‘My dear Helena, for married couples to sleep in the same bed is unheard of in our circles. It is something confined to the working classes. Surely, you can see that it would be not only unhygienic but also most unsuitable. One would hardly wish to be awakened by one’s servant in such circumstances.’
And so each night she would watch him leave with an unmistakeable air of complacency, wondering why she felt so … Helena wasn’t sure exactly how she did feel, but in the core of her, she sensed that something was lacking. Was it her fault? Was she too young, not woman enough?
Then eventually the time came when it was necessary for her to raise an indelicate subject. They were alone in the drawing room, where Oliver was enjoying a fine French brandy after dinner and, judging him to be in a relaxed mood, it was with some embarrassment that Helena said, ‘Oliver, I do apologise, but it will be several days before I am able again to welcome you into my bed.’
Oliver’s hand, which was half raised to his lips, stilled. He didn’t answer at first and then said in a low, tense voice, ‘Do you mean that you are indisposed?’
Helena, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, said, ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
Again, there was a silence. ‘Then my sweet, I shall rely on you to let me know when …’
Helena nodded. ‘But of course.’
It was with difficulty that Oliver managed to keep his expression bland, to disguise his seething frustration. Perhaps it had been a conceit to think that she would conceive so quickly. As for her female ailment, he knew that some men could disregard such a fact; he had even heard them boast of it. However, to Oliver the act at such a time would be abhorrent, and so without the necessity of indulging Helena with a view to her nightly compliance, there was little need for him to spend so much time with her, at least during the coming week. Not, he mused, as he glanced across to where Helena was leafing through a copy of Vogue, that he had any complaints about his wife. On the contrary, he had to admit to an increasing fondness for her, but he would certainly make the most of the situation and perhaps dine at his club on some evenings, or seek out Johnnie at the gaming tables.
Helena, unaware of Oliver’s brooding, resigned herself to idling the rest of the evening with her magazine, her mind running ahead. There was a romantic novel in her room, and the prospect of being undisturbed and to feel again that lovely sense of drowsiness before closing the pages and snuggling down would be absolute bliss. They would also soon be at Graylings where there would be the chance to make new friends. She was longing now to see her new home and to meet the staff. It had surprised Helena just how much she had missed feminine company. At least when her father eventually came to visit he would be bringing Aunt Beatrice with him.
Chapter Fifteen
Oliver had personally appointed the butler at Graylings soon after his father’s death. The previous incumbent, an elderly man of loyal service but now shrivelled appearance, had been retired on an adequate pension and replaced by a tall, commanding man with the bearing of an Army officer. Edwin Crossley believed in discipline and the upholding of high standards, his features were clean cut and to Oliver he had been the perfect choice.
On the morning of the expected arrival, a groom was directed to ride to the gates and instructions given that when the approaching vehicle was spotted he should then gallop back to Graylings to give the required signal. Already members of staff were hovering in readiness, alert to leave their tasks in order to gather outside the wide frontage of the house.
‘I want you to line up on each side in order of seniority,’ the butler told them, ‘the indoor staff on the right, and the outdoor staff on the left. The men will be bareheaded and as the master and mistress pass by the women are to bob a curtsey.’
Honestly, Molly thought with resentment. He must think we haven’t a brain between us. She kept a wide berth of Mr Crossley. Not that she disliked him, but she was constantly apprehensive, as she suspected were many of the maids, of doing anything that could incur his disapproval. It was bad enough satisfying the exacting demands of the housekeeper. It was a funny place, Molly thought as she dusted a blue and white Meissen vase in the vast hall, remembering the day when she had first arrived.
Nervous and filled with apprehension, she had been offered warm refreshment in the kitchen – a bowl of soup and crusty bread – and then shown immediately to the housekeeper’s office; a spacious, comfortable room with rust velour curtains and a fireplace with a black-leaded gleaming surround above a cosy fire. The woman seated behind a large and slightly shabby desk had upright posture, her sandy hair swept into a chignon. Dressed in black with white starched collar and cuffs, she waved a hand to the chair before her. ‘Do come in, Fox. I hope you had a good journey.’
At first the housekeeper simply asked questions concerning Molly’s experience before detailing her new duties, the hours she would be expected to work and the amount of free time allowed. Then she hesitated. ‘At Graylings, we are required to observe a strict rule of confidentiality. Mr Faraday insists that if any member of his staff is found to have discussed his personal affairs or those of his household outside this house, then instant dismissal will follow. I take it you are in agreement with that?’
Flustered, Molly said, ‘Of course, Mrs Birley.’
The housekeeper glanced down at an open ledger before her. ‘I haven’t mentioned your wages, have I? You will find that Mr Faraday is a generous employer, which is one of the reasons we are all happy to fit in with his requirements.’
She had gone on to name the most satisfactory sum of twenty-seven pounds a year and that night as Molly settled into her small attic room – the first she had never had to share – although drowsy with weariness she was elated, already planning to save for a little nest egg. Perhaps she had been wrong about Miss Helena’s husband; she had even felt worried, especially in view of Annie’s strong dislike of him. She might have to accept that it would be difficult for them to resume their original friendship, which was a pity because if she felt a bit lonely at Graylings, then so would her mistress. Molly smiled to herself at the word, because of course that’s what Miss Helena was now, her mistress, not the smiling girl who had teased her in the fields at Broadway Manor.
