‘Struth, who done that?’ said a raucous voice from below, and a creature in a green baize apron appeared, shook his head at me reprovingly, and vanished, leaving me to pick up the pieces. I kicked them into a corner, and was just wondering where to go now when Green Baize reappeared from a sort of scullery where he was evidently washing up.
‘In ’ere, butter-fingers,’ he said, and I dumped down my tray hurriedly and fled back up the stairs. I didn’t wish to linger in his scullery as I felt he had me at a disadvantage, not to mention the fact that garlic had figured on his luncheon menu.
I loaded my tray at the bar again and set off on my circuit. Three more rounds and my feet were drawing as never before, but there was still quite a crowd left, so it was no good their telling me that they wanted to have the weight taken off them. It was tiring work and I began to feel a bit dazed and forgot to be Plover all the time. I offered a drink to two men who were talking together, and when one said to the other, ‘What station does one go from for Portsmouth?’ I answered automatically, ‘Waterloo.’ I was horrified, and they were a little startled, but being perfect gentlemen they smiled politely and said, ‘Thank you.’
I pulled myself together after this faux pas and dashed about alertly, spilling some drink down a woman’s back in my excess of zeal. She never noticed, so I hurried away before some kind friend could point it out.
The guests were beginning to thin out, but there were still quite a few who looked as if they would be with us for some time yet. I really felt exhausted, so next time I passed the little door I popped through it and knocked back two cocktails off my tray without drawing breath. I emerged a new woman, beamingly impervious to the suspicious glance that the bald barman gave me.
‘To hell with Plover and her scruples!’ I thought, deftly taking a marron glacé as I passed, without checking my stride.
There were not many people left now and they all seemed to have drinks, so I leaned against a wall and watched them, feeling quite mellow. Ann Elkington was sitting on a sofa having an intimate conversation with someone who was certainly not her fiancé. He was strutting about at the other end of the room, talking business to an elderly bore. Mrs Elkington was having a good gossip with a woman who nodded the ostrich feathers in her hat every time they came to a bit of scandal. The host had disappeared. As one who had also been present since the beginning, I didn’t blame him. I stood on like Casabianca, and some of the people trickled away, till there were only one or two groups left. A voice at my elbow roused me from the coma into which I had sunk. It was the girl who had told me to circulate. She thought me rather a poor fish and said pityingly: ‘Don’t you know you can go now? There’s eats in the kitchen.’
I realized how hungry I was, so I threw my tray down on the bar and ran down the back stairs. I heard a lot of voices coming from the end of a passage, so I went along and there was the entire company with their mouths full of left-over sandwiches and cake. I suddenly felt fearfully shy. It may have been my imagination, but I sensed a rather hostile atmosphere. Nobody had been at all pally all the evening; Plover was hungry, but she was not popular. I spotted Green Baize, and the undesirous barman, and the pig-girl saw me in the doorway and shot a scornful glance at my head. I definitely couldn’t face it, so I crept away to the room where I had left my coat and saw that my cap was sitting rather drunkenly over one eye. However, shy or not shy, I was not going without my money. Luckily the fat butler came out into the passage, so I didn’t have to go into the kitchen.
‘Who are you?’ he said as I accosted him.
‘I’m still Plover and I want my money,’ I said, tired and cross.
‘All right, all right, all right,’ he said, drawing ten shillings out of his pocket in a lordly way and handing it to me with the tips of his fingers.
‘Good naight!’ I said, rallying Plover just once more before letting her pass into the valley of the shadow as I passed out of the back door into the area.
Chapter Thirteen
I FRITTERED AWAY another month or two doing occasional cooking and waiting jobs, but there didn’t seem to be much demand for me in this capacity. Odd jobs like this, of course, are paid proportionately much higher than a regular place, and I suppose people thought they weren’t getting their money’s worth in me. The only person who ever engaged me more than once was a sour old lady, who was willing to pay me three-and-six a time to go and cook her dinner three evenings a week. After one or two treks out to her flat somewhere beyond the Crystal Palace I decided it wasn’t worth it, and in any case she was becoming sourer and sourer as she got to know me better. I sat around at home and waited for the telephone to ring, but there was not much doing. In the absence of more high-class jobs I even went out once as a scullery-maid to wash up after a dinner party – a sordid pastime that turned out to be unexpectedly comic.
