A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  But there was soon more to occupy Kit’s attention. There came a gasp as they turned into another road and she pointed to a magnificent palace that overlooked a park. ‘Is that where the Queen lives?’

  Dolly tittered. ‘No! It’s just some toffs house. Why, do you want to see Buckingham Palace, then?’ At Kit’s eager nod she injected a little more energy into her step, pulling the new girl after her. ‘Come on, or we won’t get back in time for tea!’

  All the way along Park Lane, all manner of horse-drawn vehicles careering past her, Kit kept pointing to what she assumed were palaces, trying to guess which was the Queen’s residence, each time receiving a no, until they reached the end when she felt sure that this magnificent edifice that looked like a Greek temple must be the one and pointed it out to her companion. Dolly, sick of repeating the answer that these were just the homes of the rich, told her to shut up and stop being so stupid.

  Abashed, Kit began to realize what Amelia had meant about London being a very different place to home. Indeed, she was permanently agog with all that London had to offer, not the least of these marvels being the exotic-looking people it housed: black and brown and yellow; others who looked English but spoke in foreign tongue to each other. Kit found the whole experience wonderful, wishing she had made this visit long ago, and envying Dolly her birthplace.

  Dolly said she was glad to have someone of Kit’s enthusiasm and good dress sense to keep her company. The others were proper killjoys. ‘By the way, I like your hat.’

  Kit thanked her and returned the compliment.

  ‘From what I could see,’ added Dolly, ‘you’ve really worked wonders on her ladyship too. She looked like a bag o’ rags till you got hold of her.’

  Kit laughed. ‘She’s not exactly what you’d call regal now, what with her cigars – and that wretched bird of hers!’

  Dolly agreed. ‘You look more the part than she does. Here, look, why don’t you have some of these done?’ From her bag she produced a calling card bearing her name and address in fancy copper plate. The one thing that stood out, however, was the prefix Honourable.

  In awe, Kit grasped the card. How wonderful to be able to prove that she lived at such an illustrious address, but she doubted the fraudulent gesture. ‘Wouldn’t I get into trouble?’

  ‘Why – you live there, don’t you? And the other’s just a bit o’ fun.’

  Kit grinned. ‘The Honourable Katherine Kilmaster!’

  Dolly nudged her. ‘I’ll show you where to have some done on the way back!’

  After visiting Buckingham Palace, Kit being a little disappointed not to have seen the Queen at one of its windows, the girls made their return home to Mayfair via a grand arcade of glass and marble, its lofty arches more befitting a Venetian temple than a place of commerce. Gold lettering upon black glass pronounced a stationery shop where Kit was persuaded to put in an order for some calling cards, then allowed herself to be led, mesmerized, between the ranks of luxurious goods, gasping over the fantastic window displays, particularly those of jewellery. Indeed, as they moved on she was to gasp so much and so often that Dolly joked that she sounded as if she were having an asthmatic attack, whence Kit gasped again, this time with laughter, and pointed to a street sign that indicated Savile Row. ‘Eh, that’s where I live when I’m at home! Bit different to this, though.’ Her mind was enticed back to Ralph Royd, causing a pang of homesickness. ‘My, I’m worn out. London’s a big place, isn’t it?’

  She was laughingly informed that she had seen but a portion of it. The constant clatter and the grind of wheels upon granite had begun to affect her senses. Suddenly weary and footsore from a surfeit of monuments and triumphal arches, her temples pounding from the noise of traffic and crowds, Kit was glad to learn they had not much further to walk. Dragging one foot after the other, unaware that a little of Yorkshire lay beneath her shoes in the form of stone flags, she shadowed her guide blindly until they came to the familiar sight of church steps guarded by two cast-iron dogs at the opening to a square, and then knew she had arrived.

  * * *

  Sunday was a day of rest with Kit accompanying the family to the nearby church and in the afternoon going for a stroll in Hyde Park with Dolly. It was to be the last of the outside world that Kit would see for a whole week, for on Monday she was put to work on a collection of new gowns for the Earl’s eldest daughters to the end that they might be spotted by potential marriage partners, which Dolly told her was the main reason for them coming here. Kit’s innate skill, her eye for the latest fashions and her consuming passion for such garb, made up for any lack of experience and the articles she produced equalled anything that might be purchased in the West End. With two young girls at her command, her enthusiasm knew no bounds and their sewing machines were rarely allowed to rest, whilst she herself laboured as never before, stitching from dawn to dusk.