Molly carefully replaced the vase on a polished walnut side table and while waiting for the summons to go outside, reflected that even if most of the staff seemed friendly enough, she still felt a stranger among them. One of the footmen had tried flirting with her, and she didn’t mind a bit of harmless fun, but she would never risk anything that threatened her chance of bettering herself.
Helena, seated beside Oliver on the leather seat of the car while his chauffeur negotiated the roads leading to Graylings, found her nervousness mounting with every passing mile. To see for the first time – for no painting could compare with the actual experience – Graylings, yet knowing that her arrival would be the subject of many curious stares was daunting to say the least. She tucked a stray strand of hair beneath her emerald green hat, trimmed extravagantly with ostrich feathers and bought for the occasion. ‘Make a grand entrance,’ Beatrice had recommended. ‘Remember your position despite your youth. If necessary, adopt an air of arrogance. Believe me it will pay dividends in the future.’ And Helena reminded herself that she had been a married woman for a month now.
The coach, laden with their trunks, had set off earlier; Oliver seemed to have planned everything to the last detail. As they journeyed he told her the names of the senior members of the household, ones she would need to greet personally. He himself would introduce the estate manager and butler, who in turn would present the housekeeper and cook. ‘And Helena, only a smile for your maid from Broadway Manor, if you please; it wouldn’t do to single her out.’
‘I understand, Oliver.’
The sight that met her as the chauffeur drove up a private road surrounded by parkland was one she would never forget. Despite ea
rlier threatening clouds, when she had wondered whether Oliver would expect his staff to stand out in the rain, the weather was fine. Even from a distance, Graylings seemed larger than she’d expected; built of grey stone in the mid-18th century of Georgian Palladium style, it was four storeys high and bore an air of almost forbidding grandeur. Helena felt a rush of inadequacy, being acutely conscious of her youth, her inexperience, especially as she saw waiting outside the magnificent south frontage opposite lines of staff; the footmen in livery of maroon and gold, the maids in black, with white aprons and mob caps.
Helena saw them watch expectantly as the car came to a halt. The chauffeur opened the rear door on Oliver’s side first, and then both men walked round the car, the chauffeur standing aside so that Oliver could assist Helena. A sable tippet around her shoulders, she placed her gloved hand on his arm, lifted her skirt and, after taking a deep breath, she stepped out with a smile.
Helena was unsure whether she would ever be able to think of Graylings as her home. Accustomed to Broadway Manor with its golden oak, the almost black panelling of the hall and staircase seemed gloomy. It was a much older house of course, but although well cared for, some of the furnishings seemed to her both heavy and oppressive. She was hoping that perhaps after a decent interval Oliver would allow her to arrange some of the rooms to her own taste. Their private apartments again had an inter-connecting door, and were situated in the west wing, where to her delight the view from her bedroom window overlooked the rose gardens that Oliver had described. And she had to admit that in this particular room, the furnishings chosen by Oliver’s late mother were pleasing and light in colour, including a beautiful Japanese silk screen similar to that in the London House. Rosalind Faraday must have chosen that too. How strange and sad that she, like Helena’s own mother, had died so young and in childbirth. Helena felt a slight shiver at the thought, and then reminded herself such tragedies were the exception rather than the rule. There was no reason to believe that the same thing would happen to her.
They had been in residence for three days when one afternoon in the drawing room, as they waited for tea to be served, she said, ‘Oliver, there is the question of my maid. The one who accompanied me from London has only been a temporary arrangement.’
‘Yes, of course. I have not been remiss in this, Helena. Mrs Birley already has a short list of applicants for you. She is well aware of my requirements.’
Helena stared at him. ‘I’m sorry Oliver, I don’t understand? I would have thought that it would be my requirements that would take preference.’
‘My dear girl, don’t be so prickly. Naturally, it will be your choice. I just prefer to be surrounded by pleasant countenances. Mrs Birley will have weeded out anyone unsuitable.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Helena watched him leave the room, remembering how he had enquired about Molly and his relief when Helena had described the maid as ‘the pretty one’. Well, there was nothing wrong in preferring beauty to ugliness, but it seemed harsh on those unfortunate ones who were not blessed with good looks. As an image of Annie flashed into her mind, followed by the disturbing memory of Oliver’s expression of disgust, Helena was deep in thought as she crossed over to the silken bell-pull to summon the housekeeper. There was so much she needed to learn and to understand about this husband of hers.
Chapter Sixteen
In the East End of London, Cora was fed up with the winter. Not that she ever had to face the damp mornings or the biting cold of early freezing winds as, since the age of fifteen, she had never risen before midday. In her profession the nights were a time for working, not sleeping. But she did like to get a breath of fresh air at some time of the day, and late afternoons would often find her wandering around the markets. Today had been an especially satisfying expedition and she let herself into the house clutching with triumph a pair of boots. Black and trimmed with silver, they showed scarcely a sign of wear. And they were kid leather too, a sure sign that they’d belonged to some lady of quality. Cora hadn’t tried them on yet but she knew what to do if they were a bit tight. Stuff ’em with some damp brown paper and leave ’em for a couple of days – it never failed.