I was dumped into the scullery the moment I arrived, with strict injunctions not to stir from the sink. Starting with cocktail glasses, I ploughed my way through the mountains of stuff that were hurled at me by a procession of cheerfully indifferent maids as the dinner upstairs progressed. I was to do it all apparently. No one else intended to have any truck with dishcloths and greasy water – they had other plans for the evening. I gathered from the odd word thrown at me as they crashed in and out that the people upstairs were all going off to a dance at about ten o’clock.
After about two hours’ slavery at the sink, with the skin on my hands becoming wrinkled and decayed-looking from the hot water, I heard attractive sounds of revelry floating down the passage from the kitchen. The noise grew louder, the blare of wireless mingling with shrieks and screams of high-pitched laughter. Although I had been told not to leave my sink, I wasn’t going to be left out of it any longer. I had almost finished my work, anyway, so I threw down my sodden dishcloth and went along to gate-crash the most wonderful party that was being held in the kitchen. The butler, a sporting old devil with white hair, was taking advantage of his possession of the wine cellar key to celebrate his birthday in the best champagne and port that the house could offer. There he sat, jigging one of the parlour-maids on his knee to the tune of the foxtrot that some of the others were dancing.
‘Heh!’ he roared at me as I appeared in the doorway, ‘what d’you think you’re doing in here?’
‘I’ve finished. Can I have a drink?’ I roared back, emboldened by the gaiety of the atmosphere.
‘Make yourself at home, this is Liberty ’All!’ he shouted, and the boot-boy handed me a glass of champagne and said would I like to swing it with him. We swung it. We sang, we danced, we drank, we bumped into people, and played slap-and-tickle with everyone. They were a delightful lot in that kitchen, even if it was at somebody else’s expense. The master of the house was a rich man anyway and could well afford it. I’m sure it was a much better party than any he had ever given upstairs for his debutante daughter, with inane girls and callow youths vying with each other to see who could enjoy themselves least.
I left before the end. I was doing fine with the boot-boy, but I suddenly felt very peculiar and thought I had better take the mixture of port and champagne home and put it to bed. A scullery-maid doesn’t usually go home from her drudgery in a taxi, but this one had to. It was not until I was in bed, and hovering above the black abyss of alcholic oblivion, that I remembered that I had never finished my washing-up. Anyway, I hadn’t had my pay either, but I just didn’t care.
Apart from this one lively incident my jobs in various houses only served to convince me that human nature is not all it might be. I must have struck it unlucky, for apart from the fact that most of the people I went to never wanted to see me again, one meeting was certainly enough for me. I suppose I happened to go to poisonous people because they were the sort whom no maid would stand for long. I was beginning to take a gloomy view of life, but one evening I went out to cook a dinner and discovered that there was hope for the world yet.
Everything went right that evening, it was most peculiar. The
egg that I put into the soup didn’t curdle it, the omelettes were neat outside and runny inside, the meat was tender, and the fried potatoes crisp. Strangest of all, the cheese soufflé was ready at exactly the right moment. I hadn’t dropped or spilled anything when handing round, nor had I gashed or burned myself in my usual style.
I was standing in the kitchen after dinner, pinching myself to see if it wasn’t all a dream. I had just come to the conclusion that it was either something to do with the stars, or else my guardian angel had decided to throw his weight about, when the mistress of the house came in.
Mrs Vaughan had grown-up children – one of them was there that evening – but her hair had refused to go white or her figure to spread. She was like a brisk little sparrow, always hopping about doing things. She had even kept jumping up at dinner to get things instead of mouthing at me, like most of my employers. Her motto was, evidently, ‘If you want a thing done, do it yourself’ – that was probably the way she kept her figure. She pottered round the kitchen, fiddling with things while she talked.
