Oliver realised that Helena’s request, couched in such terms, put him in a difficult position. To refuse would seem unreasonable, even harsh, and Jacob Standish would rightly be outraged. This was infuriating, as he would have preferred that his own strictly controlled staff serve Helena. ‘You would judge her to be loyal?’
‘Absolutely, I’ve known her for years and her work is excellent.’
‘And her age is …?’
‘I think she is about twenty.’
Oliver frowned. ‘Which one is she?’
‘Molly? She’s the dark-haired pretty one.’ Helena was beginning to feel bewildered by all his questions. After all, what was one more maid in a house as large as Graylings?
Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. Although he normally paid little attention to servants, he had noticed this particular parlourmaid. He smiled. ‘You know I can refuse you nothing, dearest. Of course she may come to Graylings.’
‘Thank you, Oliver.’ Helena lowered her gaze to her sewing with quiet satisfaction.
Molly, who had come to work at Broadway Manor as a kitchen maid, was proud that she had worked her way up to her present position of junior parlourmaid. The term ‘junior’ in her opinion was merely to reflect Ida’s longer service. Molly considered her abilities equal to any member of staff, with the exception of the butler and cook. The third child of a feckless mother and workshy father, life for Molly had been one of cast-offs, blows and a sparse diet. The day she had been sent into service had been the best of her short life. Something she was reminiscing about in the kitchen. ‘I never saw a tablecloth until I came here, never mind a full plate.’
‘That’s one reason I came into service,’ one of the footmen said. ‘At least you can be sure of three square meals a day.’
‘Yes, well that’s because we’ve got a good employer,’ Molly told him. ‘It isn’t the same everywhere. Believe me, I’ve heard tales of servants worked into the ground and ruled with a rod of iron. My cousin works for Mr Standish in his brewery, and says the men have a lot of respect for him cos he pays decent wages, and makes sure they have good working conditions. He says we could do with people like him in Parliament.’
She swung round as the butler came in calling her name. ‘Miss Beatrice wants to see you in the morning room.’
Molly glanced round at the others, drew a sharp intake of breath and went to the round mahogany framed mirror that hung over the mantelpiece to tidy a loose strand of her hair and straighten her white lace-trimmed cap. Then she hurried up the back stairs and paused at the top to compose herself before crossing the spacious hall with its polished floor and Persian rug to tap lightly on the wide cream-panelled door.
The cool voice came immediately: ‘Come.’
Beatrice Standish, seated on her favourite gold velvet chair, with its high spoon back, turned from her writing table. ‘Ah, Molly, do come in. There is something I wish to discuss with you.’
‘Yes, Miss Beatrice?’
Beatrice gave her a warm smile. ‘It’s about Miss Helena’s forthcoming marriage and her subsequent residence at Graylings. She has expressed a wish that you might accompany her.’
For a second Molly could hardly speak. She had dreamt of this for weeks, knowing that it could be her one chance to broaden her horizons, to meet new people, even to learn new skills. ‘Thank you, Miss. I’d love to go.’
‘And your family – would they raise any objection?’
‘No, Miss Beatrice, not at all.’
‘That’s excellent. Now Miss Helena’s initial wish was that you be trained by Miss Hewson to take up the post of lady’s maid, but after due consideration it is felt that as Mr Faraday’s wife, her social standing will be such that she will need the services of someone with more experience.’ Beatrice paused, as Molly couldn’t control a gasp of consternation, then she continued, ‘However, it has been agreed that you should be offered a position at Graylings as a parlourmaid. Also to be given the chance to understudy Miss Helena’s personal maid – who is still to be appointed – with a view to substituting for her if circumstances require it.’
Molly said slowly, ‘So I’d be getting a sort of training …’
Beatrice nodded. ‘That is correct. I shall quite understand if you need time to give the matter some thought.’
‘No, Miss Beatrice, I don’t. That would be quite satisfactory.’
‘Then I shall write to the housekeeper at Graylings giving you a good reference. I am sure that your pay and conditions will be equal to those you enjoy at Broadway Manor. It will be a great comfort to me to know that Miss Helena will have you with her.’
‘Thank you, Miss.’
