Hidden Currents

by Rowena Summers

  Helen wondered if they would ever find her again. Bristol had a maze of hiding-places, from the tunnels that ran beneath the city, to the caves in the rocks, to any number of thieves’ dens where Sophie might well be known and looked after. She had often boasted of her many friends and acquaintances in the city, and hinted that she didn’t really need to do this kind of work.

  At the time, Helen had thought it was mere bravado, but now she wondered if working in the Bristol mansions was a means to an end, after all. As the suspicions mounted, she doubted that they would ever see her or any of their belongings again. And, aside from her mother’s distress at losing the jade ear-rings, and the feeling of humiliation she felt, they were nothing but baubles after all. None of them had been physically hurt.

  With a glimmer of wry understanding, Helen knew there would eventually be a positive side to it. Once the constables had been alerted, and an inventory taken of all the missing things, her mother would have a choice bit of upstairs gossip to relate to her autocratic friends at the tea-table. And there was nothing like upstairs gossip to brighten a dull tea-table.

  * * *

  By the time Helen went downstairs to find her mother, a messenger had already been sent for the constables to come to the house for the thefts to be reported. And she was finding it hard to hold back the tears now.

  ‘What is it?’ Gertrude said sharply.

  Helen held out one of her lovely lace shifts. It was torn and filthy, and the sight of it had shaken her more badly than she would have believed.

  ‘It was at the bottom of my closet. It’s been worn, Mama. That awful girl must have worn it! I feel so dirty, knowing it had been next to her skin.’

  ‘Pull yourself together, my love. It can be mended, and the young washer-girl can get rid of the stains. She may even be downstairs right now.’

  ‘No!’ Helen flung the garment away from her, and rubbed her hands together as if she had been touched by a leper. ‘I never want to see it again. Please dispose of it, Mama — and — and if Carrie has arrived, then please send her to me. I shall be in my room.’

  She turned and fled while her mother was still tut-tutting at such an unseemly display of emotion. Nor did she see any reason why the washer-girl should be required to visit her daughter in her bedroom. But Gertrude gave a sigh. Helen was highly strung, and if she wanted to give special instructions to the washer-girl she supposed it was best to humour her. She rang a bell for a servant, and requested that when the washer-girl arrived, she was to be shown to Miss Helen’s room at once.

  ‘She’s here now, ma’am,’ the maid replied uneasily, clearly thinking something was amiss. ‘Shall I send her up?’

  ‘That’s what I said, didn’t I? Or have you suddenly gone deaf?’ Gertrude snapped, and once the maid had scuttled away she took several long deep breaths. It was so lowering to lose one’s temper in front of servants, but the whole world was making her scratchy today. She still had the constable to see regarding the thefts, and she had to be serene and composed by this afternoon’s soiree. She tried to calm her features, and to think sweet thoughts, before the tell-tale lines of stress creased her otherwise smooth forehead.

  * * *

  ‘Miss Helen wants to see me in her room?’ Carrie said in a fright as the maid called Daisy spoke tersely to her. ‘What do you suppose I’ve done wrong?’

  For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything. She’d never put too much starch in the underpinnings to irritate Miss Helen’s tender skin. She’d never faded or bleached any of the delicate colours of her gowns. She’d never charged her a penny more than was necessary … with her Ma’s growing indisposition, Carrie had taken on more and more of the work lately, and her hands were showing the truth of it.

  She hid them behind her involuntarily as the maid looked at her with impatience. The short tempers in the household were having a building-block effect now, and the maid snapped back at her.

  ‘How would I know? I’m just passing on the message, so if you want me to show you the way, you’d best come now. I’ve enough work to do without wasting my time while you stand gawping.’

  Carrie felt Billy’s hand creep into hers. ‘We ain’t getting sacked, are we, Carrie?’ he mumbled.

  She prayed that they weren’t. She didn’t know what they would do if they lost the only income they had. She felt the beads of sweat on her forehead, and quickly dashed them away, not wanting to look a sight in front of Miss Helen.