  During the following months, though, the constant rackety-rack of the mechanical needles became an irritation to Kit, who grumbled that she might as well be back in Yorkshire for all she had seen of the capital. The fancy calling cards, an extravagant purchase, lay unused in her bag. Whilst her employers enjoyed the constant round of garden parties, receptions, banquets and balls, Ascot and Henley Regatta, she was lucky to enjoy one night a week at the theatre and perhaps a walk in the park. Why shouldn’t she be the one who benefited from all this hard work?

  Why indeed? There were always scraps of material over when a gown was completed and already she claimed these as perks of her trade, but these were never large enough to provide anything more than an insert in a bodice. Would anyone notice if there were just a bit more fabric left over at the end, enough to make an overskirt or to provide a richer apron front for her own lesser-quality dress? It was doubtful the Countess would question her seamstress’s estimation. A woman who classed fourteen pounds per annum as suitable recompense for such hard work obviously had no conception of value. It was not really stealing, Kit told herself, she was just taking what was due to her in another way, thereby conserving her ‘Denaby money’ for footwear and other necessities. Kit took a chance. At the next purchase of material, she ordered an extra yard.

  Affixed to brocaded panels of an appropriate contrast, and hemmed by scraps of velvet, the green silk was transformed into an elegant mantle. Worn only on her day off, this addition to her dress might have gone unnoticed by her employer, but not by Dolly. The housemaid, who had now become her particular companion, made comment as soon as Kit met her for their visit to the theatre, offering a wink that told she knew exactly how the fabric had been acquired.

  ‘You won’t tell, will you?’ begged Kit as they set off along Regent Street, one short, one tall, both wearing little plantpot-shaped hats festooned with ribbon.

  ‘What do you take me for?’ Dolly paused to examine the window display of a linen draper’s where custom was still brisk, then walked on, her shoulders acquiring an arrogant swagger beneath her own gaudy shawl. ‘Good luck to you, gel. Wish I could get me hands on some o’ that.’ She, like Kit, used every spare penny on clothes.

  Kit ruminated. She had no wish to be outshone, but Dolly had been very generous with her company. ‘I could get you a little bit of blue satin if you like.’ It was only a scrap but would make an attractive insert. ‘And I’ll sew it in for you.’

  Dolly gratefully accepted, linking arms with the taller girl. They strode on towards the Haymarket, joining the straggling band of theatregoers who were headed in the same direction. The evening breeze bore the scent of hot baked potatoes, coffee and ale. A man sauntered towards them clutching a bag of oysters in one hand. Blind to their nearness he tipped back his head, placed a shell to his mouth and allowed its occupant to slither down his throat. Kit shuddered and broke away from her friend to form a detour, each to either side of him, grumbling at his ignorance. Oblivious, he walked on.

  Dolly rejoined her friend. ‘I been thinking. Perhaps I can do you a favour in return.’ Having come to know Kit well enough by no
w, she edged closer. ‘Fancy a little part-time job, make a bit of extra cash?’

  Kit laughed and said she was all for the cash but when would she get the time when she was glued to a sewing machine all day?

  ‘This is something you can do of an evening,’ whispered Dolly. ‘You’re not shy, are you?’

  Kit gave a smiling frown and said she was not.

  They had almost reached the theatre. Mingling amongst its six fluted columns was the usual bevy of painted women that Kit had come to expect. She recalled the chagrin she had suffered upon saying to Dolly on her third or fourth visit that these ladies seemed to be regular theatregoers. Her companion had sniggered and educated Kit in their true profession. It had not sunk in at first – she still did not really understand exactly what they did, but knew that it was lewd. The look she received now from one of the harlots, caught in the act of repairing her paintwork, confirmed that these were not ladies that would be found in the Earl’s establishment.

  Dolly caught the line of Kit’s gaze. ‘Good-looking gel like you could charge twice as much as them old trollops.’

