by Dilly Court
Luncheon, as Clara had prophesied, was a simple meal. The dining room was huge, and might have been the refectory in a monastery for all the warmth and comfort it offered. Aunt Jane said grace, which went on for so long that Alice’s stomach began to rumble, which earned her a warning glance from her aunt. The meal for which they had to be truly thankful was bread and cheese with water to drink, and an apple for dessert. Jane ate her piece of fruit until all that remained was a single stalk. She frowned at Beth when she left the core on her plate.
‘We don’t waste food in this house. There are people starving on the streets who would be grateful for an apple core, let alone an apple.’
Alice and her mother exchanged meaningful glances, saying nothing.
Jane finished her water and replaced the glass on the table. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve made arrangements for you to start work tomorrow morning, Alice.’
‘Work?’ Beth stared at her open-mouthed. ‘What sort of work? Alice isn’t trained for anything.’
‘My point exactly. You and Clement brought her up to be neither use nor ornament, but I have contacts through the Church, and as a favour to me a wife of a respectable and prosperous owner of a printing works has agreed to take Alice on to teach her daughter to draw and paint. There will, of course, be other duties for her to perform, but she will find that out when she starts tomorrow morning at seven thirty.’
After spending less than a day in Aunt Jane’s house, where the list of rules seemed endless and meals had to be earned by doing menial work, Alice decided that almost anything would be an improvement. Jane employed the minimum of servants needed to run the household. Cook and Clara lived in and there were a couple of daily women who came in to clean. Alice spent the afternoon polishing the silver cutlery and the brass cross and candlesticks from the small altar in Jane’s boudoir. Beth was given the task of cutting up a sheet that had already been turned sides to middle, but was now too worn to use on a bed. The resulting squares then had to be hemmed and the cloths used for cleaning and dusting. Jane was nothing if not frugal, although Alice knew that her aunt was a wealthy woman.
Supper that night was again taken in the cheerless dining room where a few lumps of coal smouldered feebly in the grate. ‘You should dress according to the weather, sister-in-law,’ Jane said sternly when she saw that Beth was shivering. ‘A woollen shawl is all you need.’ She glared at Alice who was about to pick up her spoon. ‘We will say grace.’
The soup was cooling rapidly by the time Jane came to the end of what turned out to be a sermon on gratitude aimed, no doubt, at her reluctant guests. Alice was too hungry to care and she spooned the vegetable broth into her mouth, wiping the bowl with a chunk of dry bread. She waited eagerly for the next course, but it did not materialise. Jane folded her hands, murmuring a prayer before rising from the table. ‘I spend my evenings studying the Good Book. You may do as you please, but bear in mind that candles cost money, and I don’t approve of fires in the bedchambers. We rise early in this house; therefore you should retire at a reasonable hour. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Jane,’ Beth said meekly.
‘Yes, Aunt Jane.’ Alice sighed inwardly. She waited until her aunt had left the room. ‘I don’t think I can stand much more of this, Mama,’ she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Jane was not within earshot.
Beth rose wearily from the chair. ‘We haven’t much choice, my love. It’s this or the workhouse, and I know which I prefer.’ She leaned her hands on the table, taking deep breaths. ‘It’s all right, I’m quite well, just a bit stiff from sitting on a hard wooden seat. I think I might go to bed and rest. It’s been a long and trying day.’ She held her hand out to her daughter, a smile sketched on her thin features. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Of course not, Mama. You must take care of yourself, and I’ll try to be patient and deserving, but it isn’t easy.’
‘It’s all strange and new,’ Beth said softly. ‘Jane is a worthy woman, and we must be grateful to her for putting a roof over our heads. It was good of her to think of finding you a suitable position. Teaching drawing is a ladylike occupation.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Alice could see that her mother was having difficulty walking and she held out her hand. ‘Let me help you upstairs.’
‘Thank you, dear. It’s these silly legs of mine. They’re aching miserably this evening, but once I get going I’m quite all right.’
After seeing her mother settled for the night, although it was only seven o’clock, Alice did not fancy an evening of Bible study with Aunt Jane and she went to her room. She lit the single candle provided and went to draw the curtains, pausing for a moment to watch the large feathery snowflakes whirling and dancing as they fluttered slowly to the pavement and lay there like a white fleecy blanket. A man wearing a greatcoat with his collar pulled up to his ears trudged past the house, leaving a trail of stark black footprints in his wake. Alice sighed. The pristine beauty of the fallen snow was despoiled and ruined forever. She pulled the curtains together, shutting out the harsh reality of the world before going to sit on the bed. In her reticule was her most prized possession and she took it out carefully. The paper was yellowed with age and slightly dog-eared, but the picture on the Christmas card was of a family gathering at yuletide, and it had always seemed to her to be imbued with the true spirit of the season. It was the first such card to have been produced commercially, and her father had bought it in the year she had been born. He had kept it for her until she was old enough to appreciate the message of peace and goodwill that it contained. Sadly, so Pa had told her, the first cards had not been a huge success. In fact he had invested money in their production, losing heavily, as so often happened on the rare occasions when he had ventured into the business world.
Alice held the hand-coloured lithograph to her bosom with a whisper of a sigh. ‘Poor Papa,’ she said softly. ‘I’m glad you’re not here to see us in such a pickle, but I promise you I’ll do everything I can to make things better for Mama. I won’t let you down.’ She rose to her feet and stowed the precious card out of sight of prying eyes in the chest of drawers.
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Acknowledgements
Although The Swan Maid is a work of fiction, I have done my utmost to ensure that the historical facts are correct, and I found the following works both fascinating and useful:
Wonderful Adventures of Mrs Seacole in Many Lands, by Mary Seacole (Penguin Classics)
Mary Seacole, by Jane Robinson (Constable & Robinson Ltd)
Crimean Journal, by Fanny Duberly (Classic Travel Book)
Narrative of Personal Experiences & Impressions During a Residence on the Bosphorus Throughout the Crimean War, by Lady Alicia Blackwood (National Army Museum)
Lonely Planet India (Travel Guide), by Lonely Planet
About the Author
Dilly Court is a Sunday Times bestselling author of 29 novels. She grew up in North East London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children and four grandchildren, and now lives in Dorset on the beautiful Jurassic Coast with her husband.
To find out more about Dilly, please visit her website and her Facebook page.
www.dillycourt.com
/DillyCourtAuthor
Also by Dilly Court
Mermaids Singing
The Dollmaker’s Daughters
Tilly True
The Best of Sisters
The Cockney Sparrow
A Mother’s Courage
The Constant Heart
A Mother’s Promise
The Cockney Angel
A Mother’s Wish
The
Ragged Heiress
A Mother’s Secret
Cinderella Sister
A Mother’s Trust
The Lady’s Maid
The Best of Daughters
The Workhouse Girl
A Loving Family
The Beggar Maid
A Place Called Home
The Orphan’s Dream
Ragged Rose
About the Publisher
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