‘I am thankful to say that I have found someone in Exeter who will more than adequately fill your place. I have arranged for her to arrive tomorrow afternoon, and I should like you to show her the routine, such as you have followed, and where to lay her hands on everything, so please put the kitchen in order. Then you can go by the evening train. You have not had your wages yet for last week, so, as you are leaving without notice, the question of money does not arise.’
I didn’t think she was being very kind to someone whose nearest and dearest was dying of Pneumonia, so I said, ‘O.K.’ and let her have another of my coarse laughs, which I knew grated on her gentility, and, with a smirk at Uncle Hugo, went out of the room banging the door behind me. I ran into Dawkes in the corridor, and still feeling vulgarly light-hearted, I buttonholed him. ‘Well, old cock,’ I said, ‘I’m going tomorrow. Whatcher think of that? Puts an end to your “coming to terms”, don’t it?’
He stood there, biting his thumb savagely. ‘I’ll make your name mud before you go, you little b—,’ he muttered, ‘and what’s more, I’ll see that it don’t escape your folks neither. If you have a respectable family, that is, which I doubt.’
‘Oh, they won’t mind at all,’ I said, ‘a spot of poison pen means nothing to them. So if you –’ At this moment the door of Sir Harold’s room suddenly opened, so I fled for the back stairs, leaving Dawkes to do his worst on the spot if he chose. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he ever said a word to anyone – I certainly never heard anything about it. He probably never intended from the start to carry out his threat – he thought that he would be able to scare me into transferring my pitiful little earnings from my pocket to his. He was not really cut out for blackmail, for he was too small-souled ever to carry anything through.
A gratifying concern was shown in the servants’ hall when I announced at supper that I was leaving the next day. All except Dawkes, who again sat cloaked in rage, showed a deep and slightly morbid interest in the Double Pneumonia story.
‘Pneumonia?’ said Miss Biggs, with sad relish, ‘that’s bad. They do say that even if it doesn’t bring you to your grave, it leaves its mark on you for life. Has she had her crisis yet, poor soul?’
‘Coming at any moment, I believe,’ I said, earnestly.
‘It’s a pity she didn’t have it right at the beginning,’ she went on, ‘otherwise the disease takes its toll of your strength. My aunt took Pneumonia three years ago, and the crisis didn’t come for quite a time, and afterwards she couldn’t keep a thing down, and there are certain foods she can’t hold to this day, if you’ll pardon my mentioning it.’
‘I’m sure we’re ever so sorry for you, Mrs D.,’ said Nellie. ‘It’s a real shame you’ve got to go, just when we was all getting on so well together. We shall miss you, shan’t we, girls?’
The murmur of assent wasn’t deafening, but it was enough, with Nellie’s genuine sentiments, to make me feel rather mean to be getting their sympathy undeservedly.
I excused myself early, saying that I must go and pack, for I did not feel equal to staying for the usual gossip over the fire, to the accompaniment of a medley of clicks from Miss Biggs’ knitting needles, teeth, and stay-bones. As I didn’t know anything about Pneumonia, it was getting a bit difficult to discuss the symptoms of the case with that wealth of detail that seemed to be expected.
When I got upstairs, I discovered that three of my aprons were at the wash. I would ask Nellie to send them on to me, as I was not going to have the paragon from Exeter, whose name appeared to be Mrs Macbonn, swanking round the place in them. I set my alarm for an earlier hour than usual as I would have quite a lot to do tomorrow if I was to get the kitchen and larders into good enough order to save my self-respect when she arrived. The combination of Polly and me was not one calculated to make for cleanliness or tidiness. Apart from the fact that we were both messy by nature, I never seemed to have time to put anything away in its right place, and though any governess will tell you that it is just as quick to put a thing where it should go as where it should not, I have never found it so. When it means making treks down stone passages to put cheese in one larder and eggs in another, to satisfy the dictates of tradition, it becomes very unpractical.
