by Helen Peters
“Oh, there it is,” he said. I drew myself further back into the bush as he retrieved the paper and handed it to Sophia.
She studied the drawings in silence for a while. Then she gazed at Robbie in awe. “These are exquisite,” she said.
She turned the sheet over and read the lines of poetry above the picture of the starving children.
“William Blake,” she murmured. “My father burned my copy of Blake’s poems. He says Mr Blake is an insane revolutionary. But it does not signify. I have the poems here.” And she tapped the side of her head.
She hesitated, as if trying to pluck up the courage to say something. Then she glanced around the yard. I shrank back against the wall. Sophia must have been satisfied that nobody was watching, because she took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Robbie.
“Read it as soon as you can,” she said in a low voice.
He stuffed it in his jacket pocket, just as the back door opened and Nell walked out with a bucket of vegetable peelings. Sophia turned and swept away across the cobbles towards the front of the house. The stable clock struck four. I emerged from my hiding place, brushed the cobwebs from my clothes and slipped inside.
My heart beat fast as I went to collect my box from the housemaids’ closet. What was on that piece of paper? Sophia had told Robbie to read it as soon as he could. So it must have been important. Was it a letter about their running away together? Had Sophia actually taken notice of what I’d said?
Deep in thought, I almost bumped into Alice in the passage. Terror flooded her face. She pressed herself into the wall and clenched her fists.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Quite well, I thank you,” she murmured. She kept her face lowered and didn’t look at me.
I shrugged and walked on.
“Good day to you,” said Alice, still pressed against the wall.
“Good day,” I said, thinking I had never met anyone so weird in my whole life.
Polly appeared from the other direction. “Dressing rooms again,” she said, opening the housemaids’ closet and handing me my box. “Fires lit, slops emptied, chamber pots scoured, everything dusted and cleaned, and hot and cold water for the washstands. Then, while they’re dressing for dinner, we tidy all the downstairs rooms and stoke up the downstairs fires. We bolt down a bit of supper while they’re having their dinner, before we go up and get the bedrooms ready.”
Listening to the endless list of jobs made me even more determined to find out what was in that letter. If Sophia and Robbie really were planning to run away today or tomorrow, then my job was done, and I wouldn’t have to come back here for another day of drudgery. Perfect.
But I couldn’t ask either of them directly what was in the letter, because obviously neither of them was going to tell a random housemaid about their forbidden secret love affair. So how could I find out?
I racked my brains as I worked, earning several scoldings from Polly for my half-hearted efforts. By suppertime, I thought I was actually going to die from exhaustion.
“No fires tomorrow,” said Mrs Hardwick, as Alice appeared with the beer tray.
“Thank the Lord for that,” said Polly. “That’ll make our lives easier, Evie.”
Mrs Hardwick gave a disapproving grunt. “Don’t you two think you’re going to have an easy time of it. The chimney sweep is coming tomorrow, so all the rooms will need to be dust-sheeted and all the carpets taken up first thing in the morning. You can give the carpets a good beating out of doors while the sweep’s at work.”
Polly winked at me. “Heaven forbid we should look forward to an easier life,” she murmured.
Alice shrieked. The mugs rattled on the tray and beer slopped over the edges.
“Alice, really!” snapped Mrs Hardwick. “Whatever is the matter?”
Alice’s face was white. William jumped up, took the tray from her and sat her down on the bench.
“What is it?” he asked. “What happened?”
Alice shot a terrified glance at me, but when our eyes met, she instantly looked away. Shakily, she pointed at a glowing coal on the hearth. “It spat out of the fire,” she whispered, “right in front of me. And look at the shape. Like a… Like a coffin!” she finished in a frightened little squeak.
George laughed. “You don’t want to be taking any heed of that nonsense,” he said.
But Mary and Betty were looking uneasily at me.
“What?” I asked. “What have I done?”
“Nothing,” said Polly. “Take no notice.”
But I was sure there was something Polly wasn’t telling me. I was glad when supper was over, even though that only meant more work. The atmosphere in the servants’ hall was so weird, and I had no idea why. It was almost like they were frightened of me. But why on earth would they be frightened of an incompetent housemaid?
After supper, the dressing rooms had to be cleaned again, the fires stoked up, the chamber pots emptied and the washing water changed for the third time that day. Then we had to get the bedrooms ready for the night.
“Honestly,” I said, as Polly showed me how to turn down the bedclothes so they were perfectly placed for Mrs Bailey to get into bed, “can’t these people do anything for themselves? I’m surprised we don’t have to undress them.”
Polly looked shocked. “They wouldn’t let us get that close. It’s their lady’s maids and valets what undresses them.”
I gaped at her. “They actually do have someone to undress them? I was joking!”
Polly looked at me, her face scrunched up in puzzlement. “You must have had someone to undress you though, when you lived in London.”
“Oh, er, yes, of course,” I said. “But … not quite the same,” I added lamely.
Polly was still giving me a funny look, so I asked, “Where are these ladies’ maids and valets then? How come I haven’t seen them? Where do they have their meals?”
