The Servant Girl

by Maggie Hope

  Matthew waited for her, watching her every move impatiently. ‘At last,’ he commented when she was ready. ‘We’ll go and get something to eat then we’ll find somewhere else to stay. Fetch me my jacket.’

  It was not two strides away from where he was sitting but he enjoyed having her run after him. Hetty made no demur but opened the wardrobe door and took the jacket off its hanger. She bent to pick up his shoes from the floor of the wardrobe and as she did so a letter fell out of the jacket pocket. It was a letter from her to her family, and not the last one she had given him to post either.

  Hetty stared at it then felt in the pocket. Sure enough, there were the other two. She was hidden by the open wardrobe door; she made no sound though she felt like shouting her anger at him. But she had learned to be more subtle and secretive than that.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ called Matthew. Quickly she replaced the letters in the pocket. If he was going to take her out, and it looked like it, she would find a way to post a letter herself, one way or another.

  They ate bacon and egg and baked beans at a cafe on the sea front. Hetty was ravenous for she hadn’t eaten at all the day before. She cleared her plate of the greasy food and took two slices of bread with it. Afterwards, they drove out of the town, through Marske and Saltburn, and on through the iron mining villages which dotted the hills and cliffs and valleys of Cleveland.

  They drove past the entrance to Smuggler’s Cove and Hetty gazed along the road, thinking of Peter and Audrey and little Charlie. How were they getting on with their stepmother now? she wondered. A lot of good she had been to them, she thought sadly. But she would get in touch as soon as she was able, she vowed to herself.

  ‘Stop the car!’ she called suddenly, and with a startled glance at the strained whiteness of her face, he pulled into the side and she dashed out and behind a bush and threw up her breakfast. She stood for a moment, taking huge gulps of fresh air, her heart thudding and the sky and earth whirling round about her. At last the world righted itself and she walked shakily back to the car. Matthew had not moved from his seat. He watched her broodingly.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he started the car again.

  ‘To see a friend of mine.’

  For Matthew had remembered Jeremy. He hadn’t seen him since they were at school together but didn’t reckon that would matter. Jeremy had always been there on the edge of Matthew’s crowd, a quiet, mousy boy. Matthew had used him to run errands, take messages to the girls of the town. Later he’d gone somewhere obscure, Matthew recalled, to study engineering. He remembered that especially as he had always assumed Jeremy would become a Latin teacher or something equally boring.

  They were climbing now, out on the cliffs far above the sea. Hetty gazed out over the vast expanse, the haze on the horizon which could turn into a sea fret and roll inland or simply burn up in the sun, there was no telling. No telling, she thought, just like me and my life. Why can’t I take control of my own future? But she had no answer for herself.

  They turned inland, over the moor, and halted at an isolated house which lay on a fold of the moor. A stone house, foursquare and grand, with small-paned windows and a surprisingly imposing portico.

  ‘Stay there,’ commanded Matthew and she watched from the car as he strode up the path and rang the bell. The door opened and he disappeared inside while she sat on. Half an hour later when the door opened again she was still sitting there.

  ‘You can come in now,’ said Matthew. He glanced critically at her. ‘And for goodness sake, don’t speak more than you have to. And comb your hair!’

  Hetty tugged her comb through, her windswept hair and fastened it back securely with a clip over her ear. Don’t talk, she thought dully. That meant he was ashamed of her again.

  ‘Mrs Fortune? How nice to meet you, I’m Jeremy Painter.’ The man waiting in the hall looked delighted to see them. That was something at least, she thought. Of course, Painter Iron Works. He must be one of the family which owned them. He was about Matthew’s age though smaller built but there was an air of prosperity about him, from his highly polished shoes to his centre-parted hair, smoothed back over a high forehead. Hetty mumbled something and held out her hand which he took. His own was white and the nails were manicured, but the grip was firm.

  ‘I’m delighted you decided to visit.’

  ‘Well, we were near and I suddenly thought of you. Haven’t seen you in years, old boy.’ Matthew sounded hearty, pleased to see this friend of his, thought Hetty. Yet she had never heard of Jeremy Painter before; he had never been mentioned in Fortune Hall, at least not in her presence.

