by Judi Curtin
On the other hand, part of me wanted to know Maeve better. My life in Lissadell was busy, with every minute accounted for, but it was very boring. Except for Saturdays, every day was pretty much the same, and I longed for some excitement. Maeve was a young girl, just like me, but our lives were so different. I wanted to know what she believed in, what she was afraid of, what was important to her. I wondered if we could be friends.
* * *
A few days later I was putting fresh flowers into the drawing room vases when I saw Sir Josslyn’s motor car driving into the porte cochere. I peeped out the door and soon I saw Maeve and her Gaga coming into the front hall. Lady Georgina looked as if she were dressed for a ball, in a fine silk gown and a hat with long feathers on it. Maeve was wearing a very strange garment over her dress and she was carrying an easel and a giant notebook.
I went back to my work and five minutes later she found me. ‘I’ll do that,’ she said, grabbing the last bunch of flowers and shoving them into a vase any old way. ‘Come on, I’d like to get started while the morning light is good.’
‘But I still have to…..’
‘It’s all arranged. Mrs Bailey is happy for you to come with me – well maybe not exactly happy, but she’s allowing it in any case, which is just as good.’
‘Maybe just as good for you,’ I whispered.
Unfortunately, Maeve’s hearing was very good.
‘Don’t worry, Lily,’ she said. ‘Truly, as long as you are with me, everything will be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.’
I nodded, hoping very much that she was right.
She noticed me staring at her strange clothes. ‘Do you like my artist’s smock?’ she asked. ‘I had it sent from Dublin. My mother used to have one just like it. I’m taking this portrait very seriously you know – and I hope you are too.’
I put my hand over my mouth to hide my smile. Maeve could have saved herself a lot of trouble and expense, as the ‘artist’s smock’ looked very much like the overall the scullery maid used when she was scrubbing the kitchen floor.
‘Now you go away down to your room and change,’ she said. ‘And I’ll see you in my bedroom in a few minutes.’
‘Change?’
‘Yes. I know my mother drew a servant in uniform, but that’s not what I have in mind for this portrait. You need to put on something else. Perhaps a dress in pink, or pale blue – with pearls or a bit of lace at the neck? Do you have something like that? It will be a challenge to paint lace, but if I don’t push myself, how will I ever improve?’
She had to be joking. Did she have any idea how I lived my life? Did she think I had a different dress for every day, like she had? Or maybe even different ones for breakfast, dinner and tea? All I had was my uniform and two dresses – one grey and one brown, and I had never in my whole life owned anything with lace on it.
‘I don’t …’
Maeve was decent enough to go red.
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘That was silly of me. Well never mind. Just come along with me and we will figure something out.’
I followed her – it was strange to be on the main stairs without my sweeping brush and duster. When we got to Maeve’s room I was happy when she closed the door behind us – the fewer people who saw this, the better, as far as I was concerned.
Maeve already had the easel set up by the window, with her paints on a table nearby. She pulled over a chair, and told me to sit down and then she looked at me for a long time.
‘No,’ she said in the end. ‘I’m afraid that uniform won’t do at all. I think some of my old dresses are still in the wardrobe. Let’s have a look.’
I followed her into the dressing room, and watched as she flung the wardrobe doors open. The racks were filled with dresses in every colour of the rainbow.
‘I’ve outgrown all of these,’ she said. ‘But luckily you’re a bit smaller than me, so they should fit you perfectly. Which one do you like?’
I was speechless. They were all so beautiful! I hardly dared to touch them, and the thought of actually wearing one …
Maeve was pulling out dresses and holding them up to me, while I stood there like a statue. Every dress she rejected was tossed to the floor.
‘I think this one,’ she said in the end, holding up a satin dress of pale, pale blue, with a long line of tiny pearly buttons all the way up the back. ‘You put it on, and call me when you need help to button it up.’
I felt excited and sick as I pulled off my uniform, and put the dress over my head. The satin was soft and cool against my skin – I felt as if I were being hugged by an angel.