“Oh, they don’t come near the servants’ hall. They’re far too grand for us. If Mrs Bailey’s maid passes me in the passageway, she wrinkles her nose like I’ve offended her nostrils. Wouldn’t even look at me, let alone pass a civil word.”
I remembered the woman who had come out of Sophia’s dressing room the first time I came into the past. She must have been Sophia’s lady’s maid. The one she’d mentioned, with the French name.
By ten o’clock, when we finally lit our candles and trudged up to the attic, I felt like a sleepwalker. I could barely reach up to take the pins out of my hair, and I didn’t even try to wrestle with the buttons on my dress. I just tugged my boots off and flopped into bed.
A whole day of drudgery, and for what? I had completely failed to get my message across to Sophia or Robbie. Unless – and I really, really hoped this was the case – unless Sophia actually had listened to my warning, and the letter that she had given to Robbie had been about plans to run away together.
I would just have to come back tomorrow night and find out. And maybe they would already have run away by then. So I would just have to survive one more day of drudgery before I could go back to the twenty-first century forever. Well, one more day wouldn’t kill me. After all, poor Polly had to do this every single day of her life.
Anna had promised to take me to the records office in Highfield tomorrow. I would look up Sophia and Robbie, and try to find out more about them. I wasn’t sure how that would help, but I might find something useful. And I could take my phone to be repaired too, if it still wasn’t working.
And when I came back here tomorrow night, if Sophia and Robbie were still here, somehow I would have to convince them to escape.
Before it was too late.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Climbing Boys
Somebody was shaking my shoulders.
“Evie! Evie! Lord, you’re a sound sleeper. Come on, lazybones, it’s after five.”
My cocoon was ripped apart as the blankets were pulled back and cold air hit me. I squealed and grabbed at
the bedclothes, but I couldn’t reach them. With a growl of frustration, I sat up and opened my eyes.
Polly, fully dressed, was standing over me, laughing.
“Stir along, sleepyhead, there’s work to be done. Just as well you went to bed in your clothes; that’ll save a few minutes. Get your apron on and splash your face with some of that water. You’re lucky you didn’t get the basin emptied on your head. I did think about it, but I decided to go easy on you, seeing as you’re new and all.”
I stared down at my clothes, my heart beating wildly under my corset.
I had gone to bed in these clothes.
And now I’d woken up in them.
But… But …
“Polly?”
“Mm?”
“What day is it?”
Polly laughed. “I’ve never met such a simpleton. It was Sunday yesterday, so today must be Monday, unless the world’s gone very far awry.”
“Monday the twenty-sixth of April?”
“Lord love you, yes. Sweep’s coming this morning, so look sharp and put your boots on. We need to get the place dust-sheeted.”
I couldn’t move. My head was pounding so hard I thought I’d faint if I tried to get up.
Why was I still in the past? Why was I not in Anna’s flat?
“Evie, if you don’t get out of bed this minute, that bowl of water is going right over your head.”
She reached for the bowl. I swung my feet out of bed and forced them into my boots, wincing as the leather rubbed my blisters. I tied the laces, my head spinning.
Why was I here? Why had the magic not worked?
Polly flung the brown apron into my lap. “Evie, stir yourself. Do you really want to lose your job?”
I sprang to my feet. I couldn’t lose my job. If I had to leave Charlbury, then how would I ever get back to the present?
For the next three hours I went through the motions of work (getting clouted twice in the process for not doing things thoroughly enough – thank you, Mrs Hardwick), while desperately trying to work out why I was still in the past and how I could get back to my own time.
The only explanation I could come up with was that I had made a promise. I had promised the ghost of Sophia that I would help her. So maybe – and this did sound crazy, even in my head – maybe the ghost wouldn’t let me go back to my time until I had changed things in Sophia’s time. Maybe Sophia had to escape from Charlbury before I could escape from the past.
But then my blood ran cold with a horrible thought. What if Sophia didn’t manage to escape? She was going to be locked up tomorrow. So if my theory was right, Sophia would have to escape from Charlbury today if I were to have any chance of going back to the twenty-first century.
So I had to make absolutely sure that she did. Otherwise…
No. I couldn’t even let myself think about that.
When Polly and I walked into the servants’ hall for breakfast, Alice, Mary and Betty were standing in a huddle at the far end of the room. Alice was clearly telling the others some shocking piece of news.
“And when I looked again,” she said in a hushed voice, “the tallow was rising right up the wick of my candle.”
Mary frowned. “What does that signify?”
“It’s a winding sheet,” said Betty. “Foretells a death in the family, they say.”
“I tell you,” said Alice in an urgent whisper, “she’s—”
Betty caught my eye, flushed and nudged Alice. “Shh.”
All three of them glanced at me, then looked away. The huddle broke up and Mary and Betty sat down for breakfast, keeping their eyes on the table.
“Good morning, Evie,” said Alice in that same carefully polite way she had spoken to me yesterday.
“Good morning,” I replied.
Alice edged out of the room with her fists clenched, keeping close to the wall.
“What’s going on?” I asked the others.
They glanced at each other awkwardly and looked back at their plates. I looked at Polly, but she was studying her plate too.
This was horrible. I didn’t mind so much about the others, but I couldn’t bear it if Polly turned against me.