  ‘I’ll have your luggage taken up. You’ll stay for a few days at least, won’t you? Or is there somewhere you have to be?’

  ‘No, no, delighted to accept your invitation, old chap,’ said Matthew.

  Hetty followed a manservant up the stairs, which were similar to the ones at Fortune Hall. Everything felt unreal. In the grand bedroom with its panoramic view over the moors she stood by the window, unsure whether to unpack or not. How could she stay here? How would Matthew explain her lack of clothes? Even the few she had were cheap and shabby.

  ‘Mrs Fortune’ Mr Painter had called her. Did that mean Matthew really would marry her? Not that she cared for herself, not now. But for the baby, she did care. She remembered a couple of illegitimate babies in Morton Main. Poor little mites. Right from the beginning they had been stared at, looked down on. She was determined that would not happen to her baby. She would not go home with a fatherless child, not ever.

  ‘Haven’t you even changed?’

  Hetty jumped as the door opened and Matthew came in, frowning irritably at her.

  ‘I haven’t anything to change into,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Hell, no, nor you have.’ He studied her for a moment then appeared to make up his mind. ‘Come on then, we’ll have to go into Whitby. It’s all right, Jerry’s gone off on business.’ His lip curled in derision. ‘He always was a good little boy. Still, he’s come in handy this time. Makes up for all the times he trailed around after us when we were at school! I should think we’ll be able to stay here at least a week, give me time to look around.’

  In Whitby he bought her a couple of dresses: one a soft apricot wool which clung seductively to her figure and another in turquoise with skirts which swirled round her calves. Hetty had never had such expensive dresses in her life.

  ‘They won’t fit me for long,’ she warned him regretfully. ‘Shouldn’t I have something fuller? The baby will show in a week or two.’

  Matthew shrugged impatiently. ‘It’s now we have to think about,’ he said. ‘I have to go to the bank, you wait for me by the harbour.’ Buying her clothes had made inroads into his money but his allowance was due. Anyway, he reasoned, he wouldn’t be spending anything much this week, they would be living off good old Jerry. He would be drinking Jerry’s whisky. Matthew grinned to himself as he sauntered into the bank. Things weren’t so bad after all.

  Five minutes later he was furiously angry. ‘You must have made a mistake, you bloody fool!’ he shouted at the manager sitting behind his desk. The self-satisfied man looking down his nose.

  ‘No mistake, Mr Fortune,’ he said stiffly. ‘In fact, your father was in only this morning to tell me your allowance has been cancelled. And I’m afraid we can’t cash this cheque as your account is already overdrawn.’

  Matthew stared at him. ‘But he can’t cancel my allowance,’ he cried. ‘It’s from my grandfather!’

  ‘I’m afraid he can, Mr Fortune. He is the administrator of the trusts your grandfather set up for you and your brother.’

  Nothing Matthew could say moved the manager. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ he snarled, and the manager shook his head politely.

  ‘No, it’s just a matter of business.’ He pressed a button on his desk and in only a second or two the door opened and two men were standing outside. ‘Show Mr Fortune out, will you?’ Only when Matthe
w turned back from the door and glared at him did the manager permit himself an icy smile.

  The vindictive old sod! Matthew thought savagely as he strode down the street, his face black with anger so that the people on the pavement hurriedly got out of his way. He didn’t see Hetty at first and rage boiled up in him. If he had to go searching for her again, he would take a horse whip to her, he told himself. He did not wonder why even now the feeling of panic which accompanied his rage whenever she went missing made anything else that was happening to him fade into insignificance. He glared round at the passers-by. She was across the road, gazing into a shop window. He strode over, ignoring the hooting of traffic, and grabbed her arm.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded, and pulled her after him to the car. She didn’t mind, had already posted the card she had bought from a pavement display. It was a picture of a fat woman and a skinny man in bed together but that didn’t matter. It was on the back she had written her message.

