Molly decided that Miss Forrester had elegance. It was in her deportment and in the touches of white at her neck and cuffs, their soft lace portraying not efficiency but a taste for fashion. From beneath her lashes Molly watched the graceful way she used her slender hands, the polite way she inclined her neck as she listened to the butler, and judged her to be in her mid-thirties. She was nice-looking too, in a quiet way, with soft brown eyes and hair. Not at all snobby and forbidding-looking. She looks friendly enough, Molly decided as she passed on the bowl of boiled potatoes to another junior maid.
What Molly hadn’t anticipated was that her own connection with the new mistress of Graylings would be regarded with suspicion.
‘You want to be careful what you say in earshot of that new maid from Broadway Manor.’ One of the parlourmaids had a strident voice as she spoke to Jane, and Molly had paused outside an open door to listen in growing dismay. ‘I mean, why else would Mrs Faraday bring her here, if it wasn’t to spy on the rest of us?’
That was Susan, the spiteful cow! Molly had taken a step forward to confront her – then thought better of it. Why stoop to her level? Instead, she had decided to keep her head down and do a good job; they would soon learn they were wrong.
But she was settling in now at Graylings, gratified to find that the cook’s expertise was not only equal to that of Mrs Kemp, but her pastry was even superior. Having been half starved as a child, food was Molly’s main pleasure in life. Her second was books. She would always bless her good luck in having such a dedicated schoolteacher. Molly’s attendance at school might have been spasmodic, the years short, but the elderly spinster whose mission in life was to eradicate illiteracy had recognised a quick brain and fed it accordingly. However, the arrangement that had existed at Broadway Manor between herself and Miss Helena had left a void Molly was unsure how to fill. The romantic novels she had secretly passed on had been ones given to her by the daughter of a local minister, whose eventual elopement scandalised the parish. Although scathing of religion – Molly had seen too much misery in her childhood to believe in a benevolent God – she had taken full advantage of the custom for servants to be given two hours off on Sunday mornings to attend a service. Even sitting in a chilly church and listening to a boring sermon had proved a welcome diversion from the weekly routine.
Now Molly was beginning to wonder whether Miss Helena – or Mrs Faraday as she must remember to call her, at least in public – would, in her new position, consider it beneath her to share books with a mere parlourmaid. To Molly’s frustration and disappointment, she had so far seen little of her friend apart from a swift smile of recognition that first day.
During her first few weeks at Graylings, Helena, mindful of Aunt Beatrice’s advice, concentrated on establishing her authority. It took determination, but she managed to subdue her natural friendliness and instead adopted a manner that was pleasant yet slightly aloof. And she found it gratifying to see the growing respect in Mrs Birley’s eyes as Helena listened to the housekeeper’s views and requests and gave clear agreement and instructions.
‘I do realise, Mrs Birley,’ Helena had been careful to say, ‘that your familiarity with Graylings far exceeds my own. And I shall rely upon your experience and wise advice in these early days.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Faraday. I can assure you that the efficient running of the household is not only my duty, but also my pleasure.’
‘Then we are of the same mind.’
And since then their relationship had been one of cordial mutual respect, and a few days before Jacob and Beatrice Standish were due to arrive, just as Mrs Birley was about to leave the morning room, Helena said, ‘How is Molly settling in?’
‘Extremely well. I find her both willing and efficient.’
‘Good. And she will receive some training in the duties of a lady’s maid?’
‘In due course, Madam.’
‘Indeed.’ She was thoughtful as the housekeeper left the room. Helena felt uncomfortable that she hadn’t spoken personally to Molly but had thought it wise to wait until the visitors from Broadway Manor arrived, giving the perfect excuse to single out their former maid. Whether at Graylings it would be possible to resume their old friendly relationship was a question to which she hadn’t yet found the answer. She missed the way they were relaxed with each other; the fact that they had been girls together had somehow blurred the class boundaries between them. Although Helena suspected that Molly never quite forgot the difference in their status. Meanwhile, slowly she was beginning to trust the quietly efficient Jane Forrester and had already decided that her first appointment had been the right one.
