by Betty Neels
Now they had a cheerful supper, and she took care not to mention the supermarket again. She was up early the next morning, nipping round the house, getting Finn’s breakfast, taking tea up to her aunt, tidying the place, intent on getting down to the supermarket as soon as possible and getting a job.
She took her aunt’s breakfast tray upstairs as usual, mindful of the doctor’s advice that Mrs Blake should lead as quiet a life as possible. Having breakfast in bed was one way of doing that. Then she went to her room to get her outdoor things. She was in the hall, her hand on the door handle, when the postman pushed a letter through the letter box.
It was for her, and she opened it slowly. It didn’t look like a bill—the writing was old-fashioned and spidery and the envelope was good quality...
Lady Trumper’s request that she should call that morning with a view to taking up the post of girl Friday came as something of a shock. The wages she offered were even more of a shock. She would no doubt be expected to earn every penny of them, but Franny had reached the stage where she was open to any honest offer. She didn’t think working for Lady Trumper would be pleasant, but the money was more important than job satisfaction. Finn could have his books and the bills could be paid.
Franny wasted a few minutes wondering why Lady Trumper had changed her mind and then went to tell her aunt.
Aunt Emma read the letter. ‘Now, why would she change her mind?’ she asked. ‘Would it be because you gave the girl first aid?’
‘That wasn’t much qualification for the job, Auntie. More likely no one else has applied and she’s desperate.’
‘You may be right, love. You’ll go?’
‘Well, yes. The money is more than we hoped for, isn’t it?’
‘If only you could go back to hospital and finish your training...’
‘I’ll do that when Finn is qualified. We’re managing very well, and if I went back to hospital now I’d be worrying about you all the time. The doctor said you weren’t to do more than potter, and with this job I’ll have plenty of time to see to the house and so on. In a month or two we’ll have the bills paid and be on our feet again. What shall I wear?’
‘What you wore yesterday. You looked very nice. It’s raining, isn’t it? A pity your mac’s shabby, but you can take it off when you get there.’
‘I’ll do the shopping on the way home. Don’t go out, Auntie, it’s cold as well as wet.’
* * *
THERE WAS A faint glimmer of friendliness on the butler’s face when he admitted her. ‘I’m to take you straight up, miss. If you will leave your raincoat here?’
Franny followed him up the staircase. ‘It’s a horrid morning,’ she told him chattily, ‘but November nearly always is horrid, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you need to go out...?’
Barker turned to give her a quelling look. Familiarity was something to be nipped in the bud as soon as possible. But Franny was beaming at him and the quelling words on his lips weren’t uttered. Instead he said gravely, ‘The weather is indeed inclement.’ And he proceeded on his way.
This time he announced her by name, and Lady Trumper, sitting at her desk, turned round to look at her.
‘Miss Bowen, you are probably surprised to have heard from me again. I have been considering your application and have decided to offer you the post. A month’s trial. I should wish you to start next Monday morning at ten o’clock. You will be expected to work until five o’clock each day, but you may have Saturday and Sunday free. If I should require your services at any other time I expect you to agree.’
‘An annual holiday?’ asked Franny.
‘Oh, I suppose so. Two weeks...’
‘Three,’ said Franny, very politely and not waiting for a reply. ‘And what exactly will my duties be?’
‘Sorting my post each day and replying suitably. You said that you could type? Paying bills, checking the household accounts with Barker...’
He won’t like that, reflected Franny, and gave Lady Trumper an encouraging look.
‘It will be necessary from time to time to take over work from any member of my staff who is ill or on holiday. Also to arrange the flowers and see to any callers I do not wish to meet. Keep my diary correctly.
‘I heard from Barker that you showed a good deal of common sense when Elsie cut her hand. I shall expect you to act as nurse in the event of myself or my staff falling ill.
‘You will take your meals in the small sitting room on the ground floor, but I expect you to defer to Barker, who is in charge of the household. You will be paid weekly, and if you find that you are unable to cope with the work you are at liberty to tell me and give me a week’s notice.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Franny matter-of-factly. ‘But I must point out that I have no intention of taking orders from your butler. I will respect him, and oblige him whenever possible, but I’ll not take orders from him.’
She watched Lady Trumper’s formidable bosom swell; she had cooked her goose, and the job so nearly hers, too. She waited quietly to be dismissed for the second time.
‘I am willing to concede to your wish, Miss Bowen, as long as I have your word that you will give Barker the respect due to his position in my house. He has been with us for many years.’
‘Yes, of course I’ll treat him with respect,’ said Franny, ‘and anyone else who works here. I’ll come on a month’s trial, Lady Trumper.’ She added cheerfully, ‘I dare say we shall all get on very well together.’
Lady Trumper looked surprised. ‘I trust that may be so, Miss Bowen. Good day to you; I’ll expect you next Monday morning.’
She was shown out presently by Barker, who observed importantly, ‘You will no doubt be joining the staff shortly, Miss Bowen?’
‘Yes, on Monday morning.’
‘I shall, of course, render you any assistance you may require,’ said Barker at his most majestic.
