Everybody's Somebody

by Beryl Kingston

  Had she known it, Rosie was feeling equally tearful now that she was on her own and the hateful train was joggling her back to work. It was much worse leaving them this time. Another year away from Ma an’ the littluns, she thought. Another year cleaning nappies, an’ coaxing babies to eat, an’ bathing them, an’ sewing their clothes, an’ picking up their toys. It felt like an eternity.

  Chapter 4

  Rosie’s second year at work passed slowly. May arrived and she passed her thirteenth birthday and didn’t mention it. Rachel grew taller, Bernard crawled about and was sick in the toy box. But at least she had regular letters from home, usually from Tommy or Tess but sometimes from her mother. She answered them all on the day they arrived. Until July, when Tess wrote to tell her they’d got a new baby brother and they were going to call him John and wasn’t it lovely.

  It took her a while to digest the news and think what to say in answer to it. Her first instinctive reaction was to feel sorry for poor Ma. Babies meant such a lot of work and she’d already had four of them. That ought to have been enough, she thought, surely to goodness. I can’t think why she wanted another one. I shan’t want any babies at all when I get married. I’ve had quite enough of them, nasty, smelly, little things. But she could hardly write and tell her mother that. In the end she simply said she was glad to hear the news and she hoped Ma was well and was looking forward to seeing her new brother in the spring. It wasn’t strictly true, but it was the right thing to say.

  The year continued. A second Christmas was celebrated. She and Maisie had to let out the seams in their clothes because they were growing so fast. Lady Howard made occasional visits to the nursery to see her children. And eventually her second Mothering Sunday came round, and she was walking across the fields to see her new brother.

  He was so like Tommy it made her laugh out loud. He had the same round face, the same shock of brown hair, the same blue eyes, even the same chuckle.

  ‘Why Ma,’ she said. ‘They’re like peas in a pod.’

  ‘It’s a good pattern,’ Tommy said cheerfully, ‘so she used it again, didn’tcher Ma?’ He’d grown taller since Rosie saw him last and said he was looking forward to starting work.

  ‘We got him took on at Langford farm,’ Pa said. ‘He’ll do orl right there, won’t you son, ploughing an’ all. He’ll be startin’ come harvest time, what’s a good time to start.’

  ‘I got some material for you,’ Ma said. ‘I thought it might make a warm jacket. It’s a lovely colour, sort a’ russet with red flecks in. Come an’ see. That blouse is nice. Did you get it with your wages?’

  Rosie spent rather longer at home that day because she’d arranged to catch the last train back and she made the most of every minute, cuddling the baby, which pleased Ma, letting Edie sit next to her all through dinner which pleased them all and entertaining them with tales from the castle.

  ‘It’s ever so lovely having you home, our Rosie,’ Tess said as they walked to the station in the half light of a gathering dusk. ‘I wish you could come home every Sunday.’

  ‘So do I,’ Rosie told her, giving her a hug, ‘but that ent the way the world works. Hope you gets on all right with your job, our Tommy. Write an’ tell me.’

  He wrote to her once a week as soon as he’d started work and his letters were cheerful and spoke warmly of the two other boys he was working with, who he said were ‘good sorts’. But by November a new tone was beginning to creep in.

  ‘You get teased sommink cronic by the men,’ he wrote. ‘My hands are all over blisters wot you woudden believe.’

  ‘It ent the best of worlds being at work,’ she wrote back. ‘We just got to get on with it, that’s all. At least you get home of a Sunday, which is more than I do.’

  And she was thinking, you don’t have to put up with the mucky business of ‘being a woman’.

  Janet had enlightened her about that one afternoon just before his letter came.

  ‘Have you been having pains in your belly?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Rosie said, feeling aggrieved to be asked. ‘My belly’s fine, thank you very much.’

  ‘It won’t be fine for long,’ Janet warned. ‘Not now you’re fourteen. First you’ll have pains and then you’ll find blood on your bloomers.’

  Rosie was horrified. ‘I shan’t,’ she said.

