When Day is Done

  ‘You need feeding up,’ she told her. ‘This is better than those fancy fal-lals at your Aunt Beattie’s house, isn’t it?’

  Kate agreed meekly. Rose had told her of the frequent large meals served at Beattie’s house but she remembered a saying of Mrs Holland’s ‘A still tongue keeps a wise head’ – and said nothing of them.

  From time to time Kate peeped at the people around the table and identified them from Mrs Molesworth’s descriptions. A portly grey-haired man with a full beard must be the shipping office manager, Mr Hayman, and the young swarthy man must be Jack Rothwell, a bank clerk. The two young ladies, straight-backed and ladylike, eating daintily, must be the two teachers, Miss Tate and Miss Norton, but nobody addressed them by name.

  At the end of the meal Mrs Bradley leaned forward again. ‘Would you like to come to my room, my dear?’ she said to Kate. ‘I have a picture book which you might enjoy.’ Mildred frowned and Mrs Bradley said smoothly, ‘It is quite suitable for Sunday reading, Mrs Williams. It was written by a missionary.’

  ‘But what about the dishes?’ Kate asked innocently.

  Mildred’s face grew red with anger. ‘What about them?’ she snapped. ‘You didn’t come here to work. I have maids for that.’

  Kate looked abashed, but unseen by Mildred, Henry winked at her again, then pulled a face. Kate was smiling as she followed Mrs Bradley to her room on the first floor, where a bright fire burned in the ornate grate. Mrs Bradley sank into a cushioned rocking chair beside the fire, and gestured to Kate to sit opposite her and to pick up the book which lay on a small table.

  ‘Read it to me, my dear,’ she said. ‘We will look at the pictures later.’

  Kate blushed deeply and hung her head. ‘I can’t read very well,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Bring the book to me,’ commanded Mrs Bradley. She opened it and pointed to the first word, and Kate tried to read, but it was obvious that she knew only the simplest words. Mrs Bradley closed the book. ‘I thought it might be poor eyesight, but obviously you have not been taught to read,’ she said.

  ‘I missed school so often to look after Mama,’ Kate murmured.

  ‘I thought there must be a reason. You are not a stupid girl,’ said Mrs Bradley. She sat thinking while Kate stood meekly beside her, then, with sudden decision, the old lady said, ‘Go to Miss Tate’s room, Kate. It’s the third door from the left round the turn in the stairs. Knock and ask Miss Tate if it is convenient for her to come to see me. Return with her if it is.’

  Agnes Tate was the taller and more elegant of the two teachers, with dark hair piled on top of her head. She seemed surprised by the request, and asked if Mrs Bradley was ill, but she willingly accompanied Kate to the room.

  ‘I have a problem,’ Mrs Bradley told the teacher. ‘I have discovered that Kate is unable to read.’ Kate blushed again deeply, but Agnes Tate only asked her in a matter-of-fact way if she could write.

  ‘Only my name,’ Kate said miserably, and Mrs Bradley informed Miss Tate that she had missed school to nurse her mother. ‘It seems a pity when she is clearly an intelligent girl,’ she went on. ‘I wondered if you could help, Miss Tate?’

  ‘I would be happy to,’ said Agnes Tate. ‘But Mrs Williams?’

  ‘Leave Mrs Williams to me,’ Mrs Bradley said firmly. ‘I just wanted your assurance. We can discuss details later.’

  ‘And what about Kate?’ Agnes said, smiling at her. ‘Would you like to be able to read and write, Kate?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Kate said eagerly. ‘My sister’s very clever, she won prizes at school, and Mama used to write poetry years ago.’

  The two women exchanged a glance and Mrs Bradley announced, ‘Then you must certainly learn. Now, you must see if your aunt needs you.’

  When Kate returned to the kitchen, she found Martha alone, as Mildred had gone to church.

  ‘She left me another pile of jobs to do,’ grumbled Martha. ‘She doesn’t half want the worth of her money, doesn’t she?’

  Kate said nothing. She felt no affection for her aunt and still resented her comment about her mother’s death, but she was unwilling to discuss her with Martha. Instead she offered to help with the jobs, and started on a pile of mending thinking of Mrs Bradley and Miss Tate’s plans for her.