  It took a moment or two for Kit to put voice to her astonishment. ‘Eh, just ’cause I talk like this doesn’t mean I’m half-witted, you know!’

  ‘Keep your hair on!’ Dolly laughed. ‘I wasn’t saying you’re thick. You need brains to be able to pick the right customer.’

  At the hint of pride in the other’s tone, Kit came to a terrible realization. ‘You mean … ? Oh, how can you bring yourself to it? That’s awful!’

  It was Dolly’s turn to take umbrage. ‘Suit yourself! I just thought with you liking the fancy clobber there was some motive behind it. I mean, this is the nearest you’ll come to snaring a gent.’

  Tears of anger welled in Kit’s eyes. ‘Much as I want nice clothes I’d never ever contemplate such a way of getting them!’

  ‘No, you’d just pinch ’em from your employer!’ Dolly marched through the foyer clutching her ticket in an angry little fist. ‘Bleedin’ hypocrite.’

  * * *

  The friendship could have turned sour were it not for Kit’s apology. ‘I didn’t mean to insult you,’ she told Dolly some hours later, having missed a good part of the show due to much contemplation over the remark that she was a hypocrite and deciding that indeed she was. ‘You just took me by surprise. You see, I’m saving myself for the man I’m going to marry.’

  Dolly smiled at Kit’s unworldliness. ‘Well, I hope you find one that’s worth it.’

  After this, things went back to normal, Dolly never mentioning the incident again.

  Kit’s success in acquiring the extra yard of fabric without detection had led her to repeat the crime, her skilful use of the material making her appear almost as finely clad as the Countess herself. It was bound to invite jealous comment, even from those with whom she had got on well in Yorkshire.

  ‘How did she get the money to buy that lot? It certainly wasn’t earned in this house.’

  ‘She’s very good pals with Dolly, if you get my drift.’

  ‘I reckon old Popplewell’s giving her one an’ all,’ said a footman.

  ‘Don’t be so vulgar!’ With a hiss of disgust the maids stalked off, leaving the men to their lewd gossip.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind giving her a length neither,’ mused one. ‘How much do you reckon she charges?’

  Blithely oblivious to this slander, Kit continued to enjoy thoroughly all that London had to offer.

  At the beginning of August, when the steward launched the well-practised move back to Yorkshire, commanding his army of servants with a precision worthy of Wellington, Kit said a reluctant farewell to Dolly, vowing to return to London next year.

  Back at the Earl’s country seat, Kit saw Ossie only briefly, for the Viscount was to spend the remainder of the summer at the Dolphin residence and would eventually be leaving for university. Her request for news of Tish and Myrtle received the reply that they were still at large.

  From kitchen gossip Kit learned that there were more moves afoot to pair Ossie off with Miss Agnes Dolphin. The Earl was happy about this. As wily a bird as the industrialist, Lord Garborough saw the profit in such a union and, indeed, was hoping to extend the relationship between the two families by proposing Wyndham as a future son-in-law. A title for Agnes Dolphin, a well-needed influx of cash for the Earl’s coffers and a facelift for Postgate Park. Unable to grasp this extraordinary symbiosis, Kit despaired of their lack of romance, still clinging to her ideal that her own union would be forged on love.

  With the household back to normal, Kit was permitted to make a Sunday visit home before the shooting season began in earnest, for although her dressmaking services were not required, she might be called upon at short notice to help in other ways.

  It was a depleted household that greeted her. Amelia was now in York, which was too far away from Ralph Royd to allow regular visits. Charity, too, was absent, having recently lost one of her children to scarlet fever, which drew a few tears from Kit. Adding to this misery, Beata was yet afflicted by her chest complaint, the dry cough which usually disappeared in summer refusing to budge at all this year. Kit heard that she had been unable to work for weeks, thus reducing the household budget, which of course made Sarah more bad-tempered. Even the younger members of the family had their complaints, saying that after the summer holiday they would be forced to go to school in Castleford – a walk of six miles there and back.

  Kit looked to Monty for explanation. ‘The authorities’ve closed Miss Ellerker down,’ he told her.