  ‘You will,’ Janet said. ‘It happens to all of us. Anyway I’ve brought you a clout just to show you.’ And she pulled a piece of heavy towelling out of her apron pocket and a pad of cotton wool and a long strip of white tape. ‘Watch how it’s done. Then you’ll be ready for it.’

  Rosie watched obediently but her thoughts were seething. It seemed such a horrible thing to have to put up with, month and after month and being told she’d have to wash the clouts and burn the cotton wool on the fire sounded like just two more objectionable chores.

  ‘I’m going to treat myself to a hat to match my jacket,’ she said to Maisie as they set off for town that Thursday. ‘I think I’ve earned it.’

  ‘What a good idea,’ Maisie said, tucking her hand in Rosie’s arm. ‘I shall an’ all.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Rosie said. ‘If we’ve got to bleed like stuck pigs once a month at least we can look stylish while we’re a-doin’ of it.’

  Maisie was shocked and impressed. ‘You do say some dreadful things, our Rosie,’ she said, admiring her.

  The hats were a great success. They wore them to church on the rare Sundays when they were both allowed out to attend and they were a splendid finishing touch to their outfits when they walked to town on Thursdays. And Rosie wore hers with her bunch of violets tucked into the brim when she went home on her third Mothering Sunday. But they didn’t make the chores any easier. Nor did the news that they were given in September. Their rarely seen employer was expecting yet another baby.

  ‘That’ll be three of ’em,’ Rosie grumbled. ‘When’s she going to stop? It’s babies everywhere you look, on an’ on an’ on.’

  ‘Rachel’ll be out of the nursery soon,’ Janet said. ‘They’re hiring a governess for her.’

  ‘I’d rather have our Rachel to look after than another new baby,’ Rosie said. ‘At least she don’t make horrible messes for us to clear up.’

  But the baby was coming and on her fourth Mothering Sunday she told her mother all about it. ‘Any minute now,’ she said knowledgeably. ‘She looks like a barrel for all her fine clothes.’

  ‘We can’t help looking like barrels,’ Maggie said. ‘It happens to all of us. It’ll happen to you one day. You’ll sing a different tune then.’

  Rosie made a grimace, but she was nearly sixteen now, so she didn’t argue. She just made a silent promise to herself. Ma can say what she likes, she thought, but I’m not going to spend my life having babies. Not if I can help it.

  Tommy looked across the table and winked at her. It was the first time she’d ever seen him do such a thing and it made him look as if he was a conspirator. Does he think things too and not say them, she wondered. She wished they could have a bit of time on their own together so that she could ask him. But the spotted dick was being served and baby John was waving his spoon and the meal was pushing them away from their thoughts.

  It wasn’t until they were all walking back to the station in their now customary way that she found the moment she wanted.

  ‘You know when we was sitting at the table,’ she began.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You looked as if you was thinking.’

  ‘I does a lot a’ thinking. Private like.’

  ‘What about?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Work.’

  ‘You don’t like it,’ she said, with a rush of fellow feeling.

  ‘Not much. I’m tryin’ to find somethin’ else fer mesself. Onny don’ say nothin’ to Ma. She don’t know.’

  ‘I’d like to do that an’ all,’ she said. ‘I don’t like my work neither.’ But there was no time to say anything else, much though she wanted to, because the
little station was just ahead of them and she would soon have to say goodbye.

  ‘I’ll write to you,’ she called as the train chuffed away. She was waving to them all but was looking at Tommy.

  And he winked at her again. It made her feel warm all the way back to Arundel.

  The Howard’s third baby was born on March 25th, eight days later and Sister Sunshine came back to the castle again for the confinement. The staff were given the news at supper and told that it was a girl and that she was to be called Katherine Mary and they all applauded politely. But Rosie didn’t care what she was going to be called. She was another baby — that was all there was to it — and her coming meant more nappies and more sick-sour clothes and endless bottles and more broken nights. I really will have to start looking for another job, she thought, as she crawled wearily into bed after the new baby’s first day in the nursery. If Tommy can find something else, I should too.

