by Anna Jacobs
When his mother came out and gestured to the sky, then towards the house, he’d closed his eyes as if summoning up all his patience. After that, he’d shaken his head and said ‘No, mama!’ quite emphatically.
Harriet couldn’t hear the words, but could tell what he’d said from the way he shaped his mouth. She’d seen him disagree with his mother once or twice before.
‘He’s not going to do as he’s told for ever,’ a voice said behind her.
She turned to see Jenny standing behind her. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘No. You were too busy staring out of the window.’
‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Jenny smiled. ‘You work hard and if you want a breather for a minute or two, I reckon you earn it. Anyway, it’s what us servants do, isn’t it? Watch the family, I mean. Because we’re away from our own families.’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘I miss my family. I’ll see a lot more of them after I’m married.’
‘I haven’t got any family left now, not close enough to count, anyway.’
‘Well, the other servants are like a big family, aren’t they?’
Harriet didn’t contradict her, but it wasn’t the same. She still missed her mother and father dreadfully. She realised Jenny was saying something and tried to concentrate on her companion.
‘I’ve been here for eight years and I’ve seen Mr Joseph grow up. He used to be ill all the time, but in the past year or two he’s seemed a lot better. And he’s started making his own decisions. The mistress doesn’t like that. She still wants to baby him.’
‘He doesn’t look ill.’ She didn’t like to say the word ‘crippled’. It was such an ugly word and he seemed to be too nice to call a cripple. ‘It’s only when he walks that you can tell he has … um, problems.’
For a minute or two longer they both watched Mrs Dalton argue, then spread her arms wide and stare at the sky as if giving up the attempt. Shaking her head, she walked back to the house and entered through the big French windows.
Behind her, Mr Joseph rested his head against the back of his chair as if weary. When he straightened up, he looked round furtively then threw off the blanket they always insisted on covering his legs with, before standing up.
He took a few slow steps round the table then walked back to the chair again, holding onto its back. Then he let go and moved across to the nearest tree, turning to beam triumphantly at his wheelchair.
‘He’s like a child learning to walk,’ Harriet breathed. A neighbour’s little son had been just the same, venturing further each time and beaming at the world as if it was a great accomplishment to get somewhere new.
‘I didn’t know Mr Joseph could walk so far without support,’ Jenny said. ‘And what are we doing gaping out of the window when we should be working? We’ve a lot to do before the family go to London.’
Harriet was sorry to move away. She’d like to have seen where Mr Joseph went next and how he managed. But she did as she was told, because she wasn’t paid to watch other people. ‘Are you sorry not to be going with them this time, Jenny?’
‘Not at all. London’s dirty and busy, and I never feel safe walking the streets. If it’s not pickpockets, it’s people bumping into you, they’re in such a hurry. I’d much rather be in the country, near my John. There’s still a lot to do before my wedding. I’ve all sorts of things to sew.’
‘If you want any help … I can do plain sewing.’
Jenny smiled. ‘Bless you, that’s kind. We’ll see how I go.’
But she didn’t ask for help and Harriet knew why. Try as she might, she couldn’t sew neatly. She got lost in her thoughts and put in crooked stitches. It was worrying her how she’d replace her clothes if she grew any more.
Not much else was worrying her, though. Dalton House was a happy place to work and she was so relieved to be here.
She hadn’t heard from her stepmother, but when she’d written to Mrs Miller to thank her for her help, she’d received a reply, one asking questions that needed another letter to answer.
She was hoping Mrs Miller would write again, because it was lovely to receive a letter like the other servants sometimes did, made her feel less alone in the world.
At the end of September, Jenny left to get married. The mistress gave permission for a special afternoon tea in the servants’ hall to bid her goodbye.
Everyone had bought her a present, but Harriet didn’t dare spend her remaining few shillings and she wasn’t skilled enough to sew anything worthy to be called a present, either.
Mrs Stuart found her sniffling over the fire she was lighting one morning and persuaded her to reveal why she was upset.
‘I don’t want them to think I’m mean,’ Harriet sobbed into her duster.