When I woke for the last time in my little room, and inhaled its well-known smell with my first conscious breath, I felt quite a pang of regret at leaving these familiar surroundings. I felt it even more when I got up and went to the window to take a last look at the long stretch of green lawn and parkland, damp and fresh in the clean air of early morning. However, I had more important things to do than stand around in my nightdress admiring the beauties of nature. Polly was not yet about when I got downstairs, so I started in on the store cupboards in the kitchen, which were in a hopeless mess. None of the various tins, which held such things as spices and seasonings, seemed to have their lids on properly, and the paper on the shelves was encrusted with a sticky mixture of spillings from everywhere. I would have to put fresh paper down, so I took everything out, and all sorts of treasures turned up in odd corners. I discovered a lump of cheese walking about with its outside covered with a decorative green fluff; and a jar of pickles with grass growing on the top, and probably mushrooms too. All the sugars and things were in their wrong containers, and there was an old, unopened packet of Demerara hard as rock, which I had to attack with a rolling-pin. All this took time, and I only managed to get one cupboard superficially respectable, before it was time to start cooking the breakfast. Polly was on hands and knees as usual; she always cleaned floors in preference to anything else, as she seemed to prefer being on all fours – back to nature, I suppose.
Feeling a last-minute mellowness towards everyone, I hashed up a most appetizing kedgeree for the dining-room, accompanied by large, whole kidneys, whose juicy succulence was in no way impaired by the fact that I had dropped them off the grill on to the floor in my zeal. I even had a belated rush of tenderness for the nurses, and enlivened their boiled haddock with a few tomatoes. My bonhomie didn’t extend as far as Mrs Lewis, however, as she had already made herself a nuisance by demanding an omelette, so I decided to let her wait for it until I had done all the breakfasts. Her bell began to ring before I had finished cooking our kippers, and continued to peal intermittently till Nellie went up to calm her down. She came back to the kitchen to report: ‘“Where’s my breakfast?” she says. “It’s ten minutes late!” I felt like telling her to pray for it – Manna, you know – but I daresay she can’t pray on an empty stomach, so buck up, dearie, or I shall get what for, and you won’t be the only one around here to get the push.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said, affronted. ‘I didn’t get the sack, I gave in me notice.’
‘Only my fun, ducks, only my fun. Oh, for God’s sake!’ as the bell started again. ‘She’s at it again. Get a move on before we all go cuckoo.’
I obliged, and left the kippers, to throw an untidy-looking omelette together, and Polly clattered away with the tray. Mrs Lewis behaved exactly as if it was a day like any other when she came down to order the food. She never unbent to me at all in view of my imminent departure; I supposed I should see her to say good-bye later on. I wondered whether I would have to say good-bye or anything to Lady W— before I left, but as I had never even said hullo when I arrived, it seemed a little unnecessary.
I put Polly on to cleaning out the larders and making them look a bit more sanitary. I myself had to tidy away everything in my bedroom, as well as do a lot of cooking, so I couldn’t do any more in the kitchen, and only hoped that Mrs Macbonn wouldn’t be too critical.
She arrived soon after lunch, tall, gaunt, and grim, with a hold-all grasped in each of her bony red hands and a man’s felt hat skewered to her iron-grey bun by a steel hat-pin. She was desperately efficient. She marched up to her room straight away to gird herself for the fray, and came down looking like an armoured car in the starchiest and most aggressive apron ever seen. I gave her several rather sickly grins of an unnatural heartin
ess in an effort to jolly her up, but it was no good. She tramped behind me as I took her on a tour of the kitchens, commenting only in disapproving monosyllables. She hardly glanced at the cupboard that I had turned out that morning, but fixed a steely gaze on such things as the spoon drawer, and the other store cupboard, which I hadn’t had time to do. Polly had evidently got sick of cleaning out larders, for she had abandoned the last one half-way through. She had put the food on to the floor in order to scrub the shelves and there it still sat: a ham, an apple pie, three cold sausages, and a piece of Gruyère, mutely imploring Mrs Macbonn not to be too hard on it.