‘Miss Dickens,’ she said, breathing on a glass and polishing it with her handkerchief, ‘we did so enjoy your dinner tonight. Everything went off wonderfully, I thought. I suppose you wouldn’t ever –? No, I don’t suppose you would – well, I don’t see why not after all, it’s worth asking you, anyway. I’ve been wondering if you could possibly help us out. Would you consider coming here as a permanency? – As cook-general, I mean? I have a girl who comes in for housework in the mornings, but apart from that we’re stranded. My cook walked out suddenly – she was mad anyway, poor thing – and I can’t get anyone for love or money. It’s not a large flat, as you can see. The work’s not hard, it’s just my husband and me when there’s no one staying. We never have formal parties or anything, people come into meals quite a lot, of course, and I really think you might be happy here. I’m sure we should be more than happy to have you.’
The idea attracted me, they seemed such very nice people, so I accepted as soon as I could get a word in edgeways. I felt I ought to tell her that my performance tonight had been well above my usual standard, but I didn’t get a chance, because the flow of speech had started once more, and the whole thing was fixed up with scarcely a word from me. She tried to persuade me to live in, because she thought it would be less tiring for me, but I didn’t want to risk any more black iron beds or smelly furniture, so I produced the widowed mother again as an excuse for sleeping at home.
It wasn’t far to go in the morning, and as they didn’t want to be called particularly early I didn’t have to rise at crack of dawn.
I made early-morning tea, and, going into the bedroom, dumped it down between the two mounds of sleeping humanity. Mrs Vaughan woke as I drew the curtains and plunged in the most amazing way straight from sleep into conversation. All about the breakfast it was, and where I should find this and where to put that. I had a feeling she had told it me all the night before, but my brain, which had been conscious for a good hour longer than hers, wasn’t nearly as awake. Thoughts were clicking around in Mrs Vaughan’s mind with whirling speed, but in mine they were still groping about in a confused fog left over from the hours of darkness.
She looked rather sweet in bed, very tiny, with a wee pigtail of thin hair lying neatly over one shoulder. I stood looking at her with my mouth open, taking in some of the talk, and eventually the larger hump in the other bed heaved and said: ‘Really, dearest, what a noise you make.’
‘Well, I must tell Monica what to do, it’s her first morning. If you’d be a little more helpful and say whether you want sardines for breakfast we might get somewhere.’
‘Sardines?’ he said on a huge yawn. ‘Not if they’re like the last lot you gave me.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said his wife, ‘those were the ones Agnes opened and left in the tin for two weeks. They’ve been thrown away days ago – I hope. I had the most amazing dream last night, all about Uncle Rupert. We were in Prague –’ Bird-like, her brain skipped from one subject to the next with bewildering quickness. I was still standing with my mouth open in case there were any more instructions, so I coughed to show I was still there.
‘Oh, yes, Monica, sardines,’ she said, hopping from Uncle Rupert to breakfast with the same agility. ‘And scrambled egg!’ she called after me as I went out. ‘– So I knelt down in the road,’ she had picked up the threads again before I was out of the door.
I started to dust the dining-room, but it was a disheartening task as there were so many things standing about. Framed photographs there were and ornaments and statues of every description, probably presents that couldn’t be thrown away in case the person who gave them should die. I contented myself with flicking a feather duster over one or two things, including a few small silver cups for seaside golf tournaments. It was obviously hopeless to embark on pictures on the walls, there were so many of them that I could hardly see the colour of the wall-paper. When I heard Mr Vaughan go slop-slopping to his bath I laid the table and started to cook the breakfast.
Mrs Vaughan came soon pattering in in her little red slippers to see how I was getting on.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you?’ she asked. ‘I know it’s difficult the first morning. Here, let me take this coffee-pot in for you.’ It wasn’t ready to go in yet as it hadn’t any coffee in it, but I let her trot away with it and went and retrieved it when she had gone back to her room to dress. Mr Vaughan was ready before I was, and prowled about, saying, ‘Why isn’t breakfast in? I shall be late for the office.’
‘Now, darling, you know we never have it before a quarter past nine,’ said his wife, popping out of her room with her mouth full of hairpins and her hands busy with her small bun. ‘You never leave the house before ten anyway, so don’t pretend you’re so hard-working.’
