by Lily Baxter
When she arrived at work next morning she expected to find the usual bustle of activity as the family breakfasts were prepared. In winter the housemaids would be rushing around clearing grates and lighting fires before the family had awakened. The parlour maids would be poised ready to take the silver dishes filled with fried eggs and crisp bacon, devilled kidneys and buttered eggs to the dining room, ready for Mr Winter and Miss Marianne to select whatever took their fancy. Mrs Winter always had her breakfast brought to her room, and never rose from her bed before midmorning. Elsie had learned all this from her mother and she found it hard to imagine living in such idleness and luxury.
She sniffed appreciatively at the delicious aromas that tantalised her taste buds as she walked through the scullery. In the kitchen Mrs Tranter and Cook had their heads bent over a sheet of paper, and they were clearly unhappy.
‘How does she expect us to sort this out at such short notice?’ Cook complained.
‘You’re the expert, Mrs Coker. Surely you learned the French names for all these dishes when you were training as a cook.’
‘No,’ Mrs Coker said flatly. ‘It never came up. We’re in England and we don’t do fancy French stuff.’
‘But Mrs Winter wants to impress the guests.’
‘I started working in the kitchen at Belvedere Castle when I was ten, and they didn’t have menus written in French, English or any other language. It would have been considered very vulgar and not done.’
‘Well, Mrs Winter wants it like this and who are we to argue?’
Mrs Coker lowered her voice. ‘She’s not top drawer. Her father was in trade, we all know that, and it shows.’
‘Shh.’ Mrs Tranter glanced round anxiously, but the kitchen maids within earshot were either too busy to listen or feigning deafness. ‘Not so loud.’ Her gaze fell on Elsie and she beckoned to her. ‘I want a word with you.’
Elsie hurried over to them. ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit late, but I had to make Ma comfortable.’
‘This would have been something that came easily to your mother, Elsie. Did Monique teach you to speak French?’
‘Yes, Mrs Tranter. I spoke French before I learned English.’
‘But you were born in Sutton Darcy, weren’t you?’ Mrs Coker fixed her with a penetrating stare.
‘Yes, Mrs Coker.’
‘Never mind that,’ Mrs Tranter said impatiently. She thrust the menu into Elsie’s hand. ‘Can you translate this into French and write out twelve copies in a neat hand? Mrs Winter wants one put at each place setting this evening.’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘You may go to my office and Phyllis will take your place for as long as it takes you to complete the task.’
Phyllis muttered something beneath her breath as she headed for the scullery.
‘If you’ve anything to say then speak up, Phyllis Piper.’
‘It was nothing, Mrs Tranter,’ Phyllis called from the depths of the scullery.
‘There’s a lot to do today,’ Mrs Tranter said firmly. ‘We must do our best to make Miss Marianne’s twenty-first birthday dinner a truly memorable event. All the guests are important but there is a family from Paris amongst them.’ She turned to Elsie with a thoughtful look. ‘Are you fluent in French?’
‘A little out of practice, but yes, I think so.’
Mrs Tranter’s stern expression melted into a beaming smile. ‘A French-speaking maidservant would be certain to impress the guests. Come with me, Elsie. I’ll see if we have a black dress that will fit you. There are plenty of caps and aprons in the linen cupboard. You can go to my office when we’re done.’ She marched off, leaving Elsie little option but to follow her.
‘I have a black dress at home, Mrs Tranter. Until recently I worked for Mrs Tonbridge at Rose Hill.’
‘You are a trained lady’s maid?’ Mrs Tranter said, glancing over her shoulder.
‘I am.’
‘Well don’t get ideas above your station. This is only a temporary position. Tomorrow you will go back to washing dishes and scouring pans, and then only until your mother is sufficiently recovered to return to work.’
Elsie spent all morning in the housekeeper’s office translating the menu into French and copying it out twelve times in her best copperplate. Mrs Tranter inspected each one, even though she had admitted she did not understand a word of French. ‘Excellent,’ she said with a smug smile. ‘I’ll show these to Mrs Winter. By the way, she wants you to take Nancy’s place when the guests arrive this evening. Mr Soames will tell you what to do.’