When we got back to the kitchen we faced each other in the middle of the floor, and I smiled deprecatingly, but she just gave me one long withering look of pity, and then, turning away, was suddenly transformed into a whirling dynamo of frenzied activity. She fell on the cupboard like a madwoman, and started to clear out its contents with raking sweeps. ‘Pardon,’ she said, knocking into me as I got in her way. ‘Granted,’ I replied, and removed myself dispiritedly to the servants’ hall, where I sat kicking the table legs and listening to her hurrying back and forth among the larders and pantries on her purgative mission.
I had meant to offer to help her cook the dinner, but now I saw that I should be more of a hindrance. She had taken complete possession of my kitchen, so she could jolly well stew in her own juice. When tea-time came, however, I thought I had better go in and tell her about heating up the scones that I had made. It was superfluous as she had already discovered them, and though they were, admittedly, a bit moth-eaten, I was distinctly outraged when I saw that she had gone so far as to throw them away and make a fresh batch of her own. When I went in she was just taking them out of the oven, with much deft flourishing of cloths and oven trays, and I was even more infuriated to see that she had made a perfect batch, risen up to a beautiful lightness, all neat and shapely, with glazed brown tops. Swallowing my jealous resentment, I forced myself to say brightly: ‘What lovely scones, Mrs Macbonn! I’m afraid you’re putting me to shame.’
‘Ah, well,’ she said tight-lipped, ‘you’ll learn some day, I expect.’
‘I’m afraid you found the place rather untidy,’ I pursued, mortifying myself still further for the good of my soul.
She became even more righteous: ‘Well, of course, it’s not at all what I’ve been accustomed to, but I’ll soon get things straight, I daresay. I’m afraid I never could do with disorder round me, but we can’t all be made the same way. Where’s the kitchen-maid? Surely she should be here helping me?’
‘I always let her go off in the afternoon, as there really isn’t much to do. She’s a bit – you know –’ I tapped my forehead, ‘and she likes to wander about outside. She’ll be back in time for her tea.’
‘Well, we’ll soon alter that,’ said Mrs Macbonn grimly. ‘There are one or two things that will have to be reorganized around here, I can see that.’
I wished her joy of reorganizing Polly, who would undoubtedly go over the top at the first word; but I also felt desperately sorry for the poor girl at the mercy of this horse-faced woman.
‘Oh, please,’ I begged, ‘please be nice to Polly. She means so well, and she can’t help being a bit peculiar. You’ll upset her dreadfully if you say anything to her, so please do be kind.’
‘I hope I shall treat her with the fairness which I am accustomed to show to those around me,’ she said, raising the iron-grey bars of her eyebrows; ‘we should all get what we deserve in this life, no more, no less. Incompetence or slovenliness is abhorrent to me.’ There was not much hope for poor Poll then, so I gave it up and went into the servants’ hall where the others were sitting waiting for their tea.
‘What’s she like?’ asked Rose, making a face in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Oh, divine,’ I said; ‘you’ll love her merry little ways.’
Mrs Macbonn came in at this moment, followed by Nellie bearing the teapot. ‘Where do I sit, please?’ she inquired, and was given my seat beside Dawkes, while I went and sat below the salt with Polly. The atmosphere was rather strained. For one thing, Dawkes was still broody as long as I was about, and the Macbonn was unpromising material for whoopee. Stiff as a girder, she sat dispensing tea, our polite conversational remarks rebounding off her like bullets off sheet-iron. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Miss Biggs was talking about the vicar’s beautiful sermons.
‘Perhaps you would like to come with me to church, Mrs Mactart?’ she said kindly. ‘Lady W— always sends us in the Morris with Joseph. May I ask what persuasion you are?’
‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Macbonn, turning not only her head but her whole body round to Miss Biggs, ‘but I live my religion in my life. If I wish to say my prayers I can perfectly well do so in an open field.’
The staggering vision that this conjured up definitely quenched the feeble spark of conversation, and though one or two people tried to revive it by tentative throat clearings, it was no good. I looked at the clock and was thankful to see that it was time for me to go and get my things on if I was to catch my train. When I came down again Mrs Macbonn had retired to the kitchen, so I was able to say good-bye to the others in a less restrained atmosphere. Dawkes had gone to remove the drawing-room tea, so, when no one was looking, I placed in his chair the inverted drawing-pin that I had been saving up for this purpose. Prep-school humour can sometimes be very satisfying even if one is not present at the dénouement.
