by Diane Allen
Alice had never been so insulted. ‘I’m not a beggar,’ she retorted. She’d have liked to tell him exactly what she thought of his arrogant tone, but instead she bit her tongue, paused for a moment to consider how to phrase her response, and then announced: ‘I’m here to see Miss Frankland. My name’s Alice Bentham, and I’m to help her with her needs.’
‘Well, Alice Bentham, your first lesson at the manor is that servants always use the back door. You are never to climb these steps and knock on this door again. Typical farm girl – no manners,’ he sneered. ‘Now, go around the back and ask for Mrs Dowbiggin. She’ll take you to Miss Frankland, who I’m sure awaits you.’ And with that he closed the door, leaving Alice feeling worthless on the steps.
She stood for a minute in shock, humiliated and at the same time furious with the pompous butler. How dare he take her for a beggar! And how dare he say she had no manners. It was him who had no manners, snooty old sod. She didn’t want this bloody job anyway.
Defiantly she turned on her heel, marched back down the steps and set off up the drive. Blow it, she wasn’t going to work for this hoity-toity lot; she was a Bentham and they were nothing but off-comed-uns. No doubt Will would have something to say when she got home, but she didn’t care.
‘Leaving us so early, Miss Bentham?’ a voice shouted after her. Alice stopped in her tracks and slowly turned round to see Lord Frankland walking round the side of the manor, riding crop in hand. ‘Are we not to your liking, Alice? Have you fallen out with my dear sister Nancy so soon? Surely she’s not that wearing?’
Alice could detect a hint of mockery in his voice and noticed a slight smile on his face. She was doing her best not to stare, but his elegant dress and good looks had her enthralled.
‘No, sir, not at all. Indeed, I did not get to see your sister, sir – as a matter of fact I’ve not even been invited across the threshold.’ She couldn’t stop herself; she had always been brought up to tell it as it was, so why should she stop now?
‘I bet it was Faulks, my butler. Better than any guard dog, but a bit too much bite sometimes. Come, Alice, let me invite you into my home.’
He waited for her to retrace her steps to the main entrance and opened the front door for her. Hesitantly, Alice stepped into the great hall with her new employer behind her. At his bidding, she followed his example and took off her hat and coat, which he then thrust into the arms of Faulks, who had appeared like lightning at the sound of his master’s voice.
‘Faulks, this is Miss Alice Bentham. She is to assist my sister – whatever she needs, you will see that she gets it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The butler bowed, giving Alice a questioning sideways glance before scurrying away with the clothing.
‘Well, that’s told him,’ said Lord Frankland, casually leading the way across the marble-tiled hallway. ‘Come, Alice, let me introduce you to my sister. I’m sure she’ll find you a tonic – it will be good for her to have someone her own age to talk to: she’s always complaining about the staff all being too old. That’s why I’ve taken you on, along with the fact that you seem to have a few more skills than some of the local girls.’
Transfixed by the grandeur of the hallway, Alice was still standing just inside the front door, taking it all in. How her mother would have loved the huge chandelier, the delicate ornaments, the smell of fresh polish and the huge sweeping staircase. The beauty of it all took her breath away; it was like a dream.
Lord Frankland, who had started up the stairs only to realize that Alice wasn’t at his side, gestured impatiently for her to follow. ‘Come, Alice, I haven’t all day, and Nancy is waiting. If there’s one thing she doesn’t possess, it’s patience, as I am sure you will shortly find out.’
With bygone generations of the Frankland family gazing down at her from the portraits lining the walls, the awestruck young girl gathered her skirts and hurriedly followed him up the luxuriously carpeted stairs.
The room was dark, the curtains still drawn, preventing the sharp spring light from entering.
‘Nancy, I bring you a companion, someone to entertain you, to help you with your toilet and hopefully temper your moods, dear sister. This is Alice Bentham; her father is a tenant of mine and her brother Will is one of my best men.’ He strode across to the window and tugged the curtains open, flooding the room with light. ‘How can you live in such darkness, girl? It’s a beautiful day – come on, get out of bed and say hello to your latest companion and help.’
