Paradise Park

by Iris Gower

  ‘RUM LOT, THESE Buchans.’ Mrs Jones was kneading dough with vigour, pummelling it within an inch of its life. ‘Mrs Buchan is enough to try the patience of a saint, and as for that husband of hers, he’s a ne’er-do-well. I’ve only been here six months and already I’m thinking of finding myself a new position.’

  Rhiannon looked up from the sink and saw that the cook was flushed from her neck to her hairline. Something had really got her temper up.

  ‘Duw, duw, it’s enough to turn an old woman silly – all these rows and all the banging of doors. I thought the master and mistress were supposed to show us how to behave.’

  ‘I suppose they have off days too,’ Rhiannon said. ‘And Mrs Buchan did warn me not to take any notice of her little moods.’

  ‘That’s all well and good but when it comes to having my honesty called into question I draw the line.’

  Rhiannon shook the water off the last of the plates and stacked it on the wooden table beside her. ‘I’m sure no one doubts your honesty.’ She dried her hands on her apron. ‘In any case, you’d think with their sort of money a few more pounds spent at the grocer’s or the butcher’s wouldn’t make any difference.’

  ‘Well, it does! Called me into his study, Mr Buchan did, and asked me to explain the accounts for the last month. I told him Mrs Buchan likes things done proper and if he didn’t want to spend the money not to give so many lunches and dinners to a gaggle of disagreeable folk who turn up their noses at good home cooking.’

  Rhiannon was intrigued. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He looked as if he would dismiss me on the spot at first but then he burst out laughing. Told me I was quite right.’

  ‘Good for him, then.’ Rhiannon pushed the kettle on to the fire. ‘Cup of tea, Mrs Jones?’

  ‘Aye, good idea. Let’s sit down a while.’ She placed a cloth over the dough and set it down in the hearth. ‘Just let that breathe.’ She smiled. ‘Have I been going on a bit?’

  ‘Of course not. I think you’re right to say what you think to folk.’

  Mrs Jones sat in her rocking chair and kicked off her shoes. ‘Ah, that’s lovely, that is. Couldn’t do me a favour, could you, cariad?’

  ‘Just ask and I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Fetch me a bowl of nice warm water to soak my feet in and you’ll be my friend for life.’

  Rhiannon nodded. ‘I’ll push the kettle on the side of the fire and warm some more water. Shall I put a bit of mint in the bowl? It’s supposed to be refreshing.’

  ‘Aye, go on, then.’ Mrs Jones had been good to Rhiannon: in the few weeks she’d been there, Mrs Jones had made her second-in-command in the kitchen. The other girls were younger than Rhiannon, more scatter-brained, and didn’t do half the work she did.

  ‘You was a lucky find, you know,’ Mrs Jones said, pushing her stockings down over her varicose veins. ‘These young ’uns haven’t got an ounce of elbow grease between them.’

  Rhiannon nodded, grateful that she no longer had to scrub floors and carry coal and water upstairs. Those jobs had been delegated to the ‘young ’uns’. She smiled to herself. Violet and Hetty were only a year or so younger than she was but they had lived the life of the innocent while she had been a harlot.

  She made the tea and prepared the bowl of warm water for Mrs Jones. ‘There we are, then. Put your feet in that while you drink your tea. You’ll soon feel better.’

  ‘Oh, it’s heaven on my corns, that is.’ Mrs Jones swished the water between her plump toes. ‘I’m that grateful to you for your kindness.’

  ‘I’m sure Hetty or Vi would have done the same if you’d asked them, they’re not bad girls.’

  ‘No, but they would have pulled a face. Last time I asked Hetty for a bowl to soak my feet in she told me it wasn’t part of her job, cheeky dab.’ She watched as Rhiannon built up the fire. ‘Sit down, girl, you’re looking tired yourself.’

  ‘I think I will, Mrs Jones.’ Rhiannon sat at the table and rested her elbows on the white-scrubbed top. ‘I am tired, but I’m enjoying the work much more than I thought I would. Sometimes I can pretend I’m keeping house for myself.’

  ‘Some hope, Rhiannon. You’ll never own a house like this, unless you get a rich man for a husband.’

  ‘I won’t ever depend on any man,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Sometimes I feel sorry for Mrs Buchan. She’s not happy, is she? She never shares a room with Mr Buchan.’