  But that was easier thought than done. There was so much work in the nursery now, with a new and very demanding baby, young Bernard who was a toddler and very upset to be displaced by the newcomer, and Rachel who was nearly seven and being taught by a governess every day and needed the comfort of her favourite fairy stories at bedtime. And Tommy’s letters were rather intermittent. He was asking around for any possible vacancies and meant to find one. ‘I means to keep on going till I gets what I wants,’ he told her.

  But it was taking him a very long time. It wasn’t until the autumn that he finally wrote in great excitement to tell her he was going to work as a gardener at Binderton House.

  ‘What do you think to that our Rosie? parrently, the old feller what lives there is a clergyman of some sort what is always out an about soemwheres being religus an wants someone for to tend his vegetable patch an’ such like. I will write again when I’m settled in. Wot larks!’

  His next letter bubbled with excitement.

  ‘I like it here,’ he wrote. ‘The clergyman leaves orders what I carries out and the old lady comes out for to see what I done what she seems for to like. She is a nice old biddy. Wooden say boo to a goose. Once she knows wat I’m doing she lets me be to get on with it. I won’t say it ent hard work but I likes it. I gets home at night and the grubs good and its easier than milking them ol cows and plowing.’

  Rosie envied him. Lucky thing. But she wrote back to tell him how glad she was he’d found somewhere he liked, adding, ‘I only wish it was me.’

  ‘I will see if I can find soemthink for to suit for you,’ he promised in his next letter. He wasn’t sure how he could do it, but he’d keep his ears open. You never knew when something might turn up.

  It turned up when he was deadheading the roses in the front garden one May morning. The sun was warm on the nape of his neck and he was working slowly because the clergyman was out, when his gentle peace was suddenly broken in a very noisy way. He looked up, startled, to see one of them terrible motor car things fairly roaring up the gravel path towards him.

  There was a grand lady sitting in the back in a grand black coat and an enormous hat and it was being driven by a man in a peaked hat and a coat made of beige Holland with brown cuffs and collar. He brought his machine to a halt and climbed out of it to open the door for the lady.

  ‘Binderton House ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘Ring the bell,’ she said.

  Well, well, well, Tommy thought. What’s a grand lady like that doing visiting Binderton House? The missus never said nothing about no lady coming. And he stood quite still, secateurs in hand, to see what would happen next.

  The bell was rung, and the lady stepped delicately out of the car and walked in a stately way towards the door. Tommy’s mouth fell open at the sight of her for she looked even more impressive out of the car than she’d done in it. She was dressed entirely in cream, black, and scarlet, and now he could see that it wasn’t a coat she was wearing but a flowing black cape that looked as though it was made of velvet and was lined in scarlet silk. The suit beneath it was the colour of cream and had swirling patterns of black braid all over the front of it and she wore cream-coloured gloves to match it and her hat was black velvet with scarlet ribbons and a topknot of huge black feathers. Even her shoes were black and red too. She was a wonder to behold and she stood on the doorstep as though she knew it. When the door was opened, the housemaid took one look at her and dropped a curtsey.

  ‘Lady Eden,’ the vision said. ‘You are expecting me.’ And the maid curtseyed again and ushered her in.

  As soon as she was gone, the driver took off his cap and his gauntlets and tossed them into the car, fished a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, leant against the side of the car and lit up. He looked a friendly sort of chap without his cap, so Tommy ambled across to talk to him.

  ‘Come far?’ he said.

  The driver blew smoke from his nose like a dragon. It was very impressive. ‘London.’

  ‘Tha’s a mortal long way.’

  ‘She wants ter take a cottage for her boys,’ the driver said. ‘Fer the summer when they ain’t at Eton. ’Tween you an’ me, I reckon it’s to get ’em out the way of her ol’ man.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s a proper tartar, he is,’ the driver said. ‘Flies off the handle like you wouldn’t believe. Hollerin’ an’ roarin’ fer the least little thing. I’ll give you a fer-instance. He only allows blue flowers to grow in his garden. Blue or grey. An’ one year a lot a’ red ones come up an’ you’d ha’ thought it was the end a’ the world. He roared an’ screamed summink chronic. Had ’em all dug up. Pretty they was too.’