‘Ready,’ I said, and Maeve came in to button up the back of the dress.
‘Now,’ she said when she was finished. ‘Let’s see how you look.’
She twirled me around and we stood together facing the long looking glass. It was a very strange moment. I looked like a fancy lady, and in her smock, Maeve could have been my servant.
Maeve saw it too. ‘Look at us,’ she laughed. ‘We’re all mixed up.’
* * *
Being painted is really quite nice. It was a treat to sit down on a lovely soft chair doing nothing in the middle of the day – usually I only sat down at meal times, and when I had sewing to do. It was very strange too, though. Downstairs, Nellie and the other servants were busy as always, and it didn’t seem fair that Maeve had chosen me.
Maeve did a lot of sighing and walking up and down before she even picked up her paintbrush. But once she got started, she relaxed a bit, and we began to chat.
‘Do you like being a housemaid?’ she asked.
What kind of a question was that? It’s not as if anyone asked my opinion. The job was arranged, and I did it. I still really wanted to be a teacher, but that seemed like an impossible dream now.
‘Do you like being a fine lady?’ I asked. Maeve laughed as if that were a very funny question, and then she repeated hers.
‘Being a housemaid is all right,’ I said. ‘But sometimes I miss school.’
‘I’ve never been to school.’
‘But who taught you to read and write?’
‘I have my governess, Miss Clayton. She can be a bit of a bore, but she’s not too bad. We have lessons in the morning, and in the afternoon she teaches me how to be a lady. My mother was presented to Queen Victoria, you know.’
I didn’t imagine I would ever be anywhere near a real live queen, but I wasn’t jealous. Maeve’s time with her governess didn’t sound as much fun as the times I had with Rose and Hanora at school. For a second, I felt sorry for this rich girl.
‘Is it strange being the only pupil?’ I asked.
‘Oh, it’s not just me – that would be unbearable. My very good friend Stella comes to lessons too. We tease Miss Clayton terribly. Sometimes she gets angry, but then Stella and I laugh at her.’
What would it be like to sit in Maeve’s fine house and have lessons with her? What would it be like not to have to wear a uniform or spend your days cleaning someone else’s home?
For a second I felt jealous of this girl Stella, who was allowed to be friends with Maeve.
‘Stella is nice,’ said Maeve. ‘But she’s two years younger than me – almost a child. I can’t talk to her the way I talk to you.’
‘Did you always live with Lady Georgina?’ I asked quickly, trying not to let Maeve see how her last comment had pleased me.
‘No. For some years I lived in Dublin with Mother and Father and my brother Stanislaus.’
‘You’ve got a brother?’
‘He’s my half brother actually. He’s at school in England now, so I hardly ever see him.’
My life seemed very boring compared to Maeve’s. I’d love to go to Dublin, even for an hour, and here was Maeve casually mentioning that she’d lived there for years.
‘And why did you come back to Sligo?’
‘I think that’s enough painting for today,’ said Maeve, putting down her brush.
I knew I’d
asked the wrong question, and ruined everything, but it was too late to change that now. Maybe Maeve would never speak to me again.
‘We can continue tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘I’ll come and find you.’
‘I’d like that,’ I said, and she smiled a small smile that made me very happy.
‘Can I see what you’ve done so far?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely not. Not even the tiniest peek until it’s finished. But I can tell you I think it is turning out very nicely.’
I was starting to feel excited. Maybe one day this portrait would hang in a big gallery in Dublin, and everyone would wonder who the young girl in the fine blue dress was.
‘Look away, Lily,’ said Maeve. ‘While I put my easel safely in the corner.’
As I obediently looked away, I noticed some writing paper on the desk at the other side of the room. It was the most beautiful paper I had ever seen – pale cream with pink flowers all around the edges.
‘Do you want some paper?’ asked Maeve when she saw what I was looking at. ‘You could write to your family if you wish.’