‘Thanks very much,’ said Franny, and she skipped down the steps, turning to wave as she reached the pavement—something which took Barker aback. He wasn’t a man who encouraged such behaviour. On the other hand, it was rather nice to be waved at by a young woman, even if she was without looks...
Franny squashed a desire to dance along the pavement; someone might be looking out of the window. Instead she did optimistic sums in her head and mused over ways of making the money go as far as possible. It was a good thing that Finn had his midday meal between lectures—she and Aunt Emma could eat economically and they could all eat a substantial high tea in the evening.
In the meantime, she would pop into the corner shop on her way home and get something special—bacon and half a dozen eggs, mushrooms, if there were any, and plenty of fried bread, thought Franny, her mouth watering.
Later in the evening, well-fed with these delicacies, the three of them had a light-hearted discussion about a rosy but improbable future.
* * *
AT EXACTLY TEN O’CLOCK on the Monday morning Franny presented herself to Lady Trumper. She looked neat and tidy in her navy skirt and white blouse topped by a navy cardigan. The garments did nothing to add to her looks, but Lady Trumper noticed and approved. At least the girl didn’t wear a skirt up to her thighs and one of those vulgar tops printed with some stupid sentence...
‘You may use the small room through that door, Miss Bowen. The post is already there; kindly open it and let me see anything of interest. And any invitations, of course.’
Hardly a task to tax her intelligence, thought Franny, dealing with the pile of envelopes with calm efficiency. She took their contents to Lady Trumper presently.
‘I will read them and give you instructions as to their replies. There is a registered envelope on my writing desk. Take it to the post office. You will need money. There is a purse in the left-hand drawer—take five pounds from it and put the change into it when you
return.’
So Franny got into her mac again, tied a scarf over her head, since it was drizzling with the threat of sleet, and found her way to the post office. It was quite a walk, but she needed to know a little of her surroundings. Back at the house presently, she prudently went round to the side entrance. Barker and the cook were in the kitchen. ‘I came in this way because I’m wet and I might leave marks over the hall floor,’ said Franny. ‘May I leave my mac here to dry?’
‘Certainly, and it would be convenient if you would continue to use the side door in future,’ said Barker. ‘Mrs Down will make coffee shortly, if you will come here when it is convenient for Lady Trumper?’
When she had gone, Mrs Down said thoughtfully, ‘Not quite our sort, is she, Mr Barker? Ever so polite and nice, but I bet she’s seen better days.’
‘There is that possibility,’ agreed Barker. ‘Let us hope she remembers her position in this household.’ He gave a derisive laugh. ‘Girl Friday...’
If he had hoped that Franny would put a foot wrong, he was to be disappointed, for she behaved exactly as she should. The general opinion when she left the kitchen after her coffee break was that she was OK.
* * *
QUEUING FOR HER bus at the end of her first day, Franny decided that it hadn’t been too bad. She had been kept busy with small jobs—none of them important, but they were time-consuming. Then the answering of letters and invitations had taken up a good deal of the afternoon, while Lady Trumper rested, but Franny had been brought up a cup of tea by Shirley, the housemaid, and had been allowed half an hour to have her dinner with the rest of the staff in the kitchen.
This had been a splendidly satisfying meal. Franny had enjoyed every mouthful, and hoped that Aunt Emma was eating the lunch she had prepared for her to heat up while giving polite replies to the questions being put to her by Mrs Down.
Mrs Down had remarked afterwards that Miss Bowen was a nice young lady, but not very forthcoming. Respectable enough, she had conceded, living with an aunt and a young brother who, Franny had told her vaguely, was studying, although she hadn’t said at what.
* * *
FOR THE REST of that week Franny found herself doing a variety of jobs. She was indeed a girl Friday: opening the door to callers on Barker’s half-day, cooking lunch when Mrs Down was prostrated by migraine, taking charge of a toddler while his mother—a niece of Lady Trumper’s—came to call. And besides all this there was the daily routine of post to be opened and answered, phone calls to take, knitting to unravel, bills to be paid...
At least, reflected Franny, going home tired on Friday evening, she hadn’t been bored. She had a week’s wages in her purse and two days to be at home. As a girl who looked on the bright side of life, Franny was happy. She hadn’t been given notice, so presumably Lady Trumper was satisfied with her work. Franny hadn’t expected to be told as much—Lady Trumper wasn’t a woman to praise. After all why, that lady had often asked her nearest and dearest, should she give praise to someone who was only doing their job?
Not that Franny minded that. She didn’t dislike Lady Trumper, but neither did she like her. She was, however, providing Franny with her bread and butter...
* * *
IT WAS DURING the following week that she came face to face with the doctor who had attended to Elsie. She had been sent to the hospital to fetch Elsie back, for her stay there had been prolonged by an infection which had needed treatment and antibiotics. Although Elsie was fit to be discharged she was still not quite herself.
Lady Trumper, wealthy though she was, was also frugal when it came to spending money on anything which didn’t concern herself, and she bade Franny take a bus to the hospital and procure a taxi for the return journey, which was a brief one. And a good thing, too, for it was another grey, damp day. Even in this, the more elegant district of London, the streets looked dreary. Not that Franny minded; it meant she was out of the house for an hour.