‘I’ll do my best, Mrs Tranter.’
‘In the normal course of events you wouldn’t speak to the guests, but Mrs Winter wants you to pay particular attention to the rich French banker and his wife. Mr and Mrs Bellaire are coming with their unmarried son, Henri. Do you understand what I’m saying, Elsie?’
‘Yes, Mrs Tranter.’
‘And you are to assist Mr Soames in the dining room. Nancy will be there too and you will do as she does. Now, you may go home and get your dress.’ She glanced down at Elsie’s scuffed shoes. ‘I hope you have a better pair than that.’
Monique was thrilled to learn that Elsie had been promoted, even if it was a temporary measure. ‘They have seen that you are special, chérie,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You’ve been chosen to impress the guests.’
Elsie plumped up the pillows. ‘It’s only because I speak French. Who are these people that Mrs Winter wants to impress?’
‘Madame Bellaire and Miss Marianne’s mother met at finishing school in Paris. When the colonel was posted to Delhi, Miss Marianne was sent to boarding school in Buckinghamshire, and she spent every summer with the Bellaires in the south of France.’
Elsie nodded her head. ‘I remember now, although I wasn’t very interested at the time. What went on at Darcy Hall was like something I read about in books.’
‘Mr Bellaire owns a bank in Paris and he’s very rich. His son would be quite a catch and all the servants know that Mrs Winter is keen to see her niece married and out of the way. Miss Marianne is and always has been a bit of a handful, as you know. She turned the whole house upside down when she was younger.’ Monique covered her mouth with her hanky as a bout of coughing overcame her.
‘You mustn’t overtire yourself, Ma,’ Elsie said anxiously. ‘I’ll get home as soon as I can and tell you all about it.’
Monique lay back against the pillows, pale and exhausted, but her eyes were shining. ‘Perhaps Mrs Winter will offer you a permanent position.’
‘Maybe, Ma. We’ll see.’ Elsie measured out the prescribed dose of laudanum and dropped it into a glass of water. ‘I wish I didn’t have to work tonight. You will be all right, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will. You must remember every little detail to tell me.’
Elsie waited while her mother drank the medicine. She refilled the glass with water and set it on the small table at her bedside. ‘I’ll get my dress and shoes and then I’m off. Wish me luck, Ma. I’ve never waited on table for a posh party.’
‘You’ll be fine. You’re a clever girl; you can do anything if you put your mind to it.’
Wearing her black dress with a starched white headband and freshly ironed apron, Elsie waited nervously in the oak-panelled entrance hall, standing just behind Soames as he opened the doors to admit the guests. Mr and Mrs Winter waited in the drawing room to greet them but Marianne had not yet put in an appearance. It was a warm evening and one by one the chauffeur-driven limousines pulled up outside the manor house, depositing the affluent owners in style. There were no coats to take but the gentlemen sported white silk scarves, gloves and top hats, which they handed to Elsie without so much as a second glance. The ladies glittered in their beaded silk-chiffon gowns with diamond earrings and necklaces adding an extra fiery sparkle. Soames wafted them to the drawing room and Elsie was left alone, but at that moment the last guests arrived and Monsieur and Madame Bellaire were admitted by Fred, who was a gardener by day but had
been compelled to put on an ill-fitting footman’s livery for the occasion and was sweating profusely.
Monsieur Bellaire handed his hat, gloves and silver-headed cane to Elsie. His elegant wife eyed her curiously, but before she could speak a young man strode into the hall, coming to a sudden halt when he saw Elsie. ‘Marianne?’ he said, laughing. ‘Is this one of your pranks?’ His dark eyes flashed with amusement.
Elsie bobbed a curtsey. ‘I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir,’ she murmured in French. ‘I am Elsie.’
‘No!’ He twirled her round. ‘You are joking, of course.’ His English was perfect but with a slight accent that made him even more attractive. ‘You are a little devil, Marianne Winter.’
Chapter Two
ELSIE FELT HERSELF blushing furiously. ‘I am sorry, sir. But I am not who you think I am.’
