‘Of course.’ Ella privately doubted that managing during the term or two Grace had spent at finishing school near Lake Geneva whilst travelling with her mother bore any comparison to managing one’s wardrobe back home in York, with all the social occasions and visits that this entailed, and so it was to prove. Grace had been back barely a month before Ella found her duties re-organised to accommodate ‘assisting Grace’, the compromise settled on so that Grace would not feel she had been wrong over the lady’s maid issue. She may have grown up, Ella reflected, but she had retained a strong streak of stubbornness.
Before Ella knew it, almost five years had gone by since her return to Grange House. John, now aged fourteen, had gone about his business of growing up while Grace, in her early twenties, busied herself with good works and dodging her mother’s attempts to find her a suitor.
‘She’s too headstrong by half,’ Rosa remarked, possibly echoing Mrs Ward’s words. ‘No man will put up with her. Next we know, she’ll be off to London to join those suffragettes.’
Ella kept quiet. She rather admired Grace for spurning the role that society expected of her. She also found the idea of women’s rights rather appealing now that her own horizons had started to broaden. Mr Stevens had been helping her learn to read, having diffidently suggested it after some months of reading her mother’s correspondence to her. It had turned out to be a long, slow process. She had given up in tears on many occasions, only to be coaxed back by Mr Stevens with promises that it would become easier. He had been right. Gradually, the seemingly incomprehensible jumbles of letters had formed themselves into recognisable words. Once she had taken her first slow, faltering steps along the literary road, she found herself hungry for much more.
Mr Ward’s daily paper was always used to light the household fires on the following day. Ella took to skimming through it before it was burnt, tearing out articles that looked interesting. She saved them to read at her own pace, at first following each word with her finger, late into the evening in her own room. She marvelled at the world that was being opened up to her by the ability to read, and wished wholeheartedly that she hadn’t allowed it to be such a mystery for so long.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When Beth had started school back in Northwaite she swiftly realised that she needed to find her place in the rough-and-tumble of the school playground. Her proficiency with letters, encouraged by Annie and Beattie, made her the target for all manner of taunts from the other children. Luckily for her, she worked this out before she was called upon to demonstrate any skill with her fists. Although small in stature, she had a determined character and one of her earliest memories was of Sarah telling her mildly, as she stood glaring at her, fists clenched and bottom lip stuck out, that if the wind changed she was in danger of remaining like this forever. Patricia Hudson, the tallest girl in Beth’s class and the youngest of five children (the others all boys), had approached her one day in the playground in what Beth feared was a threatening manner. Beth, absorbed in her favourite summer pastime of sitting alone on the grassy bank making a daisy chain, had looked up to find Patricia standing in front of her, backed up by the regular gang of girls that hung around her.
‘I want that,’ Patricia demanded, pointing at the daisy chain. Beth considered. It would cost her very little to hand it over, but if she did so she could already see that she would be laying herself open to potential future problems.
‘It’s not quite long enough yet,’ she said. ‘But if you sit and watch me, I can show you how it’s done and then it’s yours at the end of playtime.’
Patricia sat down heavily beside Beth, her followers ranging themselves at her feet. She watched Beth at work, then had a couple of desultory attempts herself but soon gave up. Her fingers were too stubby and her nails too bitten to be able to pierce the fine stems and thread the flower heads through. Beth, with two or three years of practice behind her, completed the chain without further ado and handed it over. Patricia wore it, unchallenged by any of the teachers, for the rest of the afternoon and the next morning Beth found her services in demand by Patricia’s followers. By the end of the week, her fingers were sore and the playground was denuded of daisies but honour had been satisfied amongst Patricia’s cronies and Beth had achieved some kind of status. She exploited this throughout her school years, her skill with her pen, her books, her sewing and her art marking her out as different, but in a way that was acceptable and useful to her classmates.