  Chapter 24

  ‘Come on, pack our things,’ said Matthew, closing the bedroom door after himself with a bang.

  ‘Pack?’

  Hetty sat up in bed feeling disoriented. She blinked for Matthew had switched on the light as he came in.

  ‘I said pack, didn’t I? You’ve not gone deaf, have you?’

  He strode across to the window and opened the heavy curtains. The first flush of dawn was just lightening the sky.

  ‘But where are we going?’ Hetty dragged herself out of bed and began pulling on her clothes. Her legs and arms were heavy with slumber and her head ached in protest. Nevertheless she took the cases out of the closet and began to fill them.

  ‘Never you mind. You’re going where I go,’ snapped Matthew. He was in a foul temper, having just lost the last of his cash to Jeremy in a card game. Jerry was not the lad he once was, Matthew thought grimly to himself. No, he was showing his true colours now. All evening Jerry had been needling him, reminding him of the slights Matthew and his friends had inflicted on him when they were at school. Hell, the fellow had a memory like an elephant! And now he had the upper hand. Oh yes, like a fool Matthew had played straight into Jerry’s hands. Though to give the fellow his due, he had come up with a solution to their problems.

  ‘You’ve been here a week now, Matthew,’ Jeremy had said after scooping up the last pot of the night. ‘What are your plans?’

  Matthew hadn’t any plans at all, that was the trouble.

  And his mind was on the game. He had been willing Lady Luck to turn in his favour, was devastated when he lost. He had stared blankly at his host.

  ‘Plans?’

  Jeremy waited until he had taken the top off a cigar and lit it to his satisfaction. ‘You don’t have any, do you?’

  ‘I … well, of course.’

  ‘As I understand it, you are broke, old boy, with no hope of getting a sou from your father. Been a bit foolish, haven’t you? But who wouldn’t lose his head over a delectable bit like the one upstairs? Believe me, I envy you, old boy.’

  Matthew glared at him. ‘What do you know about my position?’

  ‘Well, old boy.’ Jeremy tapped the ash from his cigar tip and sat back more comfortably in his chair. ‘You have tended to let drop most of it yourself when we’ve been chatting over a drink or two these evenings.’

  ‘It’s none of your bloody business!’

  ‘No? But you’re living in my house, my friend. My dear old school friend.’ Jeremy paused and Matthew caught a glimpse of malice before the other dropped his eyes. Shifty little weasel that he was.

  ‘Do you want us to go? I assure you, we can be out of the house in ten minutes if that’s what you’re leading up to.’

  ‘Oh, calm down, Matthew, don’t get on your high horse. What I am doing is offering you a job and a house into the bargain.’ Jeremy smiled at him. Maybe he had been mistaken about the malice.

  ‘A job? What sort of job?’

  ‘Oh, nothing too tedious. I want a well-spoken front-man for the office. One who knows the best places to take clients, overseas visitors, people like that. I’ve been doing most of it myself but I just haven’t the time now. What do you say? There’s a house goes with the job.’

  Matthew was thinking rapidly. If he held down a job, even if it was only until he got back on his feet, his father would probably change his mind. ‘What sort of house?’

  ‘Oh, nothing beneath your status, old boy,’ said Jeremy. ‘My grandfather’s house on the coast. Your … er … wife can look after it for me. I’ve been looking for a caretaker for it, a housekeeper really. In fact, you would be doing me a favour. I needn’t bother advertising for one now. I’m afraid there’ll be no other staff, though, she’ll have to see to everything herself.’

  ‘She’s just what you’ve been looking for,’ said Matthew, and rose to his feet. ‘I accept. When do I start?’

  ‘Oh, right away, old boy. Today, in fact. It’s already morning. If you set off now you will be able to get there and drop Hetty off and still be in the office by eleven. I have a client from Holland coming for lunch. You can come with me to learn the ropes.’

  ‘We haven’t discussed my salary.’ Matthew was beginning to feel better about the job now he had had time to get over his initial horror at the thought of work. This wasn’t a job, really. He quite fancied himself visiting all the best places, and at Jeremy’s expense.