‘I should say not.’ Marianne’s voice rang out behind them. ‘What is going on? Have I stepped into a French farce?’
Henri stared from one to the other. ‘Marianne?’
‘How could you mistake a maidservant for me, Henri?’ She smiled, but Elsie was not fooled for a moment. It was obvious to her that Miss Marianne was both hurt and angry.
‘I beg your pardon, ladies,’ Henri murmured in French.
‘She speaks English,’ Marianne said sharply. Her lips curved into a smile but her eyes flashed. ‘She’s a girl from the village.’
Elsie bobbed a curtsey. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Marianne.’
Marianne opened her mouth to speak but Henri forestalled her. ‘The mistake was mine, mademoiselle.’ He took Elsie’s hand and raised it to his lips.
For a fleeting second he held her gaze with a sympathetic smile and her skin tingled at the touch of his lips. She stood transfixed, unable to speak or move.
‘How extraordinary,’ Madame Bellaire murmured. ‘There is a likeness, I suppose.’
‘I can’t see it myself.’ Monsieur Bellaire kissed Marianne on both cheeks. ‘You look beautiful. It is too long since we last met.’
Marianne gave him a beaming smile. ‘Thank you, monsieur. I missed my summer visit to your beautiful chateau at Le Lavandou.’
‘I don’t know when we will enjoy such luxury again,’ Henri said with a heavy sigh. ‘The German army is advancing all the time, but we will fight them to the last man. They won’t capture Paris.’ He proffered his arm to Marianne. ‘I’m going to enlist when we return home.’
Madame Bellaire sent him a warning glance. ‘There is to be no talk of war this evening, Henri. We are here to celebrate Marianne’s coming of age.’
‘And it was so good of you to come all this way just for me.’ Marianne laid her hand on Henri’s sleeve. ‘Come and meet my aunt and uncle.’ They walked off in the direction of the drawing room followed by Henri’s parents, leaving Elsie standing in the hall, not knowing quite what to do.
She was relieved to see Soames hobbling towards her, but his expression was not encouraging. ‘Why are you standing there doing nothing?’ He glanced anxiously at the pile of top hats, scarves and gloves that she had placed on an ornately carved side table. ‘The guests’ belongings should be put in the cupboard, taking care to ensure that they are paired together. It would be a disaster if you mixed them up.’
Elsie stared at the panelled wall. ‘I don’t know where it is, Mr Soames.’
He tut-tutted. ‘You should have been given instructions earlier. I can’t do everything.’ He pressed one of the oak panels and as if by magic a door opened to reveal a deep cupboard. ‘Sort that mess out and then come to the dining room. Observe Nancy; follow her lead and try not to spill anything.’
In the dining room Elsie stood back, watching carefully while Soames and Nancy moved round the table like dancers in a beautifully choreographed ballet. The soup was served, followed by the fish course and then the entrée. Sorbets were brought to clear the guests’ palates in preparation for the grand entrance of the main course. Graham Winter drank heavily, leaving his wife, Josephine, to preside over the meal which she did nervously at first, trilling with laughter at everything Colonel Mason said while Cora looked on with pursed lips. Marianne sat between Henri and the local magistrate, Sir John Galbraith, and she slipped naturally into the role of hostess, putting her aunt firmly in her place.
Elsie could not help being impressed by the seemingly effortless way in which Marianne engaged everyone in conversation, diverting attention from her uncle’s clumsy attempts to act as head of the household and her aunt’s lack of social graces. Sir John’s mousy little wife spoke only when spoken to, even though Madame Bellaire did her best to make sure she was not completely ignored, while Monsieur Bellaire chatted to the vicar’s wife, who was unlucky enough to sit next to Graham Winter. She blushed rosily every time he made an inappropriate remark, which Marianne attempted to cover up by changing the subject. Eventually he fell asleep over the dessert and had to be helped from the room by Fred and Soames. Marianne waved aside her aunt’s feeble attempts to apologise. She rose to her feet and breaking from tradition suggested that they might all like to adjourn to the drawing room for coffee. Elsie could only admire her coolness and the aplomb with which she treated a situation that had threatened to spoil the evening. She felt quite sorry for Josephine Winter, whose plans had gone sadly awry, leaving her the object of pity instead of being hailed as a successful hostess.