  ‘Don’t blame her neither!’ The cook fanned her face with her apron. ‘That man has bedded more women than we’ve had roast dinners.’

  ‘Well, we don’t know that for sure, do we?’

  ‘Yes, we do.’ Mrs Jones smiled wickedly. ‘The girls come back to me with plenty of gossip from the maids of other big houses. And I’ve heard the pair of them quarrelling. Mrs Buchan was telling him to sling his hook one day, but he won’t go – not him! He’s too keen to get his hands on Mrs B’s railway shares, whatever they are.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because he keeps on about them. He asks her all the time to give him some and she always refuses. In a ladylike way, mind.’

  The cook leaned closer to Rhiannon and lowered her voice. ‘That Mr Fairchild’s been round here a lot.’ She nodded, and her chins wobbled. ‘I think he’s got a liking for Madam and she for him.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think Mrs Buchan would do anything improper,’ Rhiannon said. ‘She’s a nicely brought-up lady, isn’t she?’

  ‘Aye, well, a woman gets lonely when she goes to an empty bed every night. Mrs Buchan’s got hot blood in her veins, I’ll wager.’

  Rhiannon sipped her tea. It was hot and sweet and she savoured the taste as she tried to imagine Mrs Buchan in bed with a fancy man. Rhiannon wouldn’t blame her: she had seen for herself how the woman’s husband treated her. It was strange how fate wove its web: she had known many men and Mrs Buchan only one – perhaps it would do her good to find a lover.

  ‘Doesn’t Mr Buchan notice that this Fairchild man is interested in his wife?’

  Mrs Jones shook her head. ‘Don’t seem to care. I wouldn’t be surprised if he planned it all.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it would ease his conscience if Mrs Buchan was to fall from the straight and narrow like he’s done.’

  Rhiannon doubted it: men were not made like that – at least, not the men she had known. They guarded their women with a ferocity that had nothing to do with love. It was all about holding on to what was theirs.

  A sudden clanging of saucepans from the scullery made Mrs Jones jump. ‘Duw, those girls are noisy.’ She chuckled. ‘Just as well, mind. I was about to drop off.’ She pushed the bowl of water away gently with her foot. ‘Get Hetty to empty that out the back then give it a good scrubbing. Oh, and pass my shoes and stockings. It’s time I got back to work.’

  ‘Have another cup of tea and rest yourself for a while longer – you deserve it.’ Rhiannon took the bowl into the scullery. ‘Hetty, will you throw the water out in the yard then wash the bowl, please?’

  ‘What’s wrong with you doing it, then?’ Hetty said sharply.

  ‘Because I’ve other work to do.’ Rhiannon’s tone was just as sharp.

  ‘Funny that, isn’t it, Vi?’ Hetty’s voice was full of mock-innocence. ‘Funny how doing housework is harder than lying on your back all day.’

  Rhiannon stared at the girl, who had the grace to look away. ‘If you’ve anything to say to me just say it. Don’t make sly remarks.’

  ‘Well, you was one of them loose women living by the railway track, wasn’t you?’

  Rhiannon went closer to Hetty and looked her in the eye. ‘And what if I was?’

  ‘Well, then, you’re no better than you ought to be, is she, Vi?’

  Rhiannon took a deep breath. ‘That was a long time ago and I want to forget all about that life now.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think other folk can forget that easily, see? How could you do it, Rhiannon, sleep w
ith all those awful men?’

  ‘If you’d ever gone without food for days you might not be asking me that.’

  ‘Go on.’ Hetty smiled spitefully. ‘I expect you liked having a different man in your bed every night.’

  Rhiannon grasped the girl’s apron straps and pushed her up against the wall. ‘I hated it. Some of the men treated me like dirt under their feet. Now, if you breathe a word of this to anyone else I’ll give you a damn good hiding. Do you understand?’

  ‘All right, I didn’t mean any harm.’

  ‘Just as well I learned how to look out for myself when I lived in the shanty town. If it meant laying a woman out flat with my fist that’s what I did.’ She released Hetty. ‘Now, hold your tongue or you’ll learn just how nasty I can be.’

  ‘All right! Don’t get so mad – I was just teasing you.’

  Rhiannon walked to the door. ‘Remember this, Hetty. If I’m suddenly dismissed I’ll know who to blame.’