Sarah had high hopes for Beth, convinced that one of these skills would buy her a different sort of future: if pushed, she would have mentioned teaching as her preference for her. It was not to be: in Beth’s thirteenth year, the last day of the school term coincided with Ella’s arrival for her summer visit. Beth had casual farm work lined up for a few weeks, with no clear idea of what to do after that. Ella shared news of a vacancy for a kitchen-maid at Grange House and within a few startling days, Beth’s future was mapped out. On Ella’s return to York she sent word to say that Beth was to come for a month’s trial. Hugely excited at the prospect of a visit to the big city that she had heard so much about, Beth was packed and ready to go in a flash, barely pausing to consider how Sarah would feel about her absence. It was only as the Bancroft family sat down together to share a meal on Beth’s last evening at home that the enormity of what she was about to do finally struck her. Sarah kept remembering things that she thought it was important for Beth to be aware of in her new position in a big city, issuing anxious warnings about speaking to strangers and minding her manners.
‘Now, be sure to write at least once a week,’ she said. ‘If only your mother were here to see you now. She’d be so proud of how you have grown.’ With that, Sarah burst into tears.
Beth, who had been rolling her eyes at Sarah’s advice, leapt to her feet and rushed to give her a hug. ‘She’d be so proud of you and what you have done for me,’ she said. ‘Look how well you have managed, bringing us all up on your own, working to support us. Every time something has gone wrong, you’ve found a way of making it right. People come from miles around for your remedies: why, you’re quite famous!’
Sarah was blushing and smiling through her tears, while Thomas, Annie and Beattie – who had been nodding in agreement with Beth’s words – got up to give their mother a hug, too.
‘I’ll miss you all,’ Beth said, ‘and Northwaite too. But I’ll write and I’ll be back to visit whenever I can. And you mustn’t worry about me,’ this to Sarah. ‘I’ll be with Ella. I’m quite sure that she will be keeping a very close eye on me!’
That night, in bed, Sarah wept silently into her pillow, reminded of the loss of Alice and of what might have been, while Beth’s sleep was disturbed for a different reason. She tossed and turned, waiting for morning to come. There was a big adventure ahead of her and she couldn’t wait for it to begin.
Ella almost envied the way in which Beth slotted so easily into the household. She didn’t seem to have any of the anxieties that Ella herself had felt when she arrived at Grange House. Of course, having Ella there to turn to gave Beth a sense of security and, because she came to the household on Ella’s recommendation, she seemed to bypass any normal probationary period. It probably helped that Ella had talked so frequently of life at Grange House on her visits home. It must have felt like familiar territory to Beth, who could now put faces to names and explore the house that had been described to her on so many occasions.
Was it the confidence of youth or simply her lack of experience that made her so bold in her first days? Ella wondered. She had to chide Beth a couple of times over her lack of deference towards Mr Stevens and Mrs Sugden. They didn’t seem to mind, laughing indulgently and saying how nice it was to have someone with a bit of a spark around the place. Seeing Ella’s expression, Mr Stevens hastened to add that no offence was intended, but that times had changed since Ella had first joined them and there was no need to be standing on such ceremony in this day and age. Ella reflected wryly that it had taken her several years to
be on first-name terms with Elsie Dawson, the cook, and it was something she could never conceive of with regard to Mr Stevens and Mrs Sugden.
‘Why, if I had a daughter I’d be delighted if she had such strength of character.’ Mr Stevens looked positively wistful and Ella wondered, not for the first time, why he had never had a family. Butlers rarely did, however. The demands of being a key servant in a household, trusted with the day-to-day affairs and organisation above stairs, combined with maintaining one’s status below stairs, left little time for any private life. As a butler, you were everybody’s property, whilst also being set apart. It was a lonely path to tread and more than once Ella had wondered why Stevens had chosen it, but had never liked to ask.
It appeared that Beth, however, had no such qualms. She and Ella were preparing for bed one night during her second week when Beth suddenly said, ‘Did you know Stevens is married?’
‘Mr Stevens,’ Ella corrected automatically. ‘You mean there’s a Mrs Stevens! Good heavens, are you sure?’ She was startled. ‘He’s never mentioned her. Where is she?’
‘In an asylum.’ Beth was quite matter-of-fact but Ella had to sit down suddenly on the bed to digest the news.