  Mrs Bradley’s interest in Kate made a difference in Kate’s life, although she was unaware of it at first. Mildred worked hard herself and expected Kate to work as hard. She often reminded Kate of her obligation to her, but a smooth intervention from Mrs Bradley sometimes resulted in less work and more free time for Kate. Mildred valued Mrs Bradley as her longest and wealthiest resident, who gave little trouble, and she was unwilling to offend her.

  Even to herself Mildred could not admit that she had taken Kate to be useful to her, someone who would be reliable because she was unable to leave, and hard-working because she was often reminded that she should be grateful to her aunt. Mildred told herself, and believed, that she had given her niece a home out of her sense of duty. Her religion was as bleak and uncompromising as everything else in her life, but at least she did not impose it on Kate.

  She had hung a poker-work message in Kate’s room – ‘Thou God Seest Me’ – and insisted that Kate accompanied her to the early-morning Sunday service at the Mission, but apart from that, Kate’s work in the house took precedence over any church activities. Mildred felt that by making Kate work hard she was doing her duty by preparing her niece for life. She herself attended the Mission on Sunday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, her only relaxation.

  On Monday, the day after that fateful Sunday, Kate helped with the housework before school. When she came out of the school gates at the end of the day Mrs Holland was waiting for her. She pulled a bag of sweets from beneath her shawl. ‘Here, love, share these with Rosie,’ she said. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Holland, she’s not coming here any more,’ Kate said, bursting into tears. ‘She’s going to a Select School for Young Ladies.’

  ‘Dear God, she hasn’t wasted much time, your snobby old aunt, has she?’ Mrs Holland exclaimed.

  ‘I’ll only see Rose when I go there to tea,’ Kate wept, but Mrs Holland hugged her. ‘Never mind, girl. It was bound to come and you might as well get it all over at once. How are you getting on with the other one?’

  ‘I’ve got a nice room,’ said Kate. ‘And there’s a nice man there, Mrs Holland. His name’s Henry Barnes and he said it’s always darkest before the dawn and he told me not to cry because I might be able to arrange to meet Rose in the park or somewhere. He said we’re not in gaol. He’s awful nice.’

  ‘He sounds it,’ said Mrs Holland. ‘How old is he?’

  Kate looked surprised at the question. ‘I don’t know. Quite old,’ she said. ‘Over twenty.’

  ‘Ancient then,’ said Mrs Holland, concealing a smile. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘I only know Mrs Molesworth, the charwoman, and Martha and Mrs Bradley and Miss Tate. They are going to teach me to read better. Henry Barnes carried a bucket of coal upstairs for me.’

  ‘She’s got you working then?’ Mrs Holland exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, but it’s better that way,’ Kate said earnestly. ‘Aunt says hard work is the best cure for grief.’

  ‘That’s handy for her,’ Mrs Holland said dryly. ‘Make sure the hard work doesn’t keep on, though, when you’re over the grief.’

  Kate assured her that she was quite happy, but Mrs Holland was unconvinced.

  ‘I haven’t got no rights, but I could show her up, and I would,’ she said. ‘So don’t think you’re on your own because you’re not. Not while I’ve got breath in me body. And you know where I live if you need me.’

  Kate was comforted by the meeting, but she felt that it was wiser to say nothing about it to her aunt, and she concealed the sweets in her room.

  The days passed quickly for Kate. Mrs Bradley had arranged for her to have two hours’ tuition twice a week with Miss Tate so that she found her schoolwork easier, and she was kep
t busy before and after school with housework. All in all she had little time to think of the past. She still missed Rose, but she was not unhappy, because she found her life so interesting. She spent a lot of time with Mrs Molesworth, who was a mine of information about Kate’s family and about the guests. Kate questioned her eagerly about Mr Barnes.

  ‘He’s a nice young feller,’ Mrs Molesworth said. ‘He’s some kind of a boss at Bryant’s already – y’know, the big shop in Church Street. His mother and his sister live near Delamere Forest ‘cos his sister’s sickly, like. She’s been in a sanatorium for about a year but she’s home again now. He goes to see them one Sunday a month. Gorra brother too, but he works abroad – India or somewhere.’

  Kate gazed at her, round-eyed. ‘Did he tell you all that, Mrs Molesworth?’ she asked and the charwoman laughed.

  ‘God bless you, girl,’ she said. ‘They don’t tell the likes of us. No, I keep my eyes and ears open, that’s all. There’s not much I don’t know about this lot. Mr Hayman, now. He’s a widower and he never lets on about any family, but I know for a fact he’s got two daughters who never come next or near him.’