But she had more urgent matters on her mind. Oliver had been absent all day but after dinner, Helena needed to choose the right moment to inform him that she was again indisposed.
Chapter Seventeen
Three weeks later the staff at Broadway Manor waited impatiently in the kitchen for Miss Hewson to join them after her return from Graylings.
‘Miss Beatrice will probably expect her to unpack first.’ The maid who had replaced Molly was one of those people whose cup was always half empty.
‘Nonsense, girl. She’s much too considerate for that. Ah, here she is …’ Cook lifted the large brown earthenware teapot and began to pour.
‘Oh, I’m ready for that.’ Enid collapsed onto an armchair.
‘How about a slice of my fruit cake, Miss Hewson?’
‘That would be most welcome, thank you.’
‘We’re dying to know how Miss Helena is, and all about Graylings.’
‘That’s right.’ Annie leaned forward on the table, one hand shielding the scarred side of her face.
‘Give me time to catch my breath. It’s ever so grand. I nearly got lost the first day.’ She went on to describe the stateliness of Graylings with its myriad of rooms and corridors, the dark oak panelling, the huge rooms with long casement windows overlooking parkland and how many of the graceful chairs were embroidered in gold-threaded tapestry. ‘Lovely, it is,’ she said, ‘although it doesn’t have the cosy feel of Broadway Manor. Believe it or not, there’s even a lake.’
Annie said, ‘And Miss Helena?’
‘She seems fine. Quite the mistress, I can tell you. Proud of her, I was.’
‘Yes, but is he good to her?’ Annie persisted.
Enid hesitated. ‘He seems to be, not that I saw much of him. He’s just the same, treats the servants as if they’re invisible.’
‘And how did you find the Servants’ Hall?’ was the butler’s question.
Enid gave a shrug. ‘There were a lot more staff in there, good food mind you. I can tell you one thing, though – they’re a nice-looking lot.’
‘So,’ the youngest footman said, smoothing his pomaded black hair. ‘What would my chances be, then?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Would I pass muster?’
‘You’re not thinking of leaving us?’ Cook’s voice rose in alarm.
‘Course not, he’s just fishing for compliments. Never mind that, tell us about Molly,’ Annie said. ‘Does she like it there?’
‘She says so, although she was a bit quiet. Mind you, I don’t suppose there’s much she can say.’ Enid leaned forward. ‘Apparently, none of the staff at Graylings are supposed to talk about the family.’
‘And it’s quite a sensible rule; I’ve seen many a reputation ruined by gossiping servants.’ The butler looked sternly at both footmen. ‘I would hope that neither of you have a loose tongue when you visit alehouses in Lichfield.’
‘And what about Miss Helena’s personal maid?’ Ida’s expression was slightly wistful. ‘Have they appointed one?’
Enid nodded. ‘Yes, a Miss Forrester. Lucky devil, she’ll be able to go with them when they have their honeymoon.’
‘Well, we’re going to Colwyn Bay f
or a few days. Oh of course you won’t have heard my news,’ Ida said, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘You know we were waiting for permission to marry to come through from the army, well it has! And Charlie can’t see any point in waiting, so the wedding’s next month. I’m really glad you’re back, Miss Hewson, because I haven’t got my dress sorted out yet.’
Enid brightened. ‘You leave it to me. There’s one of Miss Beatrice’s silk nightgowns that’s too tight on her. I’ll have you looking like a princess.’
‘Oh, thanks, Miss Hewson. I knew you’d come up with something. I still can’t believe I’ll soon be living in married quarters at Whittington.’
‘And then that’ll be another new parlourmaid to get used to,’ Cook said to Annie later. ‘Only this time, I hope they get a more cheerful one than the last. She’s a right wet blanket, and the new scullery maid’s a halfwit.’