  ‘Oh, my accountant sees to such things. Don’t worry, you won’t be disappointed. Now, as I said, you could move today, it’s already morning. Then I’ll expect you at the office at nine.’

  ‘Nine o’clock this morning? I thought you said eleven?’ Matthew was genuinely horrified but Jeremy affected not to notice.

  ‘That’s right, nine. Eleven is a little late, I think,’ he replied and stood up with the unmistakable air of an employer dismissing an employee. The effects of the whisky he had drunk were beginning to wear off Matthew. Maybe this wasn’t such a good deal after all. But what choice did he have? Anyway, he didn’t have to stay long, just until he had convinced his father that he had turned over a new leaf.

  Hetty wandered out of the garden and across the expanse of grass which lay between it and the top of the cliff. There was no road, just a dirt track, and that was muddy with the rain that had fallen yesterday. By, the air was lovely up here, she thought, and it was grand to get out for a walk, to explore the area. Very like the cliffs above Smuggler’s Cove. This was the land of cliffs. Alice had said that ‘Cleveland’ meant land of cliffs. Hetty thought sadly of Alice; how she would have loved to have her living near.

  She looked back at the house, surrounded by a stone wall but the upper storeys visible. A large house, very large, bigger even than Fortune Hall. Hetty sighed. She was trying hard to get it back into some semblance of order but it was so big and she had no help. Matthew was out most of the day and even when he was home he expected her to wait on him, it did not occur to him to help her with anything.

  She remembered the morning she had first seen the house, she couldn’t believe it was where they were going to live. The rooms were so big and the grimy windows made it so gloomy, the dust lay thick on everything. Well, she had got most of the downstairs rooms cleaned up, simply by doing one room at a time. But so far she had done only one of the bedrooms, the one Matthew had elected they should sleep in.

  Sitting down on the grass, she gazed out to sea where a line of steamers chugged their way north to the mouth of the Tees. Or maybe further on to the Tyne. As she did every day, she wondered if her card had reached her mother and father in Morton Main. But even if it had and Mam or Da replied, it would be to Jeremy Painter’s house, that was the address she had put on the card.

  Idly, Hetty began to make a daisy chain as she and Cissy had done so long ago on the grassy banks beyond the gardens of Office Street. She felt a flutter inside her belly and put a hand on it, startled. Surely it was too soon to feel the baby moving? Was it due sooner than she thought? Sighing, she wished s
he had another woman to confide in. It was a month since she had sent the card; she was beginning to fear that there was not going to be a reply.

  Maybe she should begin to make preparations for the baby. Matthew wasn’t interested, she would have to do everything herself. Now was the time, before she got too big and heavy. Rising to her feet, Hetty started to walk back to the house. The garden was wildly overgrown, she had to push branches aside from the path to reach the front door. Maybe next spring, when the baby came, he could sit out in the garden in his pram and she would be working near him, weeding the beds, planting flowers in the empty spaces where weeds had been.

  She went into the house, noting with satisfaction the gleam of polished wood from the furniture, the glass dish on the hall table in which she had arranged sweet-smelling roses. Of course, when her gaze shifted to the stairs, she saw that they were once again covered in a film of dust. Dear Lord, she was tired. The more rooms she cleaned, the more time it took for her to keep them right before she could start somewhere else.

  But it was three o’clock, she had a right to be tired, she had worked from dawn. She didn’t want to start again, not now. Hetty thought of her baby again and had an idea. She would look for a nursery. Surely there was a nursery, and there might be something in it she could use for the baby? She made for the stairs with a new purpose. Surely Mr Painter wouldn’t mind that?

  There were wooden shutters over the tall windows of the first floor, making the rooms look even gloomier. But even with the furniture all covered with dust sheets, she could see that they were meant for adults, not one was a nursery, at least not like the nursery at Fortune Hall. On the second floor there was one room with bars across the window that could have been meant for children but it was disappointingly empty. Hetty opened the shutters and the light flooded in. There was a print on the faded yellow wall, a picture of a teddy bear, but nothing else.