  ‘That’s sad, isn’t it?’ Kate said. ‘Have you got any children, Mrs Molesworth?’

  ‘I’ve had nine, girl, but I only reared two. Our Billy, who’s on the China run, the best lad that ever stepped, and a girl, Florrie, married and in America. Three were stillborn and I lost our Sally with the quinsy when she was two. Then I lost two lads in the one week with the measles. Eighteen months and five months, our Peter and our George.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Molesworth, that’s awful,’ Kate exclaimed. ‘It must have been terrible for you.’

  The charwoman sat back on her heels and rested her hand on the rim of the bucket. ‘Aye,’ she said sadly, ‘but the one that broke our hearts was our little Harry. We knew when he was born he wouldn’t live but he lingered on for four months, suffering all the time. We got the doctor but he only said there wasn’t nothing we could do. It was some kind of a twist in Harry’s inside and he wouldn’t last, he said.’

  ‘What a terrible thing to say,’ Kate said indignantly, but Mrs Molesworth replied gently, ‘No, girl, he was right. Y’see, he couldn’t keep his feed down or nothing, and oh God, the pitiful cries out of him.’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and Kate wept with her. ‘Nearly broke me and Charlie’s hearts. He’d lay there looking up at us as if to say why? Great big eyes he had in his little tiny face. My fella got laudanum and gave Harry drops of it and it seemed to help. “It’s not right, girl, I know,” Charlie used to say, “but if it gives him some ease, it can’t make no difference.”’

  ‘Did he stop crying?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Yes, made him drowsy, like, and it must’ve eased his pain. We’d have given him anything to stop him suffering, and we knew he wasn’t gonna live anyhow.’ She wept again. ‘I remember the day he died as if it was yesterday. He seemed to settle comfortable, like, in me arms, and I sat there with him the livelong day. Charlie came in from work and I said, “I haven’t done no tea. He just seems comfortable and I haven’t given him laudanum or nothing.”’

  ‘“To hell with the tea,” Charlie said, and he knelt down by me. “Me poor little lad,” he said, and big man that he was he broke his heart crying. “He’s so peaceful,” I said. “Do you think he’s turned the corner?” But he said, “No, girl, he’s turned the corner but it’s the last one and the best thing for him.”’ She wiped her eyes again. ‘I’d prayed for him to go out of his suffering but when it come to it I couldn’t face it. I sat there with Harry so comfortable in me arms and Charlie beside me, and you know what, Kate? The first time Harry ever smiled, and he smiled at us and died.’

  She sat back on her heels, her hands idle for once and her eyes empty as she looked back over the years.

  Kate was sobbing now, and Mrs Molesworth said contritely, ‘I shouldn’t be upsetting you, girl, and you with your own sorrow. It’s all long ago now, but y’know, it seems like yesterday.’ She rubbed soap on her scrubbing brush and began work again, but Kate felt unable to stop crying, and she could see that Mrs Molesworth’s tears were still falling even as she scrubbed.

  Hearing about the sorrow that Mrs Molesworth had endured made Kate feel even more fond of her friend and put her own troubles in perspective. The loss of her mother and the parting from Rose seemed almost trivial in the light of everything Mrs Molesworth and her husband had suffered, yet she still longed to see Rose.

  Mildred had decided that it was her duty to visit Beattie regularly, so Kate was able to see her sister every four or six weeks. On her second visit to Beattie’s house the girls were again sent into the garden to play while their elders talked, and Kate produced Rose’s share of the sweets given to her by Mrs Holland.

  Rose refused them. ‘You eat them, Katie,’ she said. ‘I have much nicer sweets from Auntie.’

  Kate put the bag back into her pocket without comment, but questioned Rose eagerly about her life. Rose admitted that she enjoyed the luxury of Aunt Beattie’s home, although she had several small complaints.

  ‘I can’t do as I like, Kate,’ she said. ‘Often I want to read but I have to do fancywork in case Auntie wants to talk.’

  ‘Do you like the school?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Yes, but if I didn’t go to school I’d never be allowed outside the house. Essy thinks winter air is bad for the lungs.’

  ‘So you don’t think you could meet me in the park or somewhere?’ Kate said in dismay. ‘This nice man in our house said we might be able to.’