  ‘Of course not,’ she whispered back. ‘You just wait here with Cook, and I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘He’ll be all right wi’ me,’ Cook said comfortably. ‘Another slice of seed cake will soon wipe that furrow from his brow, won’t it, me lad?’

  Carrie didn’t wait to hear his reply. She followed the stiff-backed Daisy through the house, up the deep-carpeted staircase where her feet never made a sound, and where she was almost afraid to put her hand on the highly polished banister for fear of marking it. Along the wide corridor with its fine paintings in their gilt-edged frames, and the mahogany chests with the flower arrangements and porcelain ornaments adorning them, until they reached the room she’d glimpsed once before.

  Had someone told on her? she thought in sudden panic. Did Miss Helen know she’d already sneaked up here when the family was away, and seen the splendour of her bedroom, and was about to chastise her for it?

  ‘She won’t eat you,’ Daisy said more kindly now. ‘Everyone’s in a bit of a tizzy for some reason today, and Jackson’s had to send out for the constable.’

  If there was anything to make Carrie more nervous than ever, it was this last piece of news. Dear Lord, what did any of this have to do with her? But there was no going back now. With a brief knock on Miss Helen’s door, Daisy turned the handle, and pushed Carrie inside. She felt how a lamb must feel, going to the slaughter.

  ‘You — you wanted to see me, Miss Helen?’

  Her voice was so thin, it didn’t even sound like hers. She was angry at herself for sounding so feeble, when she was sure she had done nothing wrong. She tried to drag some of her personal pride to the fore, and squared her shoulders as she moved further into the room.

  Helen was sitting in her favourite window-seat, and she looked so tense and strained that Carrie felt a moment of sympathy. And then she thought how ludicrous it was to feel sympathy for a young lady who had everything. Helen turned towards her, and Carrie was startled to see that her face was blotchy as if she’d been crying.

  ‘Come here, Carrie,’ she said quietly. She held out a hand towards her. Carrie walked quickly across the soft carpet, and as the hand was still extended, Carrie put her own into it.

  Nothing could have made a bigger contrast between them. She was horrified at her own unthinking action, and as she glanced down at the joined hands, the one so soft and white, and the other so rough and red, she made to snatch her own away at once.

  ‘No, please don’t be embarrassed,’ Helen said, as if quite unaware of the reason for the embarrassment. ‘I want to talk to you as a friend. I feel that I can trust you. Can I trust you, Carrie?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Carrie muttered, feeling more stupid by the second to be standing here holding Miss Helen Barclay’s hand for no good reason at all that she could think of.

  ‘I hope so too, because I’ve got a proposition to put to you,’ Helen said calmly. She had been thinking of it ever since that dreadful girl had gone out of their lives. Perhaps even before that. Perhaps Sophie herself had unwittingly put the idea into her head.

  And now that she took a good look at Carrie, she could see the difference in her since the day she’d seen her with her friend on the day of the Great Britain’s launch. Then, Carrie Stuckey had been happy and laughing, enjoying the blissfully sunny day, and not averse to the admiring glances of a handsome young man.

  Her cheeks had been full and rosy then, and although they were flushed now, Helen could see the pallor underneath, and the hollows that hadn’t been there before. And Hel
en, who never had to bother her head about meat on the table, or clothes on her back, was suddenly starting to concern herrself with how a family like the Stuckeys were managing with all their menfolk out of work.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, miss,’ Carrie mumbled. ‘I don’t know what you mean by ‘proposition’. I don’t know the word.’

  It dawned on her that she was feeling and acting humbly and it enraged her to know it. She pulled her hand away now, hoping that it didn’t scratch Miss Barclay, and suddenly uncaring if it bloody well did. If there was going to be trouble, then the sooner it was out in the open, the better. She stared into Miss Barclay’s china blue eyes, and saw the swift sympathy there. That didn’t help her pride either. She lifted her chin and stuck it out — like a dog sniffing a bone, as Pa would say.