‘No she isn’t,’ Annie protested. ‘She’s just jumpy, that’s all, in case she does anything wrong. And it’s not her fault – that dad of hers was too handy with his belt. Daisy just needs time, that’s all.’
Once her father and Aunt Beatrice had left, Helena grew restless, lacking stimulation. She had small talent for drawing and painting, and no interest in embroidery. Oliver was often out on estate matters and so far there had been little opportunity to make new friends. She mentioned this to Oliver.
‘When we return from Italy, you can invite Dorothy to stay.’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Or do I sense that there is something else on your mind?’
She nodded. ‘I’d like to have some tuition on the piano.’
‘But you play beautifully.’
‘Maybe, but when we begin to entertain, I feel that any recital at Graylings should be of the highest possible standard.’
As she had anticipated, his immediate response was to agree.
Oliver was absent from the house on the morning when James Longford, a music tutor recommended by another county family, first came to Graylings.
When Crossley brought to the music room a clean-shaven dark-haired man sporting a green corduroy jacket and spotted bow tie, Helena turned to him in surprise. Much younger than she had anticipated, he brought with him a breath of fresh air into the rather formal atmosphere that seemed to pervade even the furnishings. She found as they talked that James Longford had an affinity to music that matched her own, and soon Helena took her place before the Steinway grand piano, while the tutor sat on one of the surrounding chairs to listen to her repertoire. When eventually the notes died away, he said, ‘Mrs Faraday, may I congratulate you, that was an excellent performance. However, I think I can – how shall I put it – add icing to the cake? Believe me,’ he hesitated and then gave an attractive grin, ‘it will be a pleasure to work with a well-risen sponge rather than a flat and dry one.’
Helena laughed. ‘That sounded heartfelt!’
‘It was!’ He came over to the piano. ‘First of all, I think your position could be improved. Perhaps a little more distance?’
Obediently, Helena adjusted the stool.
‘You see, already you have more flexibility of movement. And perhaps if there is slightly higher stool somewhere?’
Helena thought. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well before acquiring one, do try a small cushion or something to raise you up a little. Extra height will give you more control and you will find your touch lighter and yet more powerful.’
By the time he left, setting her work on advanced scales and arpeggios, Helena felt that she had already benefited from the extra tuition. When she left the room she saw Molly at the other end of the corridor.
‘Molly! At last, I never seem to be able to catch you on your own. Quick, come in to the music room.’
Once they were inside, she gave the other girl a hug. ‘How are you? Are you happy here?’
‘It’s okay. I miss Broadway Manor, though.’
‘Don’t tell anyone, but so do I.’
They both burst out laughing.
‘Oh Molly, it’s wonderful to be able to talk to you. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.’
‘It’s all right, Miss Helena. I quite understand. The only thing is …’
‘What, tell me.’
‘You haven’t got any books, have you? I’m desperate for something to read.’
‘We must come up with a plan.’ Helena glanced around the room. ‘Do you ever come in here?’
Molly nodded. ‘Yes, once a week. It’s one of my duties to dust it and use the carpet sweeper.’
‘Then look inside the piano stool.’
‘You mean …’
‘We’ll have a system, just like we used to have with that cupboard on the landing. I’ll put a novel in there and …’
‘I’ll wrap it in a duster and take it right up to my room. Oh, thank you, Miss Helena, you’re an angel.’ Molly glanced towards the door. ‘I’d better go – Mrs Birley’s on the warpath today.’
Those few moments, in addition to the stimulating morning, had lifted Helena’s spirits and she greeted Oliver with a smile when later that afternoon he returned for tea. ‘I had such an enjoyable time.’
‘Good. What is he like, this paragon of music?’
‘Younger than I expected. He wears very colourful clothes – a bit bohemian really. He really was excellent. I’m afraid you will have to forebear the sound of scales being practised.’