  ‘No, they watch me like hawks,’ Rose said gloomily. ‘Essy used to take me to school but sometimes Auntie needed her while she was out, so now Annie takes me and she’s even worse. She won’t let go of my hand for a minute.’

  She looked so woebegone that Kate said bracingly, ‘Never mind. We’ll think of something. I’m glad you like the school.’

  Rose shrugged. ‘We don’t have proper lessons,’ she said. ‘I know more geography and English and arithmetic than the big girls.’

  ‘Well, you were always the cleverest in the class, weren’t you?’ Kate said fondly. ‘What do you learn at the Select School?’

  ‘Deportment and dancing and music. I like them,’ said Rose. ‘And French. Mademoiselle who teaches French is really French but I don’t like her. Oh, and sewing, and a little bit of English and arithmetic. I’m the only one who knows her twelve times tables. The big girls say I’m a clever little pet,’ she added smugly.

  Her hair hung in fat glossy ringlets and Kate touched it gently. ‘Your hair looks lovely, Rose. Who does it for you?’ she asked.

  ‘Annie, the maid who takes me to school. She looks after the bedrooms but she chiefly looks after me now.’

  ‘What about Jane?’ asked Kate.

  ‘She’s the parlourmaid,’ Rose said airily. ‘Essy used to do things for me but sometimes she was busy with me when madam needed her and that wouldn’t do, so Annie looks after me now.’ As though on cue, Annie, a thin, middle-aged woman, appeared to take them indoors, and Kate was amazed by the imperious manner in which Rose treated her. She felt that she would have been unequal to this lifestyle, but Rose seemed to have settled in happily, in spite of her small grumbles.

  Jane brought in the tea and Kate smiled at her, but there was no opportunity to speak.

  After tea, Kate and Rose went to the bathroom. When they returned, Mildred was already wearing her hat and coat and Beattie had rung for Essy to show them out.

  ‘I won’t get up,’ Beattie said languidly. ‘My back is aching.’ Mildred marched to the door, and as Kate bent over Beattie to kiss her goodbye, Beattie slipped a sovereign into her hand. ‘Just for you, dear,’ she whispered. ‘Say nothing to Mildred.’

  Kate was delighted with the gift and felt no guilt about concealing it from Mildred. As soon as she was able to change it to smaller coins, she gave Mrs Molesworth two shillings to buy a treat for her husband.

  ‘God bless you, girl. You’v
e a heart of gold,’ the charwoman said when she could speak. ‘It’ll make that much difference to my poor feller.’

  She told Kate the next morning that she had bought her husband a pig’s trotter, which he had fancied for a while but had been unable to afford. ‘He relished every bit of it,’ she declared. ‘Then I got some shin beef and a penn’orth of potherbs and some barley and made such a panful of broth! I can taste it still. My feller said if he got food like that every day he’d be up and skipping.’

  ‘And would he?’ Kate asked eagerly.

  ‘No, girl, he’ll never walk again,’ Mrs Molesworth said sadly. ‘He was just saying, like, how much he enjoyed it.’ She smiled again. ‘And I’ve got plenty of money left too. I know how to make one penny do as much as two, so he’s gorra lot to look forward too, like.’

  Kate was delighted that her gift was so successful. As time passed, her naturally cheerful disposition had reasserted itself, and she was beginning to enjoy life again. She never forgot her parents or ceased to love Rose, but she believed that her parents were happy together in Heaven, and she was glad that Rose was settling into her new life but was still as loving when they met.

  She was pleased to feel needed and useful, and felt she was lucky to have such good friends as Mrs Molesworth and Martha and to be helped by Miss Tate and Mrs Bradley. Most of all she was happy to be near her hero, Henry Barnes. She saw him every day, and if he spoke to her she was elated for the rest of the day.

  Kate’s position in the house was ambiguous. Mildred insisted that she was there as her orphan niece, but Kate was doing more and more of the work of the house before and after school and at weekends. Mildred said no more about engaging a second maid.

  Martha was complaining about this one Saturday morning when Mildred had departed on one of her mysterious errands. As soon as she was safely away, Kate made a pot of tea and produced a bag of broken biscuits she had bought for Mrs Molesworth, Martha and herself.

  ‘She’s never let on about another girl and she won’t while she’s got you run off your feet, Kate,’ said Martha.