A Different Kind of Love

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘What, here?’ Beata pointed at the linoleum.

  ‘Well, I don’t mean Buckingham Palace.’

  Beata’s heart fell. Of all her siblings, it had to be Maddie.

  ‘Of course, if you think your nose’ll be put out of joint—’

  ‘No, it’s not that!’ Beata glanced at the door as Cook entered and, after rising out of respect and hastily introducing her sister, explained the situation. ‘I’m just not sure Sir William needs any more staff…’

  Without embarrassment, Maddie presented her query to one more highly placed. ‘I’m sure another pair of hands wouldn’t go amiss, would they, Mrs Willis?’

  Beata cringed at such forwardness.

  After first appearing put out, Cook dropped her officious air and mused, ‘Well, we are coming up to Christmas. I could do with the extra help, though it wouldn’t be permanent.’

  Not mentioning that it would only be temporary on her part too, Madeleine accepted the offer of a trial. ‘I can start tomorrow.’ And to her sister’s dismay, she pulled on her bucket-shaped hat. ‘I’ll have to go and fetch my things but I’ll get back as soon as I can.’

  * * *

  From that day on, for poor Beata life was just as it had been at home with Madeleine bossing her about and expecting her sister to wait on her. Apart from a brief get-together with her family who met at Aunt Lizzie’s, Christmas was dreadful. Madeleine had been hired to cover the extra work but somehow managed to delegate the lion’s share to Beata, also adding insult to injury.

  ‘No wonder you like working here,’ said Maddie, sipping a cup of tea whilst Beata continued to toil, Cook having gone to discuss menus with the mistress. ‘I had loads more to do at Mrs Sayner’s. You were right, they don’t really need two kitchenmaids, though I hope they keep me on a while after Christmas, give me time to save. I don’t fancy having to find anywhere else.’

  ‘No, I’ll bet you don’t,’ muttered an angry Beata under her breath, vigorously scrubbing flour and pastry from Cook’s work table.

  ‘Come and sit down and have a cup.’ Madeleine lifted the teapot.

  Surprised by her sister’s generosity, Beata heaved a sigh of relief and wiped her perspiring brow. ‘Aye, I could do with it.’

  But no sooner had she sat down than Maddie clicked her tongue. ‘Oh, there’s only a dribble left in it.’

  Seeing that her sister made only the most half-hearted attempt to rise, Beata found it difficult to hang on to her temper as she pushed herself from the table. ‘I suppose I’d better mash another pot then!’

  ‘Well, if you’re going to take time off I’ll join you. I’m not working whilst you sit and do nowt.’ And Madeleine settled herself down again, idling there until Cook’s return, whereupon she pretended to have been working hard all along.

  Had Beata been contented in her job it would have been a difficult decision to make, but, whoever one’s employer, life in service was the same anywhere and she had been Eliza’s slave for so long she was not about to be her sister’s too. So, after the round of Christmas parties was over, Twelfth Night had passed and Cook made her announcement that one of the kitchen maids would soon have to go, Beata quickly volunteered to be the one.

  ‘You need it more than I do to save up for your nursing exam,’ she told a surprised but grateful Madeleine. ‘It’ll be easier for me to find another position.’

  Unaware that Madeleine had been leaving most of the work to her sister, Cook accepted Beata’s notice. With an excellent reference and the services of Miss Stroud’s Agency, it took no time at all to find another post.

  * * *

  The country manor of Major and Mrs Herron was slightly smaller than Nunthorpe Hall, though Beata was to find out quickly that this did not necessarily mean a reduction in her workload. This being no grand establishment, many of the servants held dual roles, even the butler doubling as the master’s valet; she herself had been hired as kitchenmaid, this position normally out-ranking that of a scullerymaid in the downstairs hierarchy, but there being no scullerymaid here, Beata was dismayed to find herself on the bottom rung of the ladder and though she might receive the same wage of five shillings, here it was a lot harder to earn. However, the cook seemed very kind and her employers were equally decent.

  The family was of high social standing, commanding respect but also ready to give it. Upon the revelation that owing to there being no convenient bus on a Sunday Beata would have a seven-mile walk to church, Mrs Herron ordered the chauffeur to take her in the Daimler. Beata feared accusations of favouritism from the other staff, but there were none, and when she got back from church it was work as usual, for the servants never had Sunday off but were allowed one half-day and one evening through the week.