Oliver took a scone and began to spread it with strawberry jam. ‘Then I shall make a point of being a long way from the music room.’
After he had left, Helena felt in a reflective mood. The past hour had been a companionable one; she had felt relaxed, happy even. She was finding that marriage – which seemed to be the holy grail of most women – was far more complicated than she had expected. So much effort and planning went into the finding of a husband, especially from mothers of daughters of a certain age, with accolades for any girl ‘marrying well’. Yet little was heard of marriage itself, and to her despair, Oliver’s brutality, his lack of consideration on their wedding night, was still tainting the way she felt about him. When they were in bed she managed to offer some response, but a vital part of their intimacy had been lost. Was her husband aware of it? What I need, Helena thought with desperation as she strolled over to the tall window to gaze out at the distant lake, is a romantic miracle. She was hoping that their honeymoon would be the answer, and could only pray that it would be soon.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Dr Carstairs?’ The voice was urgent, even peremptory, and Nicholas turned to see a staff nurse hurrying towards him. ‘Please could you spare a minute?’
‘Of course.’ Nicholas swiftly followed the rustling figure, her starched cap slightly awry. ‘It’s this young boy,’ she explained. ‘He’s been admitted as an emergency and is screaming blue murder. He refuses to let the duty doctor examine him. All he can say is that he wants to see Doc Carstairs. Honestly, as if these people can ask for any doctor they like … I don’t like to bother you, but …’
‘I don’t mind, Nurse Barton,’ he turned his head to smile at her. ‘It’s just lucky I’m here, I rarely am these days unless one of my patients is admitted.’
‘I know – we miss you. To be honest his mother looks as if she’s ill herself. It’s scandalous that such poverty should exist – but what do the Government do about it? Nothing!’ She glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘I do miss those political debates we used to have when you were on the staff.’ Nicholas recalled that she had been a staunch supporter of women’s suffrage even to the point of active involvement in the movement. Now, even before they reached their destination, he could hear the boy howling. ‘Now then, my lad,’ she said as they went in. ‘Here’s Dr Carstairs come to see you.’
The small boy clinging to his mother’s skirts turned a grimy face streaked with tea
rs. Nicholas nodded at the red-faced young doctor in attendance then remembered when he had last seen them. It had been a breech birth in one of the hovels down near the docks. This boy had stood terrified in a corner, thinking his Ma was about to die. But fortunately – and Nicholas knew it was solely due to his care – the baby had been born alive and the woman had recovered. Although judging by her present appearance, it had been only to suffer even more hardship.
‘His name’s Robbie,’ Nurse Forbes said.
‘Hello, Robbie.’ Nicholas bent down to him. ‘I remember you, do you remember me?’
The five-year-old child gave a sob and nodded.
‘So are you going to let me see where it hurts?’ Nicholas lifted the boy and placed him on the bed. Talking slowly and gently, telling Robbie exactly what he was going to do, Nicholas examined his thin frame, compressing his lips at the sight of bruises and welts, and eliciting a scream when he pressed first in the centre of the abdomen and then on the right side. He turned to the mother. ‘Has he been sick?’
‘Yes, doctor.’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘Now will you let the nurse take your temperature, Robbie? She’ll put something underneath your tongue, but you mustn’t bite it. Do you understand?’ Minutes later, Nicholas said, ‘Acute appendicitis. He needs immediate surgery.’ He bent down to the child and took his small hand in his own warm one. ‘Now look, Robbie, you know I’m a doctor and I take care of people, don’t you? Well, there are other doctors here, just as clever as I am, and they’ll be able to take the pain away. Will you be a good boy for them, to please me?’
The other doctor came forward. ‘Thank you, Dr Carstairs. He fought me like a whirling Dervish.’
‘Fear,’ Nicholas said abruptly. ‘Did you notice the bruising?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Nicholas turned round, his voice sharp. ‘Is it his father who beats him?’
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