‘No, thank you. My mam wouldn’t like that – where I come from, letters mostly bring bad news.’
But then I thought of something. Nellie always snapped at me when I tried to ask her things or be nice to her. Maybe if I gave her a letter to read, she could see that I’m not her enemy.
‘Could I write a short note to someone – one of my friends here – I want to thank her for something?’
‘Of course,’ said Maeve. ‘Help yourself.’
I picked up the pen from the fancy silver penholder.
‘Where is the inkwell?’ I asked.
Maeve laughed. ‘You don’t need an inkwell. That’s a fountain pen and the ink is already in it. Look, I’ll show you.’
She came over and wasted a whole sheet of beautiful paper by drawing some swirly lines on it. It looked like magic to me. I could remember a long ago day at school when Hanora and I had a big fight over whose turn it was to fill up the inkwells. What would she say if she saw me with this fancy new pen that was already filled up with ink? Would there one day be a world where schools didn’t have inkwells anymore?
Maeve handed me the pen. I didn’t want her to see what I was writing, but I shouldn’t have worried. She went and sat on the bed looking at a book, almost as if I wasn’t there.
I felt like a rich lady as I sat at the desk in my fine dress and picked up a sheet of writing paper. It was nothing like the floppy, almost see-through paper we used at school. I held it to my cheek, and got a faint scent of roses. I picked up the fountain pen and tried to work out what to say. In the end, this was the best I could do.
Dear Nellie. Thank you so much for saving my day off – that is one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me. I know that sometimes you are cross with me, but that nice thing you did shows me that you really are a good person. I would like to be your friend. If you ever want to talk about anything, please come to me.
Your friend (I hope),
Lily
I carefully blotted what I had written, folded the note and went back into the dressing room. I took off the fine dress, and put on my uniform, which now felt coarse against my skin. I slipped the note into the pocket of my apron.
Maeve came in as I was picking up all the dresses from the floor.
‘Leave that,’ she said. ‘One of the maids can––’
Then she stopped herself. ‘Let me help you,’ she said.
I didn’t like that idea at all, but before I could say anything she was busy tidying up. Last of all, she put the blue dress on a hanger.
‘This is no use to me,’ she said casually. ‘It’s much too small, and by the time Bridget is big enough, it will be hopelessly out of fashion. So you can have it if you like – why don’t you take it away now?’
If I lived to a hundred, I would probably never again be offered so fine a present. But how could I accept?
How could I hang that perfect thing in the small cupboard that Nellie and I shared for our plain old dresses?
Would people think I had stolen it?
Where could I wear such a thing without being laughed at for having pretensions?
So I took the dress and hung it back in the wardrobe. ‘Thank you, Maeve,’ I said. ‘But, won’t I need it for tomorrow’s painting session? A different dress would look strange, wouldn’t it?’
‘As you wish,’ said Maeve, and I suddenly felt that she didn’t really care if I had the dress or not. She didn’t know how much owning it would have meant to me. She had no idea what it was like to be me.
Just then the lunch bell rang.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said, heading for the door.
‘Thank you, Lily,’ said Maeve. ‘It’s been fun.’
‘I enjoyed it too,’ I said. And then I left all the silk and lace behind and went back to my real life.
* * *
‘It’s late,’ said Nellie, pulling her blanket over herself. ‘Put on your nightgown and turn out the light so I can get some sleep. Not everyone is able to spend half the day sitting around with the gentry you know. Some of us have done a whole day’s work.’
I took the letter from the pocket of my apron, and held it towards her. I’d been putting off the moment, not knowing how she would react.
‘This is for you,’ I said.
Nellie looked at the page suspiciously. ‘What is it?’
‘I wrote you a letter,’ I said. The letter had seemed like a good idea when I was in Maeve’s bedroom, but now I felt a bit stupid. Who writes a letter to someone they spend most of the day with?
Nellie kept her hands under the blankets, almost as if the letter might bite her.