Once Alice’s eyes were accustomed to the light, she was able to make out the shape of a body on the lavish four-poster bed. It stirred and moaned and then, much to Alice’s surprise, an arm snaked from under the covers, seized a candlestick from the bedside table and hurled it at Lord Frankland.
Ducking out of the missile’s range, he remonstrated with his sister. ‘Now, Nancy, be reasonable – you’ll frighten poor Alice. She’s not used to your ways. Heaven knows who is.’ Clearly exasperated, he shook his head and made for the door. ‘Enough! Get out of bed and show a few manners. I’m going to leave you to get acquainted, so stir yourself.’ And then he was gone.
Bemused, Alice stood wondering what to do next. Should she speak, should she go, should she tidy the curtains that had been flung back and left any old how? The words of her brother echoed through her mind – was there a monster lurking under those covers? She caught sight of her reflection in the wardrobe mirror: a shabby little farm girl, out of place in these grand surroundings. What on earth was she doing here?
‘Do you not speak?’ Alice was shocked to hear a voice from deep under the bedcovers. ‘Has my brother brought me a mute? That would be useful. At least you wouldn’t be able to talk about me.’
‘I can speak, miss,’ Alice retorted sharply. Then, remembering where she was, she fell silent again, awaiting instructions.
‘Well, Alice, contrary to what my brother may have led you to believe, I do not require a companion. In fact, I like to keep my own company. I’m tired of his mealy-mouthed “companions”. I don’t know why he’s brought me another one. Now get out of my room and go home.’ This speech ended in a huge sigh, as if the effort had left the speaker completely drained.
No one had ever accused Alice of being mealy-mouthed, and she wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to as if she were worthless. It was all she could do to stop herself from giving the little madam a piece of her mind. Instead, having carefully edited her thoughts, she said in a quiet, even tone: ‘Miss Frankland, your brother asked me to help you and that’s what I’m here to do. Let me assure you, I am not mealy-mouthed. In fact, I was always told to speak my mind, as long as it didn’t cause offence.’
Suddenly the bedcovers moved, thrown dramatically from the bed to reveal the slight body of Nancy Frankland. At the sight of her, Alice let out an involuntary gasp. Framed by a shock of jet-black hair, dark eyes blazed at her from a face that had once been beautiful but was now a grotesque mask, the skin on the left side so scarred and twisted that the eye was almost obscured by angry red flesh.
‘I see my brother didn’t tell you about me. But then again, why would he? After all, he is quite desperate to find someone to amuse me. See, Alice, how could you befriend such a monster as I? Am I not truly ugly? A poor little rich girl who can never be seen in public. Now, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you think, without offending me?’
Regaining her composure, Alice plucked up the courage to reply: ‘My mother always told me beauty was skin-deep, it’s the person inside that matters.’ She hesitated, not knowing if she had overstepped the mark, unsure whether to carry on. ‘I’ve always been known as a plain Jane. My chin’s too long and my hair’s lank, but my family still love me – as I’m sure your family love you.’
‘I must give you your due, Alice. You’ve not screamed, you’ve not given me a sugar-sweet reply and curtsied or smiled at me before fleeing the room in revulsion; perhaps you are made of sterner stuff.’
Moving to the edge of the bed, Nancy picked up a ro
be and put it on over her high-necked nightdress. Then she went to her dressing table, sat stiffly in the chair and looked into the mirror. ‘How can anyone love this face, Alice? Look at me – how am I ever to live a life? I’m so ugly, I never want to be seen outside these four walls.’
Alice was overcome by a wave of pity; plain she might be, but at least she could always pretty herself up with a new hat and a bit of rouge. Putting on a brisk air, she approached the dressing table. ‘Now, Miss Nancy, feeling sorry for yourself never did any good for anyone. Here, let me brush your hair, that’ll make you feel better. I’ve never seen such a beautiful comb as that one.’ She gestured to a dragonfly-shaped comb that glittered and glistened in the sharp morning light.
‘What good are beautiful things on such an ugly face?’ Nancy picked up the filigree dragonfly and toyed with it. ‘A useless reminder of the past.’
Alice reached for a mirror-backed brush and went to work on the thick, dark hair; it was silky and smooth and smelled of perfume. Smiling at Nancy’s reflection in the mirror, she started to pile the hair on top of her head.