As Beatrice gave a dismissive nod, Molly turned and went out of the room, her heart singing. She may not be a lady’s maid – not yet – but this was the next best thing. Full of excitement, she raced back to the kitchen to announce her news.
Henry Bostock took off his rimless spectacles and gestured with them. ‘I’m pleased for you, Molly. It will be good for Miss Helena to have you at Graylings with her.’
‘Of course, she was always Miss Helena’s favourite.’ Ida sniffed.
‘Now then, Ida,’ Cook said. ‘You’ve got your own good fortune. But bless us, that will mean two new parlourmaids once you’ve got wed. Change doesn’t sit well with me at my time of life.’
‘I’ve been thinking, Mrs Kemp,’ the butler said, ‘that perhaps you could do with an extra hand in the kitchen. If another girl took Annie’s place in the scullery … ’
Cook beamed. ‘Now that is a change I’d welcome, and so would Annie. She’ll be glad to see the back of scouring pots and pans in that scullery, not to mention scrubbing dirt off the veg.’
‘Yes, well don’t go saying anything to her yet. I shall need to talk to Miss Beatrice first – it is an extra member of staff, after all.’
‘Explain it’s me varicose veins, they don’t half give me some gip. I could do with being off me legs more.’
Molly was only half listening. She was glad that Annie had the chance of promotion to kitchen maid, but her brain was already running ahead to her new life.
During Christmas at Broadway Manor, the festivities were naturally overshadowed by the arrangements for Helena’s forthcoming marriage. Oliver spent his own Christmas divided between Graylings and his London house, where he intended to remain until the day of the ceremony at St Margaret’s Church. The Standish family were to travel to London after the New Year.
And as Helena had wished, on the day after Boxing Day the servants gathered in the spacious hall before the huge festooned Christmas tree to see her in her wedding finery. The outdoor staff, the grooms and gardeners were ill at ease, clutching their caps and standing slightly aside, while the indoor servants stood in a cluster to watch with pride as Helena descended the wide oak-panelled staircase in her ivory silk gown with its long train flowing behind. Mary Standish’s fine veil edged with embroidery was held in place by a glistening pearl tiara, and as Annie, already overcome at actually being upstairs, said later – their Miss Helena ‘looked like an angel’.
Helena gazed down at the sea of faces knowing that she would never forget the scene before her, and the affection and admiration in their eyes was unbearably moving. Despite her exhilaration at actually wearing the bridal outfit, the thought of leaving them all tightened her throat. Cook, her broad face wreathed in a smile, had often welcomed her as a child in the kitchen, giving her a glass of buttermilk, warm little cakes from the oven and letting her lick the pudding spoon. The loyal Bostock, whose silver hair was now becoming sparse – he had always been there; a part of her life as much as Broadway Manor itself.
‘Ooh, Miss Helena, you look a picture,’ Cook took up a corner of her apron to wipe a tear from her eye.
Bostock stepped forward. ‘May I say, Miss Helena, how much we all
appreciate this kind gesture. And on behalf of the staff may I express our good wishes for your future happiness.’
Helena’s smile was warm and happy, and briefly her eyes met those of Molly. ‘Thank you all so very much and also for helping to take care of me all these years. I know I shall miss you dreadfully.’
Jacob with Beatrice beside him was standing before the drawing room door and despite his pride and emotion, it was only then he finally realised that within a very short time his daughter would no longer be part of his everyday life. There would be visits of course, between both houses, but not to see Helena’s lithe figure every day, not to hear her lilting laugh … The Manor was going to seem very empty.
He turned to glance at Beatrice and saw an unguarded expression on her face. How could he be so unthinking, so unaware? She had come to this house as a thirty-year-old spinster to tend a motherless baby. Had she ever dreamed of being a bride herself? And then there came shuffling of feet as the outdoor staff turned to leave, several of the men touching their forelock to Jacob. Helena spoke for a few moments to the female indoor staff and then soon the hall was clear again.
Now it was Jacob’s turn to speak. ‘You look absolutely splendid, Helena. I’m so proud of you.’