  As she went back into the kitchen Rhiannon was trembling. Mrs Jones was still barefoot but her head was on the table and she was snoring like a bull. Rhiannon smiled. Poor woman, the work was too much for her. She took a cushion from one of the chairs and put it under Mrs Jones’s feet. ‘Can’t have you getting chilblains, can we, old dear?’

  Quietly, Rhiannon went on preparing the food for the evening meal. She opened the oven and the smell of the meat roasting made her mouth water. She looked at the clock. It was a long time until supper – and then she smiled. There had been a time when she didn’t eat from one day to the next, but that was long ago.

  Rhiannon filled the big pan with water, put it on the fire and waited for it to boil. The pudding was ready to be cooked and she lowered it carefully into the water.

  The two younger maids came into the kitchen. ‘There,’ Hetty said, ‘that’s all the work in the scullery done. Anything in here we can help with, Rhiannon?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Rhiannon said easily. ‘I don’t want to be accused of overworking you, do I?’

  ‘Look, Rhiannon, I’m sorry I picked on you about the shanty town. It’s none of my business and I won’t go running to Mrs Buchan carrying tales, I promise.’

  ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘Is there any tea in the pot?’ Violet asked, and Rhiannon nodded. ‘Aye, help yourself. Though I’d top it up with boiling water if I were you. It might be cold by now.’

  The girls sat at the table with their heads together and Violet giggled over something Hetty said. Rhiannon had the feeling they were talking about her, but they were just children, really, still tied to their mothers’ apron strings.

  Mrs Jones woke as suddenly as she had fallen asleep. ‘Trust you two!’ She frowned. ‘I might have known you’d be giggling as soon as I took my eyes off you.’ She sighed and looked down at her feet. ‘Rhiannon, there’s kind of you to put a cushion on the floor for me. You’ve saved my toes from dropping off, with the cold coming up from the flags. I suffer enough bone ache as it is.’

  ‘How do you know Rhiannon did it?’ Hetty asked. ‘It might have been me or Vi.’

  ‘No fear of that.’ Mrs Jones pulled on her stockings. ‘Neither of you would think of anything so kind.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ Hetty said. ‘Our Rhiannon is perfect, isn’t she? How can we hope to live up to her?’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Jones said severely. ‘Rhiannon is not perfect but she’s a kind, thoughtful girl and you two would do well to learn from her.’

  ‘How to please the men, you mean?’ Hetty said, and Violet nudged her arm in an effort to shut her up.

  ‘Oh, you’ve heard, then?’ Mrs Jones’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘Heard what, Mrs Jones?’ Hetty was grinning.

  ‘Heard that Rhiannon was once Bull Beynon’s woman and lived in a hut on the side of the railway track.’ Mrs Jones rested her arms on the table and stared across at the two girls. ‘Look at home before you judge folk.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Violet said huffily. ‘I’m a respectable girl and so is Hetty.’

  ‘Well, for a start Hetty was an early baby, and we all know what that means, don’t we?’

  Violet stared at her, blinking rapidly. ‘I don’t know what it means, Mrs Jones.’

  ‘It means her mam and dad had a shotgun wedding. And you, Vi, your father ran off with Joe the Milk’s daughter when you were a baby. Your mam calls herself a respectable widow and we all keep quiet about that.’ She sank back in her chair. ‘Don’t forget that I’ve lived in Swansea all my life, worked in a dozen houses, some big, some not so big, and I hear any gossip that goes around. I’d go so far as to say I hear the gossip before everybody else.’

  Violet looked down at her hands and Hetty was biting her lip, her cheeks flushed bright red. Rhiannon felt almost sorry for the girls but they had only got what they deserved.

  The next few hours flashed by in a whirl of activity. Supper was served, course by course, and it seemed as if the meal would go on all night. But at last the well-dressed guests had finished and slowly began to drift into the other rooms, leaving the table littered with napkins and empty plates.

  Rhiannon sighed. There was a mountain of dishes to be washed – she’d be lucky to get to bed by midnight.

  When she returned at last to the kitchen she saw that Mrs Jones’s plump arms were folded over her ample bosom. ‘Now then,’ she said, ‘you two girls can see to the dishes. Me and Rhiannon done most of the cooking and carrying.’