It was a short walk from the bus stop to the hospital; she arrived at its entrance with her woolly hat sodden on her head and the mac clinging damply to her skirt and blouse. Her face was wet, too, as were the odds and ends of brown hair which had escaped from the hat. She presented not a shred of glamour, and the professor, coming to the entrance hall as she walked through the doors, cast an amused eye over her person, recognising her at once.
He had told his godmother that he couldn’t remember her face and realised that he had been mistaken. Though not at its best at the moment, he recalled vividly her small, unassuming nose, gently curving mouth and determined chin. It was a face redeemed from plainness by large, long-lashed eyes. Grey, he remembered.
He crossed the vast place and stopped in front of her.
‘Forgive me for not knowing your name, but you were kind enough to help with Lady Trumper’s maid. I had every intention of driving you back from the hospital; I should have told you so. I apologise for that.’
Franny beamed up at him. ‘Oh, that didn’t matter at all; there were plenty of buses. I’ve come to fetch Elsie back to Lady Trumper’s house.’
Franny, chatty by nature, was pleased to have someone to talk to. She didn’t know who he was, of course, but he had a trustworthy face. She would have embarked on an account of Elsie’s accident, but was cut short when he moved a bundle of papers from one arm to the other and took a step away from her. ‘Very nice meeting you, Miss—er...’ he said vaguely, obviously thinking about something else.
He strode off and she wondered if he would remember that they had met again just now. She thought it unlikely. A bit vague, she reflected, but I dare say clever people often are. Being clever must make one feel lonely sometimes, living, as it were, on a higher plane than those around one. Poor man, reflected Franny, going to find out where Elsie was. It was to be hoped that he had a wife and children to keep him normal.
Professor van der Kettener, unaware of these kindly thoughts, had forgotten all about her by the time he was immersed in a bit of tricky heart surgery.
Elsie, still looking a bit washed out, was ready and waiting, eager to get back to her job. ‘Not but what they weren’t very kind,’ she told Franny, ‘but, when all’s said and done, hospitals aren’t like home, are they?’
When they were ready Franny hailed a taxi—much to Elsie’s delight—and on their return to Lady Trumper’s handed Elsie over to Mrs Down, who fussed over her in a motherly fashion, before Lady Trumper sent for her. Franny, sitting at the desk, writing invitation cards for one of Lady Trumper’s bridge parties, listened to her employer laying down the law—extra care in the kitchen was required and Elsie must do her best not to be so careless.
‘The kitchen is well equipped,’ Lady Trumper pointed out. ‘There is no excuse for carelessness. I am a most careful person myself and I expect you to be the same, Elsie. You may go.’
Franny paused in her work. She was quite sure that Lady Trumper knew nothing about knives or kitchens or being tired and sometimes overworked. She spoke her mind without stopping to think.
‘I’m sure Elsie is always very careful, Lady Trumper, but she has to handle knives and all kinds of kitchen equipment. She isn’t in a position to walk away from her work if it gets too much for her. When did you last visit your kitchen, Lady Trumper?’ asked Franny outrageously.
Lady Trumper had become really red in the face and needed to heave several deep breaths before she could speak. ‘Miss Bowen, I can hardly believe my ears. How dare you speak to me in this fashion? The impertinence...’
‘I don’t intend to be impertinent, Lady Trumper, but you made Elsie feel that she had done something wrong. No one in their senses cuts themselves with a kitchen knife. But, of course, sitting here for most of the day, you would find it hard to believe that.’
‘Miss Bowen, leave at once. I am very displeased with you.’
Franny gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Of cou
rse you are annoyed. I expect you feel a bit guilty; one always does when one has been unfair to someone. But I’ll go, although it would be sensible if I were to finish writing these cards first. Another five minutes is all I need.’
Lady Trumper took such a deep breath that her corsets creaked. ‘You will go now...’
The door opened and the professor walked in.
CHAPTER TWO
THE PROFESSOR LOOKED at his godmother, whose blood pressure, he felt sure, was at a dangerous level, and then at Franny, composed and cheerful, obviously on the point of leaving.
‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked placidly.
‘No—yes,’ said Lady Trumper. ‘This girl has had the impertinence to criticise my treatment of one of my maids. I have dismissed her.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t do anything hastily,’ said the professor. ‘This is a free country in which one may express one’s opinion without being flung into prison.’ He turned to Franny.
‘Were you deliberately rude, Miss—Miss...?’
‘Bowen,’ said Franny, and thought what a very large man he was—he would need a large house in which to live... ‘No, I don’t think so, it was just that it was something I had to say.’ She added cheerfully, ‘I should learn to hold my tongue, but I only pointed out that Elsie hadn’t cut herself deliberately. I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?’ She paused. ‘Well, I suppose if one were contemplating suicide... Lady Trumper was rather hard on the poor girl, although I’m sure she didn’t mean to be.’
Franny gave that lady a kindly look and started to tidy the desk. ‘I’ll go.’
The professor crossed the room and laid a large and beautifully cared for hand over hers. ‘No, no. I’m sure Lady Trumper understands now that you spoke with the best intentions.’ He turned to look at his godmother. ‘Is that not so, my dear?’