money, or not spending it, was the issue. And the outcome of the discussion was that Mrs Gage was to be told to leave. The elder of the two maids, a sharp-faced thirty-year-old called Polly Soames, would be elevated to the position of cook-general. As Robert Warren said, ‘Bella and the three young females in the house can assist with the preparation of meals, which will give them a feeling of usefulness and train them, in the case of the girls, for their futures as the wives of men who may not be able to afford servants to wait on their every need. Men and women alike must play their part in the game of life.’

  A further economy was that the two maids could share Mrs Gage’s large attic room. Elizabeth could then be put in the smaller one next door, and Frannie and Cora would share the larger of the two bedrooms on the second floor, so that a boarder, Alec Murgatroyd, Mr Warren’s senior clerk at his Cable Street clothing factory, could take the smaller, at a rent of two guineas a week, sharing meals with the family.

  So this pale, long-faced young man, his face badly pitted with marks left by what must have been an attack of smallpox in childhood, took over the bedroom Elizabeth had shared with Cora.

  Elizabeth was deeply upset when she heard that Mrs Gage was to go. When Bella learned that her old friend and support of the last eleven years, somehow the last link with her marriage, was to be discharged, she became distraught. ‘Not Mrs Gage!’ she cried in the drawing room that evening. ‘Not Mrs Gage. She’s been with me since my wedding. She was sent to me by Mother. She’s been with the family since she was twelve years old. This isn’t even her part of the country. What will she do?’

  ‘I expect she’ll go back to the country, my dear,’ her brother told her from his armchair. ‘Or get another position in London. We’ll supply her with excellent references.’

  ‘Robert – how can you turn off an old family servant like this?’ cried Bella.

  ‘Turn off,’ he said in some displeasure. ‘Please be careful how you speak, Bella. Mrs Gage is not being turned off, as you put it. We are obliged to dispense with her services because of various rearrangements we are making. Or, to put it more bluntly, because of various economies we are forced to make. We simply cannot go on living beyond our means as we have been. We are a large household, there are mouths to feed, boots and clothing and coal to buy. We must cut our coats according to our cloth, my dear, and all learn to do our best to help.’

  Bella’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh – but Mrs Gage.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no choice,’ he said. He was the only man in a house full of women, none of whom could earn their bread, and for that reason, none – with the exception, perhaps, of his wife – had the right to ask for information about his affairs, or to question his plans. Bella, in fact, owned the house at Linden Grove. However, in a state of shock and grief after her young husband’s death, she had been so much browbeaten by her brother and sister-in-law about the poor state of her affairs, and the problems likely to beset a young widow w
ith a daughter in a hard world, that she had not taken in this fact. She was grateful for every crust of bread she and Elizabeth ate and for every lump of coal put on the fires which warmed them. In addition to owning the house, Bella also had a legacy from her mother, administered by her brother, about which she never asked.

  Meanwhile, Mrs Macfarlane gave Mrs Gage a watch and five guineas. She asked her if she would be all right.

  ‘Better than I am now,’ Mrs Gage told her, not bothering to disguise her bitterness. ‘The household has become a miserable one. It’s Mrs Armitage I’m sorry for. They expect her to do the housekeeping – she’s no idea, poor creature.’

  Elizabeth, banished to a tiny room under the eaves, with one small, sloping window and only room for a servant’s truckle bed and a little chest of drawers, was boiled under the tiles in summer and frozen in winter. Nevertheless, with her own room she was happier than she had been sharing with Cora.

  Years of domestic slavery ensued for Bella and Elizabeth, made worse by the fact that neither of them had adequate domestic skills. The training in domestic arts for his womenfolk referred to by Robert Warren turned out to be training for his sister and niece, assisted in the end by one maid, ill-paid and often replaced, for Polly had left not long after Mrs Gage. Harriet Warren was exempted from the practical matters of housekeeping, as she was in charge of the accounts, which were strictly kept in a big red ledger, made up weekly between Bella and herself, with many a searching question about the charwoman’s hours and items on the grocery bill.