  The main benefit of moving here came in the form of Lucy Lister, an underhousemaid and six years older than Beata, but this proved no barrier to their instant friendship. Despite the difference in age, Lucy took an instant shine to the new girl and showed keenness to extend their friendship beyond working hours. Beata’s first afternoon off coinciding with hers, the underhousemaid said she must come to tea, but first took her on a guided tour of the grounds.

  ‘That’s the lodge where we live.’ Lucy was what might be termed a strapping lass, with a deep Yorkshire accent and a rolling gait. Snug in her beige cloche hat and coat, she pointed a gloved hand in the direction of the gate. ‘Father’s the gardener and my brother, Jack’s, the chauffeur.’

  ‘Ah, the one who took me to church,’ cognized Beata, though made no mention that she found his dark hair and blue eyes most attractive.

  Lucy nodded. ‘He’s a year younger than me. Have you any brothers and sisters?’ When Beata listed them, the young woman projected envy. ‘Three sisters! By, aren’t you lucky? I’ve always been desperate for a sister.’ This was quite evident from the affectionate way she linked arms, and she announced that from this moment on Beata would be hers, though in fact her behaviour was more maternal than sisterly, especially on discovering that Beata was an orphan.

  ‘You poor little thing.’ She dealt Beata’s arm a compassionate squeeze, then nibbled her lip thoughtfully as they strolled. ‘I don’t want to pry, but May said she’s heard you cry out on a few nights.’

  Beata was instantly embarrassed. Ever since running away she had been plagued by a recurring nightmare that involved Eliza chasing her. Even the knowledge that she was safe had not prevented intermittent visitations, the terror being real enough to make her scream. But as nice as Lucy was, Beata was not yet trusting enough to confide in her. ‘It was just a silly dream. I hope the noise didn’t travel too far.’

  ‘Nobody else has mentioned it. It’s only because she’s in t’room next door.’ With her free hand Lucy tried to tuck a glossy lock of black hair under her hat but it fell out again.

  ‘Tell her I’m sorry for waking her. I’ll try not to do it again.’

  ‘She wasn’t complaining.’ Lucy gave a brisk rub of the youngster’s arm to reassure her. ‘We were just worried for you.’

  Beata hesitated. Then, only because her new friend was so obviously concerned for her, she allowed details of Eliza’s cruelty to spill from her lips.

  Lucy wanted to cry, but in bluff Yorkshire fashion she threw back her head and made reassuring announcement. ‘Oh, I can see we’ll have to take you in hand! Starting with your clothes. I mean nowt amiss, but that coat’s a bit thin for this weather.’

  ‘It’s thin for any weather,’ chuckled Beata, displaying the great wear and tear of her navy garment. ‘But it’s all I’ve got till I can save enough for another.’

  There was immediate generosity. ‘You mun wear my old one till you get something better! There’s nowt wrong with it, I just can’t get into it any more – too hefty.’ Besides being taller Lucy was more robust than her friend. ‘It’s not very fashionable but it’s thicker than that.’

  Beata smiled and accepted the offer with thanks.

  Arm in arm, clinging together not only for warmth a
gainst the frost but in fond companionship, they proceeded to stroll through the winter garden, Lucy giving more information about the Herrons. ‘I’m sure the mistress will be keen to help. She’s a good-hearted soul. Mindst, we don’t tend to see much of her, she suffers from chorea. The major handles things, or Mrs Fordham – that’s their daughter; she lives here too ’cause her husband’s away a lot. She’s lovely, a real lady.’

  ‘Yes, I could tell they were proper gentry,’ interjected Beata.

  ‘Aye! None of your new money here,’ confirmed Lucy. ‘And they’re very sparing with the bell, don’t have us forever running up and down like some establishments.’ Then she went on to say that apart from their other married son, the Herrons had two imbecile offspring whom Mrs Herron went to visit every Sunday at a home in the Dales.

  ‘Are those graves over there?’ Beata was pointing at the foot of a high wall, in the shadow of which, amongst clumps of snowdrops, were half a dozen small headstones.