I shook hands all round; we were suddenly very shy of one another and could only say: ‘Well, good-bye – take care of yourself, good-bye – good luck, and – well – goodbye.’ I popped my head round the kitchen door to wave to Mrs Macbonn, who was pounding steak with brutal thoroughness, and she favoured me with a sort of reserved fascist salute, but her face muscles wouldn’t run to a smile.
Joseph was taking me to the station as Jim was out in the car. I had already said good-bye to him, and received his renewed thanks for my part in his romance, which was now going swimmingly; he had bought Bessie a ring, and she even spoke of him as ‘my fiancy in the motor business’.
The tin suitcase once more found a resting-place in the piggery, and, climbing up beside Joseph, I fell back on to the seat as he let in the clutch with a jerk, and we roared up the back drive and away from Chilford House for ever.
Chapter Twelve
WHEN I GOT home I found it extremely difficult to resume my normal life again. Having been surrounded for so long by the atmosphere of domestic service I felt like a fish out of water, and even to sleep in a decent bed felt peculiar. I thought I might as well go on doing a bit of work while I was in the mood for it. I didn’t want to get another job through ‘Jobfinders’ if it meant paying commission, but it was another matter when they rang me up and offered me ‘casual labour’. I inquired very sheenily whether they wanted commission on it, and the woman at the other end evidently thought this in very bad taste, for she replied in a pinched voice, ‘No, we do not,’ and rang off.
She had offered me two jobs. The first was to cook and wait at a dinner for six people in a flat off Edgware Road. I got on to Mrs Drew, the prospective hostess, and she fluttered and stuttered at me through the telephone in a futile but amiable way.
‘You must think it very stupid of me,’ she said, ‘but I simply don’t know anything about cooking, and my maid suddenly has to go to her uncle’s funeral, just on the day when I had planned this dinner. It’s too late to put the guests off now, and I do so want it to be a tremendous success. Could you really manage the cooking and waiting by yourself?’
I said ‘Yes’ automatically, although I should have added, ‘Not without a lot of chaos.’
‘How splendid,’ said Mrs Drew. ‘I’ll have everything ready for you. My maid is going to tell me what I should order before she goes. You will be sure to come in good time, won’t you? What time will you get here?’
I asked her how much there would be to cook, and a lot of rustling went on at the other end, and she even droppe
d the telephone before she answered: ‘Oh dear, I’ve gone and lost the list, but I think I can remember. Soup, I thought, to start with, or did I finally decide on grape-fruit? No, it was soup because I remember thinking “how warming”. Grape-fruit is refreshing, of course, and rather party-like, too, don’t you think? I wonder –’
‘I should have grape-fruit,’ I said decisively, thinking to save myself trouble.
‘Do you think so? Very well then, let me just write that down. I’m afraid you’ll think me very stupid, but my memory’s so terrible. I simply can’t remember what else I decided on. That list –’
‘Well, shall I come along the day after tomorrow, at about half past four, and you can tell me then?’ I said, as I was getting sick of the ravings and gaspings that were coming over the air.
‘Oh, yes, that will be splendid. The day after tomorrow then – half past four. Splendid – I do hope –’ She still didn’t seem able to ring off, so I said, ‘Good-bye’ firmly and planked down my receiver.
The other job that the agency had offered me was to be a waitress at a cocktail party, which I understood was to be in the nature of a celebration for an engaged couple. I rang up Mrs Elkington, the mother of the bride-to-be, and she put on a suspicious voice and said she must see me before she engaged me, in case I was covered with sores or something, I suppose. The party was not for a week’s time, but I thought I might as well get the inspection over at once, so I arranged to go along to her house near Sloane Square that afternoon. I decided that, to make a change and to pander to the finicky sound of Mrs Elkington’s voice, I would be a very superior parlour-maid, deadly refined, and expecting to be addressed by my surname. I discarded Ye Olde Blacke Hatte for once and got myself up neat, plain, and prosperous, and it all seemed to go down quite well with Mrs Elkington.
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