  Hetty claimed her back was aching but Mrs Jones soon put her in her place. ‘Don’t you think we’re all tired, girl?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you think you get your wages for but it’s not turning your nose up at doing dishes.’

  ‘All right, then, don’t go on about it.’ Hetty glared at her but vanished into the back kitchen.

  ‘Riddle out the fire, Rhiannon,’ Mrs Jones said, ‘and then you can go up to bed. You look fair washed out.’

  The next day, after luncheon, Mrs Buchan sent for Rhiannon.

  ‘Good Lord!’ Mrs Jones frowned. ‘What can she want with you?’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’ Rhiannon undid her apron. ‘I’ve got a funny feeling that Hetty has a hand in this.’

  ‘Why’s that? I know she’s a cheeky little madam but I don’t think she’d go running to Mrs Buchan with tittle-tattle.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Rhiannon made her way up the stone steps towards the hallway, her mind racing. What was she going to do if she was dismissed? Where would she go? She would never find a decent job again if folk were reminded she was one of the shanty-town women.

  Mrs Buchan was alone in her room and for that Rhiannon was grateful. If she was to be humiliated at least it would be in private. She bobbed a curtsy. ‘I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, Mrs Buchan?’

  ‘It’s come to my attention that you are of questionable reputation.’ Jayne Buchan stared at her in open curiosity. ‘Is it true that you were once . . . how shall I put it? . . . a loose woman?’

  There was little point in lying. ‘It’s true, Mrs Buchan, but I gave up that life a long time ago. I worked as a respectable housekeeper for Mr Cookson the engineer for almost a year.’

  Mrs Buchan stared at her. ‘And you were not averse to sleeping in his bed, I understand?’

  Rhiannon sighed in resignation. ‘That’s right. It seemed fair exchange for a life of comfort with only one man to please instead of many.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see how I can keep you on here.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mrs Buchan, I understand. I’ll pack my things at once.’

  ‘What made you do it, Rhiannon? Surely working in service – indeed, anything – must be preferable to being a whore.’

  Rhiannon was stung by Mrs Buchan’s tone. She drew a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. She longed to ask if Hetty had been the bearer of ill tidings but what was the point? She decided to be truthful, and if it shocked Mrs Buchan out of her smugne
ss so much the better.

  ‘I lost my innocence while I was still only a child,’ she said flatly. ‘The lodger in the house where I lived thought he would teach me a lesson about life and he kept on teaching me until I was old enough to protest.’ She shrugged. ‘After that it seemed easy to fall into another man’s arms in return for food and a place to sleep.’

  ‘How dreadful.’ Mrs Buchan stared at her in wide-eyed horror. ‘Was this man ever punished?’

  Rhiannon shook her head. ‘Why punish a man for deflowering a girl from the slums? It probably happened every day where I lived. I lost my self-respect. I thought I was worthless, fit only for the company of drunkards who would use me for a night then pass me on to the next man. I’m sorry for it now and if I could go back I’d change my life.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, Mrs Buchan. I’ll go and pack and get out of your way as soon as I can manage it.’

  ‘No, wait,’ Mrs Buchan said. ‘I’m impressed by what you say and, what’s more, I’m going to keep you. I think you deserve a chance in life, a chance you never had as a child. I can see you’ve repented of your old life and tried to reform.’ She paused. ‘Another thing, Cook speaks highly of you and I have a lot of respect for her opinion. If you keep out of trouble while you’re here I’ll have no reason to dismiss you.’

  Rhiannon looked at her in surprise. ‘Will you really keep me on?’

  ‘I never say anything I don’t mean.’ Mrs Buchan smiled. ‘I’ve got a feeling you and I are going to get on very well indeed. You may go now, Rhiannon.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Buchan.’ At the door Rhiannon paused. ‘Was it Hetty who told you about my past, Mrs Buchan?’

  ‘Hetty? Why, no. It was that dreadful Miss Cookson. She was at a rather inferior gathering I attended at the assembly rooms and she forced her card on me. When I refused to take it she became quite sharp and told me I was employing a whore of Babylon. Silly woman.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry, Mrs Buchan, I won’t let you down. You have my word on that.’

  ‘I know you won’t, Rhiannon, because if you do, you’ll be out on the streets before you can look round.’ She smiled. ‘But remember what I told you before. My bark is worse than my bite.’