  Lucy confirmed this and took her to read the names on them. ‘Every dog they’ve had is buried here. Sad, though, isn’t it, when some human beings don’t get the same?’

  Beata nodded, remembering how shocked and shameful she had felt when Augusta had revealed that their dear mother had been buried in a pauper’s grave. But it was not something one would confide to an outsider, fond though she was of Lucy.

  The latter steered her over the rough, frost-laden grass and back onto the path, gossiping all the while about the other people who worked here – butler, housekeeper, groom, cook, footman, hallboy, housemaids – until they were almost back to the lodge.

  ‘What’s that little building over there?’

  ‘Game larder. Oh, and that’s Mr Spaven sneaking out of it.’ A furtive head with hair like pleated tar and pock-marked jowls looked around quickly upon hearing voices, then, seeing it was no one of consequence, the butler proceeded on his way.

  The grinning Lucy spoke conspiratorially now, her head bumping against Beata’s as she divulged, ‘It must be his day off tomorrow. He’s just come to collect his brace of pheasants, ready for market.’

  Beata looked scandalized at such underhand behaviour from one of such exalted position. ‘You mean he pinches them?’

  ‘Don’t let the airs and graces fool you. He’ll pinch anything that isn’t nailed down, will Bert. Our Jack told me he hides them in his room, then takes them out and sells them on his day off. Robs the master’s wine too. Been doing it for years. Don’t know how he gets away with it – probably because he used to be the master’s batman. Major Herron thinks the world of him. I’m sure he puts something on his hair an’ all, it shouldn’t be that black at his age. Come on now, let’s go have tea.’

  And what a wonderful tea it was.

  Understanding why Lucy was so very fond of her new friend, Mrs Lister treated Beata in like manner, plying her with all sorts of goodies and dismissing any refusal as mere politeness. Long after she had had enough, Beata continued to acquiesce to her hostess’s demands until she could eat not another crumb. It was easy to see from whom Lucy had inherited her bossy streak – though Beata was glad that she was not half so domineering as the mother, who ordered her husband and son about as if she were an army sergeant – just one look at the cut of that square jaw told of her propensity for dominance. Mr Lister was the type who’d do anything for a quiet life and Jack had inherited this trait, both meekly responding to all of Mrs Lister’s demands. Beata felt rather sorry for the menfolk of this house and determined that her own husband would not suffer such humiliation. She would treat him like a king.

  But for herself she had no complaint. Welcomed so warmly, and returned to the servants’ quarters in a thick coat, Beata declared to Lucy that she had never felt so happy since she was a little girl.

  Eager to maintain her ‘sister’s’ happiness, Lucy said that she must come for tea again on her next afternoon off. ‘Or better still, we can go to the pictures one evening. My treat.’

  Beata felt she had been given enough already. ‘I couldn’t allow you to spend all tha—’

  ‘Be told!’ warned Lucy, then gave a wide smile as she waved Beata on her way. ‘If I want to treat my sister I will.’

  * * *

  Not really expecting it to materialize, for she could not understand what Lucy saw in someone beneath her, both in age and status, Beata was overwhelmed to find herself whisked off again the following week, first for tea at the lodge, then to the picture theatre to see Rudolph Valentino, of whom Lucy was a devoted follower.

  But Lucy was to have even more up her sleeve when next their paths crossed in the stone corridor outside the kitchen, she with her tray of dirty crockery, Beata with a newspaper bundle. ‘Eh,

  Beat, I’ve had a grand idea! Have you ever been on holiday? To the seaside, I mean?’

  On her way to the dustbin, Beata paused. ‘No, only for the odd day out.’

  Lucy nudged her excitedly, rattling the pots on her tray. ‘Neither have I. Why don’t we go?’

  Beata’s jaw dropped.

  ‘I don’t mean this year – there isn’t time to save – but if we start putting money away now we could have a week in Scarborough next Whit!’

  Infected by the older girl’s excitement, Beata agreed.

  ‘Ooh!’ Lucy hoisted her fleshy shoulders in glee. ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘Can’t wait for what?’ On her way to the larder, the fat young cook intervened. ‘What are you two girls dawdling at?’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Temple, we’re just planning our holiday.’ Though her attitude showed due courtesy, Lucy grinned.