  Frannie and Cora were likewise exempt from housekeeping, because, it was said, Cora was too young and Frannie too occupied with her schoolwork, which was more advanced than Elizabeth’s, as she was in a higher class. So that left Bella to help the maid and Elizabeth to help her mother.

  Alec Murgatroyd, in return for his two guineas and the privilege of living in his boss’s house as one of the family – as it was termed by Harriet and Robert – coped with coal scuttles and boot and shoe-cleaning. A tall, silent man of twenty-eight, he was conscious of a need to conform and please his employer. He had to support himself and send money home to his family in Kent, where his father was a farm labourer on a big estate. He had several younger brothers and sisters.

  Alec was at first overawed by the size and seeming affluence of the Warren household. He had been brought up in a three-roomed cottage, and understood the residents of Linden Grove to be well above him socially. For all he knew, among these superior folk there was nothing unusual about the widowed sister being in the kitchen on Saturday afternoons, attempting to make suet pastry under the tutelage of a maid, while her daughter peeled carrots in a stone sink and the rest of the family went out to tea in their best clothes. For all he knew, in these exalted surroundings, a widowed sister customarily attended early communion, then returned to help carry breakfast up from the kitchen to the dining room, where she ate only bread and butter and was never pressed to take a boiled egg or a piece of bacon like the others. For all he knew, in that kind of household, a widow’s child was always criticised for growing out of her clothes, told she was greedy and mocked about the size of her feet.

  However, after some six months of deference to his employer and his family, Alec began to reflect that if this was how the well-off conducted their family lives, then things were better in his village, where in the main what little people had was shared on the basis of need, not greed. There was not, however, much he could do about this, except speak kindly to the young Elizabeth and courteously to Bella, even when matters left to her charge went wrong. He began to develop a tenderness for the pretty young widow.

  The petty persecution of Bella continued. Each Saturday evening she would have to go to the drawing room and submit the domestic accounts to her sister-in-law. Often bills were missing, or wrong. Even if they were not, Harriet always found something to complain about. Meanwhile, Bella spent all week worrying about the coming encounter. When the dreaded moment came, she would stand at Harriet’s shoulder, pale and biting her lips, while Harriet, seated at a small desk, rummaged disdainfully through stained bills from the kitchen drawer, asked questions and added up figures, pointing with an accusing white finger at the ledger. These episodes often concluded with Harriet in the kitchen, lists and accounts in her hands, furiously flinging open the larder, the cupboards, even entering the coal cellar, pointing out discrepancies and losses. Bella, beside her, was frequently in tears.

  One Saturday afternoon Alec came across Bella and Elizabeth at the kitchen table, desperately trying to make sense of a heap of bills and scribbled notes before the Saturday-evening scrutiny. Bella was blowing her nose, Elizabeth looked upset. Alec politely asked if he could help, and was refused. He offered again. ‘You won’t be able to do anything,’ Elizabeth said in despair.

  ‘I am accustomed to this kind of work,’ he said. ‘I suggest you go upstairs to your room and read your book. King Solomon’s Mines, isn’t it? Your mother and I will manage.’ The tall young man took his position behind the red-eyed Bella, and began firmly to help her draw up a list. The Saturday interview with Harriet Warren went better this time. The bills were in order, correctly added, the stockcheck from larder and stores made sense.

  ‘Some of this is not in your own hand,’ Harriet pointed out.

  ‘Mr Murgatroyd kindly assisted me,’ Bella said hesitantly.

  ‘Bella,’ Harriet said reproachfully, ‘I think it is very unsuitable for the paying guest to assist you with duties you should be performing yourself.’

  ‘He insisted,’ Bella told her.

  ‘You must refuse his help if he ever offers it again,’ said her sister-in-law. ‘There is, after all, a sort of confidentiality about household matters.’