The door from the beer cellar opened and Mrs Hardwick came in, followed by William and George. She frowned at the table as the men sat down.
“No bread? Where’s that slattern of a kitchen maid?”
“Here, Mrs Hardwick,” panted Alice, rushing in with the bread board and butter dish. She set them in the middle of the table. Then she froze, her face white.
“What is it, girl?” asked Mrs Hardwick.
“Do you not hear?”
Everyone listened. Outside, a dog howled.
“Must be the chimney sweep’s dog,” said George. “Poor thing, looks half starved. He’s tied it up behind the stables.”
“What on earth’s got into you?” Mrs Hardwick asked the white-faced Alice. “Pull yourself together, girl, and get back to your work.”
As Alice passed Mary and Betty on her way out, she whispered, “Did you hear that? Another portent.” She glanced fearfully at me as she scuttled from the room.
I looked at Betty and Mary.
“What’s a portent?”
They kept their eyes on the table, but William muttered, “Some do believe that a howling dog signifies a death in the family.”
Mary crossed herself. George snorted. “Stuff and nonsense. You surely don’t believe that?”
“Quite right,” said Mrs Hardwick. “I don’t want to hear any more of this silly gossip. Where on earth has it come from?”
After breakfast, Polly and I had to clean up after the sweeps. We folded the heavy dustsheets and carried them outside to shake off the soot. Then we put the carpets back in place and dusted all the surfaces.
I hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Sophia all morning. I had to find an opportunity to speak to her and warn her properly.
Or maybe I could write her a note? My heart gave a little leap of hope. That might work. Even if she tore it up in a rage, surely she would at least read it first?
I just had to find a sheet of paper and a pen, and that shouldn’t be too hard.
Terrifying thoughts kept sneaking into my head.
What if I was trapped here forever? What if it didn’t even have anything to do with Sophia? What if I had fallen through some crazy hole in time and this was now my life?
Mrs Hardwick appeared as I was dusting the ornaments on Mrs Bailey’s dressing table and taking the opportunity to look out of the window. On the path outside, talking to Mr Paxton, the butler, stood a huge, soot-blackened man who must be the chimney sweep.
“As soon as you’ve finished in here,” Mrs Hardwick said, “go and wash the floors in the basement passages and scrub all the steps.”
After she had left the room, I took the opportunity to check Mrs Bailey’s drawers and cupboards for paper and pens. But half of them were locked and the rest had nothing in them of any use to me. I would have to keep looking.
I trudged downstairs, dreading the thought of spending hours on my knees on a cold stone floor with the cleaning solution stinging the cuts on my hands.
As I walked through the ground-floor hall, I heard a scrabbling noise. I stopped and listened. It seemed to be coming from the Oak Parlour.
More scrabbling, and then a bump and a clattering of metal. Then a little cry.
I ran into the parlour. In the fireplace, scrambling to his feet amid a clutter of fallen fire irons, was a very small boy. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he was completely black with soot. Dark-red patches of blood oozed from cuts and sores all over his body. He wore nothing but threadbare shorts and a shirt, both ripped to rags and as black as his skinny body. Even the whites of his big, frightened-looking eyes weren’t white, but red. They looked so sore that it hurt me to see them.
The boy gave a hacking cough. “Has my master gone?” he asked in a croaky, breathless voice, and coughed again. “Has he left?”
> I realised that my horror at his terrible state must show in my face. I tried to speak cheerfully.
“I think he’s just outside. Shall I take you to him?”
He looked at me blankly. Maybe he couldn’t make out my accent. His own was very strong, but I was getting used to the local accent by now. I repeated my words, speaking slowly and clearly, and imitating Polly’s voice as well as I could. This time he seemed to understand. He looked more frightened than ever as he nodded.
“Yes, please, miss. He’ll get in a terrible rage if I’m late. I got stuck, you see. That chimney there –” he pointed to the fireplace behind him “– is as crooked as a corkscrew up inside, and I got wedged in a little twisted passage, so that I couldn’t hardly get myself out of it. I thought I was going to be stuck there forever, miss.”
It must have been an incredibly narrow passage if this poor little boy had got stuck in it. I’d never seen anyone so skinny in my life.
I took his soot-blackened hand and led him out of the room. As we came into the passage, Sophia appeared from the Hall, looking stunning in a pale-blue dress. When she saw the boy, she froze.
“Who is this?”
“He’s the chimney sweep’s boy, Miss Fane.”
I thought she might order me away, but she didn’t even look at me. Horror at the state of the boy seemed to be the only thing on her mind.
“How old are you?” she asked him.
“Five, madam,” he said, and gave that hacking cough again.
“You look starved,” said Sophia. “Are you hungry?”
He nodded.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor and another boy limped into the passage. He was slightly taller, and just as ragged and black. He carried a stiff-bristled brush with short handles and some sort of scraping tool.
Fear spread over his face as he saw Sophia. “Oh, I’m sorry, madam, but my master is waiting and he’s in a fair rage. I must take my brother back to him. We have another house to do, and it’s a fair few miles to walk.”
Sophia crouched in front of the older boy.