Beatrice’s expression had changed to one of triumph as she moved forward to help to raise the train so that her niece could safely return to her bedroom.
Helena was feeling wonderful in the dress, designed to overlay several silk petticoats to retain warmth. With her shoulders and arms covered with Nottingham lace, she had no fears of January’s inclement weather. Not even a top London dressmaker could have achieved more.
Chapter Twelve
On the day following New Year’s Day, Nicholas walked up the steps and past the gleaming engraved brass plate into the Wimpole Street consulting rooms and gave a morning greeting to the young woman behind the desk. As he saw her colour rise, Nicholas, as always, felt slightly embarrassed. During his hospital days there had been more than one nurse who had made it plain that she found him attractive. Even with her dark hair so plainly dressed, Miss Barnes was a pretty girl, but at present he had no interest in romance; he was too much involved with his patients and medical research.
There was only one marriage he was interested in and the ominous date was rapidly approaching. It was still an irritating mystery to Nicholas that after all these months he allowed his thoughts to still linger on a girl who could never have any place in his life. Yet every time he thought of those hazel eyes flecked with gold, at the softness of her mouth as she tentatively smiled at him, he was undone.
Only seconds later the door opened and Nicholas turned to greet Andrew Haverstock. The portly physician removed his top hat in a flamboyant gesture. ‘May I wish you both health and happiness in this New Year of 1906?’
‘And I extend the same wishes to you, Dr Haverstock.’ Nicholas smiled at the man he now regarded as a friend.
Miss Barnes took the hat from his outstretched hand. ‘Happy New Year, Dr Haverstock. I trust you had a good Christmas?’
‘Capital, capital.’ He rubbed his hands together and then guided Nicholas into his own domain. ‘Now then, let’s see what this week portends.’
Nicholas settled himself opposite Andrew, who immediately opened his new 1906 desk diary. ‘Ah, I see there are already some entries.’ He flicked through a few pages and then frowned. ‘Lady Trentley’s name is down for Wednesday week, yet I’m sure I …’ He pressed a bell beneath the rim of the polished walnut desk and within seconds the receptionist came into the room. ‘Miss Barnes, I see there is an appointment made for me on the tenth. Did I not say that I won’t be available on that day?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Dr Haverstock, I remember now. I do apologise. I’m afraid I didn’t make a note of it.’
‘I have a wedding to attend.’
Disconcerted, Nicholas stared at him then dismissed the thought.
Andrew turned to Nicholas. ‘I wonder – Dr Carstairs, do you think you could deputise for me? That is of course if Lady Trentley is agreeable. I hardly wish to cause her inconvenience.’
‘May I see?’ Nicholas held out his hand for the diary. The appointment was for 10.30 a.m. It was impossible. How could he carry out his plan to be at St Margaret’s Church before eleven o’clock? He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I have a commitment at the time that I can’t possibly break.’
Andrew gave a heavy sigh. ‘In that case, I shall just have to eat humble pie. You may go, Miss Barnes, but in future please be more careful.’ After she had left he said, ‘I don’t understand it, she’s usually so efficient.’
Nicholas looked down at his hands. ‘A wedding, you say? Is it a relative?’
Andrew shook his head as he leafed through a case file. ‘No, it’s a society wedding. When I was a young, inexperienced doctor, my first practice was in Hertfordshire. I assisted a London gynaecologist at Oliver Faraday’s birth. Sadly, after a protracted labour the mother suffered a severe haemorrhage. He’s marrying some young woman from Staffordshire.’
Nicholas managed to keep his voice one of quiet control. ‘Oliver Faraday?’
‘Yes, of Graylings, a fine ancestral house.’ Andrew glanced up and explained, ‘Afterwards I used to attend Oliver when he had childhood ailments, and as I became more respected his father even invited me to luncheon.’ With dry humour, he added, ‘Never to dinner, of course.’
Nicholas gave a sympathetic smile. ‘These social niceties, they really are nonsensical. Yet you’ve been sent an invitation.’
‘I have indeed. Oliver consulted me a couple of years ago – merely a minor matter – and now that I have patients among the aristocracy I believe I am considered socially acceptable.’ He raised his bushy eyebrows, but Nicholas merely smiled, thinking it safer not to pursue the subject.