‘Stop it! Stop it at once! You can see even more of my face when you do that. You stupid bitch, are you doing it on purpose? Have you come to mock me?’
Spinning round, Nancy grabbed Alice’s hand, making her drop the brush. As it hit the floor, the glass shattered into pieces. ‘Get out! Get out of my room now!’
Without a word, Alice stooped to pick up the shards of glass, cutting her fingers in the process. Then she stood and looked at her accuser, blood dripping down her fingers.
‘What I see before me is not an ugly rich girl but a spoilt, self-pitying rich girl. I was only looking at the shape of your face so that I could decide what to do with your hair, miss. But I can see I’m not wanted here. As for being a bitch – why, even our old dog has more manners than you do. Good day, Miss Nancy. I’ll see myself out.’
She could feel her legs and her hands shaking as she descended the grand staircase. Faulks and a woman who she supposed must be Mrs Dowbiggin were standing in the hallway, heads together, obviously discussing what they had overheard of the goings-on upstairs.
‘Will you be leaving us so soon, Miss Bentham?’ The sneer that Alice had seen from Faulks on the doorstop was even more prominent.
‘I am, and what’s more I’ll not stop another minute where I’m not wanted.’ Alice set the remains of the brush on the hall table and wiped her bleeding fingers on the edge of her skirt.
‘I’ll get your things.’ Faulks disappeared through a door and returned a moment later with Alice’s well-worn coat and hat. ‘I presume you’ll be leaving by the back door,’ he said, and immediately began ushering her through the hallway, until they were both stopped in their tracks by a voice from the top of the stairs.
‘Stop! I will not let you go! Come here this minute. How dare you talk back to me! I am Miss Nancy Frankland.’ Nancy was hanging over the banister, her long, dark hair cascading down and her robe floating around her, lending her the appearance of a ghostly apparition.
‘I will return once you have calmed down – if your brother wants me to.’ Alice turned from the screaming banshee to face the butler. ‘And no, Faulks – I will leave by the front door. I may not know my place, but I do know one thing: I have more manners than the lot of you put together.’
Turning on her heel, head held high, Alice marched across the hallway, opened the huge front door and descended the steps. Her anger and indignation carried her homeward with such speed, before she knew it she was back in the farmyard.
‘Flippin ’eck, our lass, you slammed that door hard. What’s up with you?’ Turning in his chair, Bob Bentham registered the red cheeks, firm chin and hands on hips, and knew immediately that something was amiss.
‘Never have I been treated so badly, Father,’ Alice huffed, hanging her coat on the hook. Rolling up her sleeves, she made straight for the stove, took the boiling kettle from the hob and poured scalding water over the dirty pots that filled the sink. ‘And I’ll not be going back. No one speaks to me like that.’ She added an equal measure of cold water from the pitcher by the kitchen door and set about doing the washing-up.
‘Calm down, lass, things can’t be that bad. Our Will says they’re a strange lot, but that’s the higher classes for you: inbred and flighty. You’ll have to get used to them.’ He knocked his pipe, emptying its contents into the embers of the fire before refilling and lighting it. ‘Mind you, they say that sister of his is strange. Nobody ever sees her. He brought her to the house in the middle of the night and she’s not been seen since.’
‘Now you tell me! I bet our Will knows more than he’s letting on. Why won’t he tell me?’ Alice could feel her face going redder than ever.
‘Some folk reckon she’s a witch – eyes that burn into your soul.’ Bob gazed into the fire, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall the gossip. ‘Others say she’s mad. ’Course, nobody really knows, because only her brother and that miserable couple of house servants ever see her.’ He looked up from the fire. ‘Did you see her? What does she look like? Is it right, is she a witch?’ Bob was on the very edge of his chair, eager to hear his daughter’s account.
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but all I saw was a spoilt brat with a temper – she called me a bitch! As for that butler – who does he think he is!’ The pots and dishes in the sink were getting rough treatment as Alice vented her anger. But then she paused and turned to her father. ‘I can understand her feeling sorry for herself, though. Her face is all marked and twisted. What happened to her? Must have been something terrible – and she doesn’t look much older than me.’