Elsie stood aside as the guests rose from their seats, somewhat bemused by the odd turn of events, and trooped out of the dining room. Henri paused for a moment as he was about to walk past her. ‘This has been quite an evening, mademoiselle. I apologise again for my mistake earlier on.’
Lost for words she managed a shy smile and bobbed a curtsey. Marianne gave her an appraising look as she took Henri’s arm and swept out of the room.
Nancy nudged Elsie in the ribs, grinning. ‘You’re for it now. Fred saw what the French chap did. He thought you was Miss Marianne. What a laugh.’
‘It was embarrassing. No wonder she was annoyed.’
‘Well, you’re only helping out, so she can’t sack you,’ Nancy said cheerfully. Her smile faded and she put her head on one side. ‘But if you was done up like her you could pass for sisters.’
‘Get on with clearing the table,’ Soames said impatiently. ‘There’s work to be done.’
Nancy began stacking the crockery onto a galleried tray. ‘They say the colonel, Miss Marianne’s father, was quite a one when he was young.’ She winked and grinned. ‘You know what I mean?’
‘No,’ Elsie said flatly. ‘And I don’t want to know either. There’s always someone ready to gossip and spread rumours.’
‘Not me, I promise you.’ Nancy picked up the tray. ‘I’m just taking this lot down to the scullery, Mr Soames. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
Soames glanced round the room, shaking his head. ‘It wasn’t like this in the old days when Colonel and Mrs Winter presided over dinner parties. The world is changing and not for the better. Finish clearing up, Elsie, and check with Cook before you go home. She might need help in the kitchen.’
‘Yes, Mr Soames.’
He left the dining room and Elsie worked methodically until the table was clear and everything ready to take down to the kitchen. Fred had been sent to help and he took the heaviest tray. ‘This isn’t the sort of work for a man,’ he grumbled. ‘I’m going to the recruiting office tomorrow.’
Elsie managed a smile. ‘Good luck, Fred. I think you’re very brave.’
His ruddy cheeks flushed to a deeper shade of red. ‘Thanks, Elsie. I wish everyone thought like you. My old mum is going to kill me when she finds out.’ He lumbered out of the dining room, his heavy footsteps clumping on the polished floorboards as he made his way to the kitchens. Elsie picked up a tray of glasses and was about to follow him when the door opened and Henri Bellaire strolled into the room. He came to a halt with an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but my mother thinks she left her lorgnette on the tab
le.’
Elsie put the tray down again. ‘I haven’t seen it, but I’ll have a look.’ She knew she was blushing but she went in search of the missing eyeglass and found it on the floor beneath Madame Bellaire’s chair. She handed it to him. ‘It’s lucky no one trod on it.’
‘Thank you, Elsie. It is Elsie, isn’t it?’
She kept her eyes averted. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are you angry with me, Elsie?’
She looked up and realised that he was serious. ‘No, sir. Of course not. It was a mistake.’
‘You are very alike,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘At least in looks, but not, I think, in temperament.’
‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’
‘You don’t have to treat me like the enemy,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘All this will change, you know. The feudal system imposed by the rich on the poor will be consigned to history.’
‘If you say so, sir.’
He looked her in the eye. ‘The words tumble from your lips, but I don’t believe it’s what you think or feel.’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think or feel, sir.’ She held his gaze.
‘You don’t believe that and neither do I.’
‘All right, then. Since you want to know what I think – you might equally say that the oppressive system imposed on women by men should be consigned to the history books. Women should have the vote and be able to do jobs that have only been done by men. That’s already begun to happen.’
‘I knew it.’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You have the face of an angel and the soul of a suffragette.’ He clicked his heels together. ‘I salute you, Elsie.’ He turned at the sound of footsteps.
Soames stood behind him with a stony expression on his face. ‘May I be of assistance, sir?’
Henri waved the lorgnette at him. ‘No, thank you, Soames. I came looking for this. Thank you for your help, Elsie.’ He strolled out of the room, and Elsie snatched up the tray.