The morning of the tenth of January dawned without a hint of rain, and Helena, although nervous, was enjoying all the attention. She breakfasted in bed, the tray before her daintily laid with a soft-boiled egg, toast and honey, and a fluted china cup of hot chocolate. Then the hip-bath before the lively coal fire began to be filled by a procession of maids carrying cans of hot water. As one tipped in rose-scented bath salts, Enid Hewson busied herself laying out a camisole, a ribbon corset, knickers with lace frills at the knee and white silk stockings. The myriad of petticoats lay fanned out over the back of a velvet chair, while complexion creams, silver-backed hairbrush, comb and mirror were in readiness on the dressing table.
Helena was leaning against the pillows, trying to close her mind to the activity around her. She loved Oliver’s London house. It was not only tall and elegant but exquisitely furnished. She heard faint laughter overhead from her bridesmaids, Dorothy, and three debutantes Helena had remained friendly with, and took a deep breath, trying to calm her chaotic feelings. It was normal to feel panicky, it was just wedding nerves – every bride was supposed to have them. Yet despite the day before her, into her mind came the young doctor’s image again and mortification swept over her, guilt that she could think of another man on the morning she was to marry Oliver. It must be because she was back in London.
With determination she drew a curtain over the memory and instead gazed at the ivory dress with its guipure lace and gossamer veil hanging in splendour outside the bow-fronted satinwood wardrobe.
Oliver had been so sweet, so attentive in these weeks leading up to the ceremony. She hadn’t felt any of that disturbing uneasiness about him for ages. Leaning forward, Helena flung aside the blue silk eiderdown with resolve, swung out her legs and put on her peignoir and swansdown trimmed slippers.
The maid turned to bob a curtsey. ‘Your bath is ready, Miss.’
Helena, whose hair had been shampooed the previous day, waited until it was pinned up, then once the ornate Japanese screen was in place, undressed. She would have preferred to ba
the alone, but instead lowered herself into the fragrant water to submit to the ministrations of the excited pale-faced maid.
Hewson’s voice, imperious and establishing her seniority, called, ‘Miss Helena, I shall go now to attend to Miss Beatrice, but I’ll be back in time to arrange your hair and help you to dress.’
Later that morning when he arrived in Westminster, Nicholas was surprised to see St Margaret’s Church already surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, but then focused on finding a vantage point that would give him both an unobstructed view and a measure of anonymity. Eventually, his hat by his side, he decided to stand bareheaded amongst a cluster of people who were unlikely to attract attention and contained at least two other men of a similar height.
When the carriages and motor cars began to arrive nearby he saw Andrew Haverstock almost immediately, distinguished in morning dress and accompanied by his wife who was in pale grey and wearing an ostrich-plumed hat. Nicholas tensed slightly as the couple followed a stream of guests to the entrance of the ancient church, but soon realised that the crowd outside held little interest for the elite, who scarcely gave them a second’s glance. The procession of expensively dressed people seemed endless and he waited with increasing impatience until the last trickle disappeared.
‘Here come the bridesmaids!’ someone said. There were three young women, meeting with a murmur of approval as they walked demurely past with fresh flowers in their hair to match their lace-circled posies.
‘Peach velvet,’ said a tiny bird-like woman in front of him. ‘That must ’ave cost a pretty penny.’
‘No little ones or pageboys?’ her friend was derisive. ‘I don’t call that much of a display.’
Minutes later the carriage everyone had been waiting for arrived. Beribboned and gleaming, it was drawn by a perfectly matched set of greys. As the coachman brought the snorting horses to a halt and the ushers moved forward with the step, Nicholas felt his throat become dry, his breathing shallow. A middle-aged man descended and, turning, held out his hand first to another bridesmaid and then the bride was in view, stepping down in her long shimmering gown, waiting while her attendant adjusted and then lifted the extensive train. On her father’s arm, she began the short walk to the entrance to the church while Nicholas stared with every ounce of concentration to try to penetrate the veil that obscured her face. Was it Helena? She was the same height, he could even detect that her hair was fair, but from this distance …
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