  But conditioned by years of ill-treatment under her stepmother, Beata made haste. ‘I was just taking these mutton bones to the dustbin, Mrs Temple!’

  ‘Eh, we don’t have such waste here!’ bawled Cook. ‘We save them to polish the boots and leather.’ Beckoning the kitchenmaid to return she grabbed the newspaper parcel from her. ‘Holidays, is it? I wonder you can afford it if you’re as extravagant with your own housekeeping as you are with Mrs Herron’s.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Eh, I’m kidding, Beat!’ The corpulent young woman patted her, shaking her head at such anxiety as was on the other’s face. Though unwed her position demanded the title of Mrs, but she was only in her early twenties, fair of skin and blue of eye. ‘Haven’t you got used to me yet?’ She handed back the mutton bones with a firm smile. ‘Here, go give these to Percy.’

  Only now starting to accept that less ceremony was demanded here than at her last place of work, Beata grinned nervously in response and limped away to seek the footman.

  ‘I think she’s had a hard time of it, Mrs Temple,’ whispered Lucy sadly, and, lingering in the dingy corridor, briefly told what she knew of Beata’s stepmother.

  ‘Poor soul.’ Cook shook her pink, dimpled face. ‘Well, she’s a good little worker. We must do what we can to give her a happier life.’

  For Mrs Temple this entailed inaugurating Beata into the ways of the kitchen, her aim that the girl might one day rise to her own exalted position. Finding Beata now cutting up a block of rock salt and pushing it through a fine sieve, she told her that from tomorrow her responsibilities would be increased. ‘On my day off, as you know, the housemaids have been taking charge. Well, that’s only because you were new and I didn’t want to test you too early. From tomorrow you’ll be playing a greater part. Don’t panic, it won’t be anything fancy. I’ll leave everything ready and notes to tell you what time to put stuff in the oven. Make a good job of it and I’ll teach you all I know.’

  * * *

  It was difficult to make a hash of things with Cook leaving everything so well-prepared, though it was just as well it was, for with all her scrubbing and cleaning to do as well, Beata had not even the time to snatch a mid-morning cup of tea.

  Having got the master’s meal underway, the harassed girl was about to start on the servants’ when Mrs Fordham came into the kitchen.

&nb
sp; Adhering to etiquette Beata did not speak until spoken to, but merely acknowledged her superior with a deferential air.

  ‘Beata, isn’t it?’ A refined-looking woman with skin as flawless as the row of pearls around her throat, Mrs Fordham smiled. ‘Shall you be provider of luncheon today?’

  ‘Yes, madam. It’s the first time I’ve done it. I hope it’ll be to expected standards.’

  ‘I’m sure it will if that scrumptious aroma is anything to go by. What is on the servants’ menu today?’

  ‘Cutlets, madam.’

  ‘Take a joint instead.’ Mrs Fordham smiled kindly and backed away. ‘I shan’t delay you any further. I just came to see how you were coping.’

  ‘Thank you, madam.’ Beata smiled respectfully, but after the lady had gone she sighed at the extra work this generosity would cause.

  However, with the master’s meal pronounced first-rate, it was all worthwhile, and when the hall boy rang the bell, summoning the rest of the servants to dine, there was fun to be had, for she was slowly coming to accept that this was indeed a more relaxed household than the last.

  ‘Eh, Beat!’ breathed Lucy, her worried eyes on the joint of roast beef, as were everyone else’s. ‘Did Mrs Temple say you were allowed to cook us this?’

  Beata looked innocent. ‘No, I just thought I’d treat you all. You’ve been so kind to me. Why, nobody’ll mind, will they?’ She tried to keep a straight face but their shocked expressions were too comical and she started to shake with mirth, chuckling so much that she could hardly divulge the truth.

  ‘Beat, you little tinker, having us on like that!’ Lucy nudged her and laughed along with everyone else until the butler came in, at which point the merriment was stilled as the joint was placed before Mr Spaven to be carved, then devoured in silence along with an array of well-cooked vegetables.

  But even the butler was to offer his praise before departing to the housekeeper’s room for dessert, the hall boy scuttling to open the door for him.