‘Nay, lass, I don’t know. ’Appen our Will’ll tell you; him and that Jack earwig all sorts. Ask him when he comes home. Only thing I know is that her brother has some strange-looking friends that come and go at all hours. Nevertheless, he’s always done right by us. We could have a worse landlord, a lot worse. And Will reckons he’s not a bad boss either; him and Jack have done well for themselves, working at the manor. It’s just the company he keeps – rum lot.’
‘If you ask me, Father, his lordship’s all right. But his sister definitely needs a lesson in manners. I’ll not be rushing back, no matter what you and our Will might think.’
‘You’ll do what Lord Frankland wants you to do, our lass. We need to keep a roof over our head, remember. So don’t go getting on your high horse. Right then . . .’ He got to his feet and stretched himself. ‘I’m off for a stroll into Dent. I’ll be back for my supper, so don’t start pulling that long face. I’m only going to have a bit of banter with some of my cronies, stretch my legs on this grand spring evening.’
Bob put his top coat on and fingered the few pence that he had in his pocket. Might just be enough for a pint or two. He looked up and caught Alice watching him as she wiped the pots and put them away. She knew him all too well, and she’d a sullen face on her if you didn’t do what she wanted. He’d get round to that stonewalling in the bottom meadow tomorrow; that should keep her off his back for a bit.
‘Fire needs stoking, our Alice. And the dog could do with something to eat – it’s been moping about all day.’ With a parting wave, he was off down the track, heading for the Moon Inn in search of a cold pint and a bit of gossip from anyone who would talk to him.
Alice followed him out into the yard. By the time she’d finished pumping water from the well, his cheery whistle had faded into the distance. She knew damn well that would be the last she’d see of him until throwing-out time at the Moon. Drying her hands on her apron, she went over to the old dog. It was lying with its head resting on its paws, soulful eyes looking up at her. ‘I know, old lad, you’re hungry. He doesn’t care about you any more, does he? He doesn’t care about anyone any more.’ She gave a sigh and went into the house in search of some food for the poor animal, emerging with a bowl of stale bread soaked in milk. The old dog gulped it down, thankful that its stomach at last felt a little
fuller.
She stayed with the dog until it had finished eating its meal, then urged it to join her on a walk. Wrapping her shawl around her, Alice wandered up the rough lane to the top pasture, the dog trotting in front of her, occasionally stopping when it caught the scent of a rabbit, sniffing the air and looking around in the hope that the meal of bread would soon be followed by some fresh meat. A distant sheep bleated, reminding Alice that it would soon be lambing time, the busiest part of the year on the farm. How would they manage this spring? If only her father would come to his senses . . .
As she walked on, inevitably her thoughts returned to Whernside Manor. She wondered what had happened to Nancy Frankland to make her behave so. Alice was conscious that her parting words had been a bit harsh, but she had her pride and it wouldn’t stand for anyone calling her names or sneering at her the way that butler had done.
On reaching the wall at the bottom of Whernside, Alice sat herself down and gazed out upon the dale where she had been born. The sun was about to set and its dying rays were turning the sky to a gorgeous pink that slowly filtered into hues of gold before changing again to a deep blue. The whole dale seemed to shine, bathed in a clear frosty veil, which took Alice’s breath away with its tranquil beauty. She leaned against the wall and listened to the cry of a curlew. The return of the curlews from their winter holiday on the coast had always been one of the harbingers of spring in the Dales, but this year all the months since her mother’s death had somehow blended into one another. Alice couldn’t even remember Christmas; it was as if it had never happened.
Only when the sun finally gave up the battle and disappeared behind the great rocky outcrop of Combe Scar did she stir herself, suddenly feeling the cold, the temperature having fallen with the sun. Shivering, she wrapped her shawl around her, whistled the faithful Jip to her side and set off for Dale End. Will would be home soon and no doubt he would have heard about her visit to the manor. She knew he wouldn’t be best pleased with her. Only that morning he had cautioned her to ‘keep ’em sweet’. Sweet! She had been anything but sweet. Why did she have to have such an attitude? She only hoped her outburst wouldn’t make things difficult for Will.