When she reached the landing she discovered that Belle had hired a new girl. Not that Cora was surprised – the room next to her own had been empty for a couple of weeks now which meant it wasn’t earning its way. She paused at the half-open door to see a dark-haired girl hanging her clothes in the narrow wardrobe, her lips compressed with determination, her expression one of misery.
‘Cheer up, ducks. It ain’t so bad.’
The girl turned, and her voice was tight. ‘You might not think so. I do.’
‘Never expected to end up in a place like this, is that it?’
‘I haven’t got much choice.’
‘Same as the rest of us, then,’ Cora said with a shrug. ‘I’m next door – the name’s Cora Bates.’
‘Sybil Slater.’
Cora looked at her curiously. ‘First time then – in a place like this, I mean?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, let me know if yer need anything.’ Cora walked past and went into her own room thinking that at least this one seemed sober. The last occupant had been a right gin-soak; once Belle had found out that had been the end of her. Not that she frowned on the girls having a drop, she just objected to them drowning in the stuff.
Lacing up her new boots, Cora muttered, ‘Might ’ave been made for me,’ and pleased, decided to wear them that evening. She was half hoping that Johnnie would appear. It was odd, but she missed him if he stayed away too long.
The new girl seemed to cling to Cora, but she didn’t mind. She was glad of the company, even though Sybil couldn’t half tell a tale. One rainy afternoon, when they were in Sybil’s room, lying propped up in front of the pink satin headboard, Cora probed, ‘This chap, the one you say gave you all these silks and satins and jewellery, who was he, then?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ Sybil said shortly.
‘Fair enough.’ Cora didn’t like people knowing her business either. ‘But what I don’t understand is, if you had all this stuff, how come you ended up here?’
‘Where I was living, he paid the rent, didn’t he? Lovely little apartment, it was, in St John’s Wood. It’s very select there, you know. I had me own kitchen and everything. And I never went with anyone else, not once. But then one day he just gives me ten guineas, and bob’s yer uncle. Said he had no need of our arrangement any more. So there I was, homeless, with all these clothes and things, and nowhere to put ’em.’
Cora had seen the meagre garments in Sybil’s wardrobe. ‘So where are they all?’
‘Well, I got meself some cheap lodgings, then one day I came back to find the lot gone, money and everything! Even the bits of jewellery that I’d hid beneath me best corset. Course the old hag running the place pleaded ignorance, but I didn’t dare send for the rozzers …’
‘I would ’ave done, the thieving cow!’
‘No you wouldn’t,’ Sybil said sharply. ‘They’d have asked a lot of questions, maybe even accused me of lying, of stealing the things meself.’
‘You could have told them the truth.’
Sybil shook her head. ‘I know for sure he used a false name. I always called him Gerald, but there were different initials on his wallet. I only saw it the once, just by chance. Anyway, it was no use crying over spilt milk so I cut me losses, made a few enquiries and heard about Belle’s.’
‘I bet he’s got married,’ Cora decided. ‘That’s if he wasn’t already. He’s probably bored to death in a big draughty house with some milksop miss.’
Sybil’s laugh was bitter. ‘At least she will only have to satisfy one man, not like …’
‘I’ve told you, you’ll get used to it.’
At Graylings, Mrs Birley presented Helena with three applicants for the post
of her personal maid. ‘There were initially five, Mrs Faraday, but two were unsuitable.’
Helena wondered whether that had been because of their appearance or their lack of experience. From her observation of the indoor staff, the footmen were unfailingly good looking, the maids were fresh-faced and pretty, even Mrs Birley could be described as a handsome woman while the butler’s leonine head would have graced any theatre. The only exception was Cook, whose round face resembled a currant bun. But it was unlikely that Oliver ever came into contact with her. Even Helena was reluctant to explore beyond the green baize door that separated the ‘downstairs’ from the ‘upstairs’. Beatrice had emphasised that strongly. ‘Your presence will not be welcomed – it will be regarded as mistrust and interference, Helena. Just for once please be guided by someone with more experience. You are no longer a child to be pampered and fussed. You are their mistress, and they will expect you to know your place, in the same way that you expect them to know theirs.’
So Helena straightened her back and prepared to portray a dignified appearance as the first of the applicants was ushered into the morning room. This was a vital appointment because she didn’t merely require someone to dress her hair, care for her clothes and advise her on which jewellery to wear. She needed an ally, someone who would be intensely loyal and who she could, if necessary, confide in.
A week later, Molly could only gaze with grudging admiration at the new member of staff as she took her seat at the long table in the Servants’ Hall where, between the butler at the head and the cook at the other end, everyone else was placed in strict order of seniority. As Mrs Faraday’s personal maid, Jane Forrester had been shown to the seat immediately on Mr Crossley’s right, displacing the head parlourmaid. Mrs Birley, in view of her position as housekeeper, had her meals served in her room as indeed Jane Forrester could choose to do.
Dangerous Decisions Page 10