‘I don’t want your letter,’ she said.
I could feel tears coming to my eyes. How could I get through to this sad, angry girl?
‘But I wrote it specially for you,’ I said, holding it closer. ‘And it smells nice.’
Slowly, Nellie brought one hand out from under the blanket. She took the letter, held it to her nose and breathed deeply. She unfolded the letter, and then quickly folded it back together again, and slipped it under her pillow.
At least she had taken it, but I still wasn’t happy.
‘You didn’t even read it,’ I said.
‘Who do you think I am?’ she snapped. ‘Some fancy lady who gets letters for nothing? Well, I’m not. I’m a servant and so are you – though you seem to forget that most of the time. I don’t have time for reading letters, and if you were doing your job properly you wouldn’t have time for writing them either.’
And then she took the letter from under her pillow, crumpled it up, and threw it across the room.
Chapter Twelve
Next morning, Nellie didn’t even speak to me. I tried to say a few things to her, but she always turned away, as if my voice was hurting her ears. After a while I began to wish she was shouting at me, because the silence was so strange and awkward.
After lunch, Nellie and I settled down to our sewing. We were mending sheets, which is a very boring job, so my mind was wandering. I kept thinking about Maeve – I hadn’t seen her that day, and I wondered if she had forgotten about painting my portrait. Had she already moved on to something else more exciting than me?
Just when it looked as if I was reaching the end of my sewing bundle, Mrs Bailey came in with a fine green silk dress, and handed it to me.
‘Lady Mary has noticed how neat your stitches are, Lily,’ she said. ‘And she especially asked for you to fix this rip on the sleeve of her favourite gown.’
I’m proud of my good work, but I felt a bad taste in my mouth. Next to me, Nellie was viciously stabbing a sheet with her needle, almost as if she wanted to kill it. For a second I wished my stitching was poor, so she wouldn’t have one more reason to hate me.
I sewed the sleeve carefully, and when I was finished, the tear was invisible. Reluctantly I folded the smooth silk, and returned to patching the last
of the boring linen sheets. I began to daydream – if I couldn’t become a teacher, maybe one day I could get a job as a seamstress, making fine gowns for rich ladies like Lady Mary. Maybe one day I could have my own shop, where …
Just then, Maeve rushed into the room.
‘Sorry, Lily,’ she said. ‘I had a very busy morning. First, Albert was showing me how to fix the motor car, and after that Uncle Joss wanted me to help him in the greenhouse. He’s breeding some new daffodils and he’s very excited about them.’
I looked at her in surprise. I couldn’t imagine a fine lady dirtying her hands with engines or gardens. But then, I was beginning to see that Maeve wasn’t like most fine ladies.
‘Anyway, better late than never, come on and let’s get started.’
Maeve ran from the room, and after a sigh and a nod from Mrs Bailey, I followed her.
* * *
This time it felt a little less strange to be sitting in Maeve’s room, all dressed up in the blue silk. Once again, Maeve took a while to get started. She wandered around the room, picking things up and putting them down again. She showed me a bundle of fabrics, in all colours of the rainbow.
‘My Aunt Mabel sent me a present all the way from England,’ she said. ‘There’s enough for five new dresses.’
I didn’t know what to say to this. I had barely owned five dresses in my whole life – and most of those had belonged to someone else before me. Once, one of Mam’s cousins in America sent us a few yards of navy blue fabric. Next to Maeve’s silk and satin, I fear it would have looked very rough and cheap, but at the time, I thought it was the finest fabric ever made. Mam set to work quickly. Winnie and Anne needed new dresses, and the boys needed shirts for school. By the time all of those were made, there was only enough left for a scarf for me, and a hanky for Mam.
‘What do you think?’ asked Maeve, tossing the fabrics towards the bed, where they floated down softly, like dandelion seeds in a breeze.
‘I think you’re very lucky,’ I said. ‘It must be lovely to have all that fabric just for you. It must be lovely not to have to share anything.’