  ‘I see,’ Bella said. ‘Yes, I do understand. I’m sorry, Harriet.’

  Next week she refused the aid of Alec Murgatroyd, who had cancelled his weekend visit to his parents for this purpose. Harriet was even more demanding over that week’s bills, and ended up storming round the kitchen like a tornado and finally asking angrily, ‘Really, Bella, what are you for? That’s what I ask myself. You don’t seem to be able to do the slightest thing capably. I despair, I really do. I can’t be expected to maintain everything in this house single-handed.’

  Supper – smoked haddock with a boiled egg on top – took place without Bella. Afterwards, Elizabeth went upstairs and found her mother in tears in the bedroom.

  ‘I’m so careless,’ Bella sobbed. ‘Harriet’s right. I am so stupid about the bills. And I know a shirt of Robert’s has been scorched by the maid.’

  ‘You mustn’t worry, Mother,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But you must ask Mr Murgatroyd if each Friday evening he will help you with the bills.’

  ‘There is nothing, no purpose, for a woman in my situation,’ Bella cried. ‘I only have you to live for, and there’s so little I can do even for you. If only your father had lived.’

  Elizabeth’s heart sank. She knew her mother could not help it, but she hated these lamentations. She left the room and went in search of Alec Murgatroyd. He was in his bedroom: he felt uneasy in the sitting room most of the time, as if his posture were ungainly and his feet too big. If he coughed, or rustled his newspaper too loudly, Harriet would fix him with a long stare. Robert, too, had a way of leaning back in his armchair by the fire and regarding him as he might a strange animal at the zoo. All this, and Frannie and Cora’s quarrelling, usually drove him soon after supper from the sitting room to his own bedroom, where, as he was a paying member of the household, a small, gloomy fire burned in winter.

  He was sitting, boots off, reading his paper by this fire when Elizabeth came in. His embarrassment about being found in his socks was conquered by his concern for Bella. ‘Is she all right?’ he asked, not specifying to whom he was referring, or bothering to conceal that he knew something was wrong.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Elizabeth. ‘She’s not. As you know, she has difficulties with the accounts and can never really satisf
y my aunt, so I – she – we would be most grateful if you could—’ Here she broke off, because the impulse which had brought her rushing to Alec’s bedroom door suddenly failed. She felt she had been too bold.

  Alec’s face was often rather melancholy, but his brown eyes glowed with kindness. ‘I would be very happy to assist your mother in any way I can. The matter is quite simple and can be learned easily. I suggest she and I meet on Friday evenings, after supper, when we will be able to work out the previous week’s accounts, and devise methods for organising everything. Mrs Armitage will be a book-keeper in no time.’

  Elizabeth, full of relief, than ran back to Bella to tell her the good news. ‘But – oh,’ said Bella. ‘I don’t think Harriet would like it. He is, after all, a stranger, and he would be privy to all our affairs.’

  ‘Only the coal bill, and the cheese,’ Elizabeth said. ‘That can’t matter.’

  In some secrecy, not openly admitted between them, Alec, Elizabeth and Bella met in the kitchen the following Friday evening. The accounts, with some puzzlement on Bella’s side, were done. When all was over, Alec remarked, composedly, ‘I have introduced one or two minor errors’ – and he pointed them out – ‘so that Mrs Warren will not be alarmed by all this sudden arithmetical skill on your side.’ Bella stared, then laughed. Elizabeth smiled.

  For Elizabeth, told over and over again how lucky she was to be living with her uncle and aunt, yet unable to repress the thought that Harriet and Robert Warren were not on her side, her mother was overworked and Frannie and Cora were given treats and privileges she was not allowed, the conspiracy was cheering. For a long time she had wondered if she was mad or just a wicked, ungrateful girl. An outsider had now implied that justice was not being done at Linden Grove, and she felt better about herself. And so things went on for a few weeks.