  Tommy grimaced. ‘So she’s puttin’ ’em out a’ harms’ way.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it. She wants ’em here by half term.’

  ‘When’s that?’

  ‘Week after next.’

  Tommy’s mind was working at speed. ‘That’s a rush. ’Specially if she’s got to get servants an’ all.’

  ‘Oh the old lady’ll do that,’ the driver said.

  ‘What ol’ lady?’

  ‘Her at the house. The one my lady’s come ter see.’

  Tommy’s mouth was hanging open. It was heaven sent. Rosie could run a cottage easy as pie an’ he could fix it for her. The idea swelled in his head until it was quite uncomfortable, but he’d made up his mind. I’ll do it the minute that lady’s gone, he thought.

  He had to wait for a very long time before the vision reappeared and was driven away. But as soon as she was out of sight, he put down his secateurs and ran to the kitchen door to find the missus.

  ‘I got just the one fer you, mum, if you’re looking fer a housekeeper,’ he said, blue eyes earnest.

  She was so surprised she barely knew how to answer him. ‘Oh yes,’ she said vaguely.

  He was hot with good intentions and pressed on without noticing her vagueness. ‘My big sister, mum. She works at Arundel Castle an’ she’s been wantin’ to come back here fer ages. She’d be just the ticket. Shall I write an’ tell her?’

  ‘Well…yes…’ she dithered. ‘I suppose you could.’

  The letter was written that afternoon. He knew he had no business leaving his work, but it had to be done. He ran all the way home, wrote his letter as quickly as he could and posted it on his way back. Now it was up to Rosie.

  She arrived on Thursday afternoon, wearing her new hat, her best jacket and her most determined expression. By the time she got back to the castle the job was hers, starting in a week’s time.

  Maisie was impressed. ‘Housekeeper!’ she said. ‘My stars! That’s a step up. You’ll see some changes now.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie said. ‘I hope I do.’ And she grinned. ‘Whatever it’s like it’ll be better than non-stop nappies an’ cleaning up sick.’

  Chapter 5

  Rosie’s new job began at eight o’clock the next Saturday morning with a blaze of sunshine and the roar of a car. She went out of the cottage at once to welcome her new employer and watched as she emerged in full elegance from her great
car and was followed by her sons, who weren’t the two little boys she was expecting but two languid young men who weren’t very much younger than she was and were dressed in the most extraordinary uniform — black top hats, black jackets, waistcoats, striped trousers — and with a peculiar white collar to set it all off. They mean to be noticed she thought.

  ‘Ah yes,’ Lady Eden said, when Rosie curtseyed to her. ‘Miss Goodison isn’t it. Take their hats.’ And she swept into the house.

  Rosie took the top hats and hung them up on the hall stand. Then she watched as the lady climbed the stairs, trailing her gloved hand along the banister to check for dust. The boys’ bedrooms were inspected and approved of, the sitting room nodded at, the boys kissed perfunctorily, ‘Goodbye Anthony, goodbye Nicholas,’ and then she was gone.

  The very grown-up boys sprawled in their easy chairs and the older one ordered coffee which Rosie made and served to them. That Anthony is seventeen if he’s a day, she thought. What’s he still doing at school?

  She was to learn a lot about the differences between her life and theirs in the days that followed. Early the next morning, two brand-new bicycles were delivered and propped against the back wall, ready for their use but they didn’t get up until the morning was half over and then they lounged around the cottage in slippers and silk dressing gowns, smoking cigarettes and reading a newspaper called The Times, which had been delivered to them all the way from Chichester. In the afternoon they got dressed in white trousers, cotton shirts and cravats and cycled off to go sailing. They were horribly lazy, leaving their dirty clothes on the floor for her to pick up and clean, their dirty coffee cups for her to collect, their discarded newspapers all over the room. They had opinions about everything and were quite sure they were right in everything they said.