  ‘Carrie, I mean I want to offer you a job,’ Helen said more gently. ‘A real job, here, with me. Not just doing my laundry, although I’d be enormously pleased if you would still take care of that. But I want you to be my personal helper. My own personal maid. I have a feeling that you’d suit me very well, and of course, you would be paid accordingly. The only thing is, I’d want you to live in, Carrie. It would be a full-time arrangement, but I’d see that you had sufficient time off to see your family. I understand that your mother is temporarily unwell, and I know you would want time to visit her and it’s not as though it’s too far away, is it?’

  Helen was aware that she was prattling in a quite undignified manner, and that her mother would be very annoyed at the way she was almost pleading with this girl to come and work for her. But the idea had come swiftly, and had to be acted upon. She was sure that Carrie Stuckey was trustworthy. Hadn’t she entrusted her with some of her costliest garments in the past, and had them returned beautifully cared for?

  Carrie was still gaping, open-mouthed, and wondering if she was dreaming. The gypsy fortune-teller had prophesied good fortune for her, and she herself had grandly informed John Travis’s uncle’s lady-friend that she was a personal helper to a Clifton lady … her thoughts whirled, wondering if she was in the grip of some kind of witchcraft, of wishing too hard for something, then making it happen … she swallowed, as she realised Miss Helen was expecting an answer.

  ‘I — I don’t know what to say,’ she gasped, as the implications of all that this could mean to her family began to flood into her mind.

  Helen laughed, as if relaxing for the first time that day.

  ‘Then say yes, Carrie! Just say yes!’

  Helen would never beg, but she badly wanted to get the thing settled before her mother began fussing over finding someone else, and having to go through the dreary business of interviewing and reading references that may or may not be genuine. Many were faked, as the gentry very well knew, and as all the lower orders glibly believed they did not.

  With this girl, none of it need happen. Helen already knew her worth, and her stability, and she wanted her.

  ‘I s’pose I’d better say yes then,’ she heard Carrie say prosaically. ‘And just to put you right, miss, me Ma’s not properly unwell. She’s just expecting a babby, that’s all, and it’s taking her badly, but once it’s born, I’m sure she’ll be her usual self again.’

  But she crossed her fingers as she spoke. Charmed by witchcraft or not, she was taking no chances.

  ‘Well, thank you for telling me,’ Helen said, taken aback at this frank disclosure. ‘I’m sure my Mama will agree that she’s to be sent some nourishing food from the kitchen on a regular basis, Carrie. I’m very pleased we’ve come to an arrangement, and naturally I’d like you to start right away.’

  ‘I can’t start until I’ve been home and told my folks, and I’m not too sure what Pa’s going to say about it,’ she spoke in sudden fright now that it all seemed so imminent. ‘And besides, I don’t know nothing about being a personal maid to a young lady, miss. Are you sure it’s me that you want?’

  ‘I’m quite sure. And I shall only require you to be of direct help to me. Making my bed and changing my linen and helping me dress — that sort of thing,’ she said vaguely. ‘And of course you must inform your parents. Shall we say that you’ll be here by eight-thirty tomorrow morning? That will be time for Cook to give you your uniform and show you where you will sleep, and help you prepare my breakfast tray. You will bring it to my room at nine-thirty exactly.’

  The atmosphere between them had subtly changed. Carrie was now the servant, being given instructions as to her duties, where minutes before she’d felt that Miss Helen was almost desperate to employ her. And she had been airily thinking it over, and cheekily implying that she couldn’t possibly begin work until she’d thought it all over and got her Pa’s approval.

  ‘Very well, Miss Helen,’ she said, more meekly than Carrie Stuckey normally spoke. But this was turning out to be no normal day, and she was only just beginning to realise that she would be leaving home for the first time in her life. Even though there were no more than a couple of miles between them, the elegance of the Clifton mansions and the crowded cottages of Jacob’s Wells Road might have been a continent apart.

  ‘And when you leave, you may tell Cook she may give you a basket of eggs and anything else that’s suitable for your mother,’ Helen said graciously. ‘I’m sure she’ll know the kind of thing.’

  Miss Helen Barclay had her pride too. The disgraced maid, Sophie, would never know that it had taken such little time and effort to replace her, but Helen would know. And that had been part of her impulsive move towards hiring Carrie Stuckey. But the more she thought about it, the more she was sure that it was going to be the right move.