‘I thought of walking across the park this morning. I want to see what our wonderful bureaucratic system is doing about those trenches.’
‘Well, you can see tomorrow. I don’t suppose they’ll have done anything before then. I’ve told you ten times it’s Monica’s first morning so don’t be difficult. She’s doing very well; I think she’ll do.’
I kept the kitchen door open to listen to their idle chatter as I finished getting the breakfast ready. I was glad to see that there was going to be no pas devant la bonne in this household; they either considered me so human that I was almost one of them, or so stupid that I couldn’t take much in.
While they were having their breakfast there was a ring at the back door and I opened it on a large girl of greasy but cheerful aspect. She goggled at me and could have been knocked down by the proverbial feather.
‘Where’s Agnes?’
‘She’s gone. I’m the new cook.’
‘Go on, you don’t say. Things certainly move fast around here. One day I come and there’s Agnes, and the next day I come and “Agnes is gone”, says you. What’s your name, dear?’
‘Monica.’
‘That’s ever so nice, I like that. Mine’s Maud. That’s pretty, too, I think. Mrs Vaughan says there’s a poem about me. Fancy! Ever such a nice lady, Mrs Vaughan is. A great one for a chat, too. No swank, though she does know her place, if you know what I mean. Not above sitting down to a boiled egg now and then when she’s alone. Got a cup of tea for me, dear? Agnes and me, we always used to have a cup of tea before starting on the trivial round, the common task, as we say Sundays.’
Anyone could have got on with Maud, she was such a cheery soul, and we were bosom pals by the time we had finished the second cup.
‘Fortunes now,’ she said, turning both our cups upside down and tapping on their bottoms with a mystic rhythm. ‘Let’s see what you got. Oh, you lucky girl! Look, dear, you got two spoons near the top. That means flirtations, and this ring by the handle, that’s a wedding. That’s a lovely cup, that is. Look at all these dots. They mean money coming to you.’
I was thrilled to the core. ‘How d’you do it, Maud?’ I asked.
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‘Oh, it’s a science, dear, same as astronomy and that. Oh, look!’ she said, turning up her cup, ‘scissors. That’s quarrels. All the leaves at the bottom, too, that means bad luck. I’m afraid you couldn’t possibly call this a swan here, could you? I sail into more prosperous waters if it is. I never seem to have much luck with the cups. Cards, now, that’s another story, but cups! The things I’ve seen! I had a coffin once. That was a terrible day.’
‘Did anyone die?’
‘No, dear, but they might have. You’ve got to think of that.’
The front door slammed. ‘Ah, that’s our boss off to work, bless his heart. Her ladyship’ll be in directly, to order, so we’d better be getting a move on.’ She explained to me how the work was supposed to be divided between us, and then Mrs Vaughan came in and told it me all over again. She and Maud were evidently old friends. They had a little chat about Maud’s mother’s diabetes, before she went off to make beds, and Mrs Vaughan settled down to order the food. She kept dashing out to answer the telephone, which I thought rather complicated things, but she seemed to be able to cope all right.
‘Steak, tonight,’ she would be saying. Ting-ting, ting-ting! went the telephone, and off she would run. She reappeared saying: ‘with plenty of onions,’ as if she had never been away. We got everything settled and she walked out for good, only to reappear two minutes later to say that someone had rung up and asked themselves to lunch. While we were in the middle of rearranging things slightly, the milkman arrived.
‘How’s your little boy getting on, Mr Finnigan?’ she asked.
‘Nicely, thank you, Mum. They say he can come out in a week. It was ever so good of you to send them toys. Thank you ever so much, I’m sure.’
Mrs Vaughan went off to spend the morning at a prison, handing out library books to the convicts. The woman was nothing but a communal benefactress, and I was not surprised when the lunch visitor turned out to be a woman who had left her husband and wanted advice, and, incidentally, money. She got both, from what I could hear as I handed round the cutlets and treacle tart. I was the parlour-maid, Maud only did housework and ‘rough’, and she left before lunch. She fulfilled the duties of a char really, though the word didn’t fit her. She had another cup of tea ‘for the road’, and saw a lighthouse in it, which sent her off in good spirits, babbling of legacies.
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