‘Yes, it’s terribly sad. He was teasing me while I was cleaning the silver, telling me he knew exactly how many pieces there were, down to the last teaspoon. I got quite indignant with him, telling him I was totally trustworthy, and he apologised, saying that he hadn’t meant anything by it and that if he’d had a daughter he would have liked her to be like me.’
Beth paused, gazing at herself in the mirror as she applied a few more strokes to her hair with the brush. Ella was arrested by how she was growing. Not in stature, for Beth was not only the youngest but also the smallest of the Bancroft girls, but in beauty. Her hair was dark and wavy, whereas Alice and Ella had suffered with their unruly curls, and her dark eyes were swept by long lashes. She was still young, but viewing her reflection in the mirror, Ella could suddenly see how striking she would be before very long.
Beth continued. ‘So I asked him whether he was married, and if he had any children. He looked terribly sad all of a sudden and said that he was married but that you would be hard-pressed to call it a marriage as his wife was in an asylum. I didn’t know how to respond so there was a long silence, and then he said that she was a distance away and he saw her only rarely and he would thank me for not mentioning it to anyone.’
Beth had the grace to look stricken. ‘Oh, and now I’ve mentioned it to you.’ She looked appealingly at Ella. ‘But you don’t count, do you? You’re family and you won’t tell anyone.’
Ella shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word to anyone. Poor Mr Stevens! I had no idea. It must be very hard for him. An asylum…’ She trailed off and shook her head in wonder. She couldn’t imagine what had happened to keep the poor woman there but it must have been for a long time. She had known the butler for over six years and she had never had any inkling of this.
As they settled into bed, Ella thought back over her years of employment at Grange House. She could barely remember Stevens taking any time off to visit family or go on holiday in all that time. He seemed like a permanent fixture in the house. She wondered how old he was. He had seemed a great deal older than she was when she had first arrived there but somehow, now that she was twenty-six, their ages seemed to have evened out despite the ten-year age gap.
Beth’s breathing had already steadied into slumber and Ella smiled to herself in the dark. Oh, to be young again, with so few cares in the world and so little to keep you from your sleep!
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
‘I just can’t imagine what he does to get in such a state,’ Beth said, exasperated, flinging down a shirt with a three-cornered rip in one sleeve and the stitching coming adrift on the other sleeve’s seam. ‘I thought this was a running shirt, not a rugby shirt.’
‘Perhaps he caught it on some bushes or branches during the cross-country?’ ventured Ella.
‘Well, I wish he’d be more careful.’ Beth hunted crossly through her workbox for some thread.
She’d barely been at Grange House above a month before Mrs S had discovered her prowess with a needle. She’d needed someone to effect an emergency repair on a dress that Grace simply had to wear that evening but had inconveniently ripped straight after putting it on. Beth had volunteered her services and Grace had been delighted with the result, declaring the dress as good as new. Within the week, an old storeroom beyond the kitchen had been converted into a sewing room and Beth found her duties divided between the kitchen and the pile of sewing repairs that the household seemed to create on a regular basis.
At that moment, there was a brief knock and the door to the sewing room swung open. John was framed in the doorway, seeming to fill the space, his head almost grazing the top of the door frame.
‘I’ve come to apologise,’ he said cheerfully. ‘About the state of my shirt. I wondered why it wasn’t back from the laundry yet and Mother told me that you’re probably repairing it. To be honest I had no idea that was happening here.’
Beth had blushed scarlet, right up to the roots of her hair. Had John heard what she had been saying? She looked absolutely mortified.
Ella spoke up, as Beth was clearly unable to do so. ‘We were just discussing the damage. It looks as though cross-country running is rougher than we thought.’
‘It’s all those twigs and thorns. We did get a bit lost and go off track. I expect my rugby shirts are worse though. I’ll try to be more careful in future.’ John shared a rueful smile with both Ella and Beth as he turned to go, then he paused. ‘Actually, I really wanted to find out who the fairy fingers belonged to. I’ve never seen such neat stitching.’
Ella spoke up again as Beth was still dumbstruck. ‘John, this is my niece Beth. You two already know each other, in a way. You used to send each other drawings.’
She regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. John had now turned scarlet with embarrassment, while Beth was glaring at her. Their paths hadn’t crossed at all in the few weeks since Beth had been there. John was at school, even on Saturdays, and Beth was usually cloistered in her sewing room or helping Elsie with kitchen chores. She’d barely ventured above stairs yet. Their pictorial correspondence didn’t seem to have created a common bond; she supposed they must have thought it unlikely that they would ever meet. Now they had, and they both looked as though they wished the ground would swallow them up.
‘Well, it’s very nice to have met you at last,’ John muttered, backing out of the door. He smiled awkwardly and left; his footsteps, practically at running pace, echoed along the corridor into the silence he had left behind.
‘I’m sorry, Beth. I’ve embarrassed you both. I didn’t mean to.’ Ella was penitent. When John had come into the room, he was acting quite the young master. Ella feared she had deflated him, without meaning to. On top of that she had made John and Beth self-conscious by referring to the drawings. She couldn’t help but feel that she’d set them both off on the wrong foot.
As it turned out, there was little chance to remedy the situation. Beth and John continued to see little of each other as time went by, despite occupying the same house. John’s last term at school, the summer of 1911, brought the hottest weather ever recorded, with temperatures regularly reaching ninety degrees Fahrenheit. As soon as the term finished, John and Mrs Ward headed for Scotland, to visit relatives but also in the hope of cooler weather. Rosa went with them and Grace, declaring herself unable to stand the heat, soon followed suit. Alas, they found little respite from the unusual and extreme temperatures, even in Scotland, but as Mrs Ward had decided that the house should be cleaned from top to bottom and the rooms redecorated while they were away, they had no option except to remain there.
Mrs S decreed that housework should begin at dawn and cease by midday as the temperatures were so high by the afternoon that any form of exertion risked damage to the servants’ health. The shades were kept pu
lled down throughout the day and windows were only opened first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
Mr Ward, who had stayed in York, was worried about his business. ‘The earth’s as hard as a rock,’ he complained. ‘All the men are getting sunstroke and refusing to work unless we can provide some shade. They can’t lay bricks; the mortar is drying before they can spread it.’ The decorators working their way around the interior of Grange House were equally afflicted, finding the paint drying on their brushes.
‘Do you think the world might be coming to an end?’ Beth asked Ella one day after lunch as they lay on their beds in their darkened room. Mrs S had declared that naps should be taken in the afternoon, both to escape the daytime heat and to mitigate the effects of sleep-deprivation caused by the hot nights.
Ella could feel the sweat trickling down her temples from her forehead, but hardly dared to move for fear of making herself even hotter. Afternoon sleeps were proving to be disorientating affairs, the heat causing her brain to dance through a series of increasingly preposterous dreams which were hard to shake off when it was time to rise and resume her duties.
‘Well we did have a summer a bit like this just four or five years ago. But the heatwave didn’t last for such a long time.’ Ella, privately, did worry that the world might be coming to an end. It seemed as though there was to be no respite from the heat ever again. She feared that at some point the surface of the earth would just burn up.
‘I don’t remember it being as hot as this. Are you sure?’ asked Beth.
‘You would still have been at school. Maybe it was a bit cooler back in Northwaite.’ Ella felt a great rush of longing for home as she spoke. How wonderful it would be to be able to escape this terrible heat deep in Tinker’s Wood, or to sit with her feet in the icy cold stream that ran past Hobbs’ Mill. York felt as though it was exposed on a great dry plain by comparison. She had thought it might be cooler down by the river, but when she had passed that way on her walk back from the market last week it had proved otherwise. The river had shrunk to around a quarter of its normal height and the stench it carried with it cancelled out any small benefit from the possibility of a cooling breeze. Ella had covered her nose and mouth with a handkerchief and hurried past. Now she wondered whether even the stream at home might have dried up. She would ask her mother next time she wrote. She turned her head on her hot and sticky pillow to tell Beth more about the previous heatwave, only to find that she had fallen fast asleep, her hair stuck to her cheeks, which were quite pink and damp with sweat.
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