  * * *

  As Carrie hurriedly went back below stairs she wondered if she was still dreaming. Her thoughts were still whirling as she saw her small brother in the kitchen, his face still being stuffed with seed cake as if there was no tomorrow. But tomorrow he could drink milk and eat eggs … she felt her face crack into a smile as several faces looked at her anxiously.

  ‘I’m going to work here,’ she announced, still awed by her own words. ‘I’m going to be Miss Helen’s personal maid! And she says we’re to take some milk and eggs and whatever else you think suitable for Ma’s condition, Cook. What do you think of that!’

  Cook’s mouth fell open, and the kitchen-maids crowded around, sensing something more behind the obvious.

  ‘Well, I never,’ Cook said at last. ‘I daresay you’ll make a good job of it, if you mind your Ps and Qs. But what’s happened to the hoity-toity miss who’s been here for the last three weeks?’

  ‘I bet that’s what all the fuss was about,’ one of the young kitchen-maids said excitedly. ‘When I was taking the rubbish outside I overheard Mrs Barclay talking ever so sharply to Jackson, and then he went off at a rate, and I don’t know as he’s come back yet neither.’

  ‘You hear too much for your own good, Nellie,’ Cook told her smartly. ‘Still, ’tis a pity you didn’t hear no more, if there’s summat going on.’

  ‘Well, it’s none of my business,’ Carrie said, itching to be away now and tell Ma her news. ‘I’ve left the basket of Miss Helen’s things in the usual place, and I’ll see you all again tomorrow. I’m to be here at eight-thirty and collect my uniform from you, Cook, and you’re to show me where I’m to sleep and all.’

  She gulped, suddenly realising the enormity of what she was saying. There would be no more gossipy chit-chat with Ma late at night; no more checking on Billy’s regular, snuffly breathing, as gentle as that of a young fawn; no more scent of the river rising from the docks in the eerie, fog-bound mornings; no more familiarity …

  ‘Ain’t you going to be livin’ at home no more, our Carrie?’ Billy’s face came into focus, wide-eyed and fearful. He wasn’t yet old enough to welcome changes in his life.

  ‘I shan’t be far away, you goose,’ she said quickly. ‘And you’ll be coming up to Clifton most days with Ma’s wash loads, just the same, and I’ll be going home to visit whenever I can.’

 
But she felt an undoubted surge of anxiety now. She’d be leaving home just when Ma most needed her. The extra money she’d be earning would be such a help — but she realised she didn’t even know what her wages were going to be. She was such a ninny, because she’d never even thought to ask! But she supposed that would be left to Mr Barclay to decide, and she had never even seen the gentleman. She shivered. There were a good many changes and adjustments to be made, but she’d given her agreement now, and there was no going back on it.

  * * *

  Billy was unusually quiet as they went back down the steep hill towards home. Carrie tried to cajole him into his usual chatter, but he was filled with gloom at her going away.

  ‘It’s not as if you see me all day long,’ she said. ‘In the afternoons you go to school, and it’s only in the mornings when we’re really together.’

  ‘I hate school,’ he scowled, and she sighed as he scuffed his shoes against the cobblestones, knowing that everything she said was going to be met with objections. After a while she simply gave up coaxing.

  ‘You can run on down to the waterfront to play if you like,’ she said. ‘I’ll take the cart on home by myself.’

  He brightened at that. ‘I’ll look out for John Travis then. We ain’t seen him around the house lately. Have you and him had a falling-out, our Carrie?’

  He experimented with the grown-up sounding words, and was encouraged by seeing his sister’s face go scarlet.

  ‘I bet you have! I bet he don’t fancy sparking with you no more!’

  ‘Where did you hear such talk! You just mind what you say, do you hear me?’ Carrie yelled after him as he raced on down the hill, cat-calling behind him at a safe distance.

  Her footsteps slowed down, knowing there was too much truth in Billy’s childish jeers for comfort. John’s visits to the house had become increasingly rare since that first Saturday outing when she’d gone with him up Bedminster Hill.