  ‘But they love that school!’ Kit had gone there. It was not really a school but a private residence, its owner, the elderly Miss Ellerker, happy to comply with the parents’ needs in return for a not unreasonable sum. Even babies were permitted to crawl around her classroom to give their mothers a rest, and those unfortunate enough to have to work to boost the family income were permitted part-time education.

  ‘So do we, but apparently that doesn’t matter,’ said Monty. ‘They say Miss Ellerker’s not efficient enough to comply with the new regulations.’

  What it boiled down to, he told Kit, was that Alice, who would, in the normal course of events, be leaving soon to work part-time at the glass factory would not be allowed to do so unless she attended a certified school – and the nearest of these was in Castleford. ‘I don’t know, a man can’t educate his own children without others thinking they know better. The fellow says to me, it’s compulsory and unless you want to go to gaol, they’m going to the school in Castleford!’

  Owen chipped in with his usual rally against the ruling classes. ‘And do they care that they’ve cut off Miss Ellerker’s income? T’owd lass’s had to go on Poor Relief.’ There were not enough children of school age in the village for the parents to form an effective protest, he told Kit.

  Kit sympathized with the children and, over a tea of pork pie, tried to raise spirits with amusing snippets about London, which were received with interest for a while before Gwen resurrected a problem.

  Replete, she laid aside her crumb-laden plate and took a sip from her cup. ‘You’ll be looking forward to seeing that young fellow of yours again, I suppose.’

  Kit started, burning her lips with the sudden gulp of tea. ‘Oh – yes! Yes, I am.’

  ‘’Bout time we met him, ain’t it?’ Monty polished off the last of his pie and brushed the crumbs from his suit.

  Kit realized she would have to do something eventually, but for now resorted to fabrication. ‘I’d love to fetch him home, but,’ here she donned a pathetic face, ‘I won’t see him for months. He’s gone to the Continent with his family.’ She had seized this idea from Ossie, who had told her that after university he would be off on a grand tour of Europe. ‘I really miss him.’

  Beata reached out to comfort her. Sarah did not share her empathy. ‘Plenty of hard work, that’s the cure for lovesickness. Flora, are you going to eat any of this pie or not?’ Whilst everyone else had been wolfing enthusiastica
lly, Flora showed reluctance even to touch the offering. Now, Sarah made as if to take it away. Owen grabbed another piece, Flora extended a tentative hand and the plate was proffered to another. ‘Beata, have this last bit.’

  ‘I can’t face it.’ Beata looked most unwell.

  Her mother seemed annoyed, not a little of this inspired by the sight of Flora sniffing at her pork pie. ‘There’s no wonder you’re ill if you don’t eat!’

  Beata sought to escape to the privy. Eager to impart her adventures, Kit rushed after her.

  ‘Miss him, my eye!’ muttered Gwen with a knowing smirk. ‘He’s a figment of her imagination.’

  After a final sniff, Flora took the tiniest nibble of her pie. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so! If we see so much as a photograph of this paramour, I’ll eat one of Kit’s hats.’

  * * *

  Fortunately, Kit was too busy after this to worry much about conjuring up a suitor, for the daily shooting parties were to keep her out of Gwen’s way for a time, the houseful of guests putting a great strain on the servants, and requiring that Kit adopt any role that was asked of her. After the latest flush of guests, however, came a lull and Kit was rewarded with two whole days off. To escape further interrogation from the rest of her family, she decided to call on Amelia in York and, coaxing one of the manservants into taking her by carriage to the nearest station, she caught a mid-morning train, thereby able to enjoy the whole of Saturday afternoon and most of Sunday in the company of her sister.

  Amelia and Albert were cook and butler at an elegant stuccoed Regency house on the Mount. Kit was glad to find them both apparently well and happy, if still childless. Unlike Gwen, she made no mention of Amelia’s infertility, which made it all the more galling when her sister raised the spectre of Thomas Denaby. Thinking it was done in all innocence, Kit gave a similar reply to the one she had used to Gwen and asked could they change the subject. Amelia was not to be fooled by the ruse. Knowing the truth about Kit’s dismissal, but not having mentioned it before, she scolded the latter for her interference in Tish’s life.