‘I have a book someone gave me. I’ve never opened it, because I’m not fond of reading. Why don’t you have that and give it to her? No one will be surprised at you giving her a book.’
‘But it won’t come from me. Not really. And she doesn’t read much.’
‘She’ll be getting it because of you, though, and that’s what’s important. It’s a pretty book and she’ll put it on show in her parlour.’ She patted Harriet’s shoulder. ‘You’re right to save your money, child.’
‘I still won’t have enough to buy new clothes. I’ve grown already since I came here, the food’s so good.’
‘I can help you there. We have quite a few things other maids have left behind, those who married well. They’re only lying around in a box upstairs. If you don’t mind second-hand clothes, I’m sure I can find things for you when you grow out of those.’
‘Really? You won’t mind?’
‘No, dear. You’re a hard worker and already I can trust you to do a job properly without me breathing down your neck. That’s worth a lot to me.’
Harriet blew her nose. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s my job to help the maids. Now, I came to find you because I have something to tell you – good news, I hope. We have a new maid starting on Monday, as you know, and I want you to hand over your present jobs to her. You can take over Mabel’s duties and she’ll do Jenny’s.’
Harriet let out a huge sigh of both relief and pleasure, because she’d hoped for this, but hadn’t dared ask. She didn’t mind at all when Mrs Stuart laughed at her. It would be lovely to have a bit of a change.
The new duties weren’t any more interesting than the old ones, but at least they took Harriet into the front part of the house more often and she had the pleasure of cleaning the beautiful rooms the family used, places she’d only popped in and out of before when helping Mabel or Jenny.
If it hadn’t been for the books, Harriet would have been unhappy in spite of people’s kindness. She couldn’t help being frustrated with the monotony of her days. And when she had her monthly day off, she had nowhere to go if it rained, but if she stayed in the house someone was sure to ask her to ‘just help for a minute’ with a job.
In the end, she began to take refuge in the old summer house. No one used it any more and it was looking distinctly shabby, its white paint faded and blistered, and there was a leak in one corner of the roof. She was surprised that the Daltons didn’t do something about it, but it wasn’t the only part of the gardens that was being neglected.
The head gardener found her there and looked at her in surprise. ‘What are you doing here, lass?’
‘I’ve nowhere to go on my day off and if I stay in the house they find me something to do, Mr Gunson.’
‘The other maids go into town and look round the shops.’
‘That costs money, and I don’t have much.’
‘I see.’ His expression softened. ‘You look cold.’
‘I am a bit.’ She was beginning to worry about what she’d do when winter brought ice and snow.
‘Well, the family don’t use this place any more, that’s for sure, an’ they’re not likely to, neither. They spend more time in London these days. Te
ll you what, lass. I’ve got some old horse blankets. You could wrap yourself up in those for an hour or two.’
‘Thank you so much.’
He walked away, shaking his head and muttering to himself.
She went back to her book, finding it hard to turn the pages with her gloves on, but even harder if she left the gloves off and let the chill air stiffen her fingers.
She was grateful when Mr Gunson came back with the ragged old blankets.
Later that day, he walked past again, stopped to stare at her and once more came across to speak to her. ‘You still here?’
‘I’m all right now I have the blankets. I like to sit and read.’
‘Did you have anything to eat at midday?’
‘I … um, wasn’t hungry.’
‘Hmm.’
He came back a short time later with a wrinkled apple and a stale piece of bread. ‘It’s not much, but it’ll fill your belly.’
‘You’re very kind.’
‘You’re the same age as my daughter. I’d not like her to spend all day on her own like this.’
‘I’m not on my own. I’ve got a book.’
‘Books! It’s people you should be with at your age.’
She didn’t say it, but she was happy to be away from people. It was lovely to sit quietly like this, even in the cold weather, so she just repeated, ‘I’m fine, really I am.’
As Christmas approached, the other servants wrote to their families and spent their time making little presents. Harriet felt so left out, she asked Mrs Stuart for some leftover bits and pieces of material that the mistress’s maid was throwing away. She found a nice square piece and hemmed a handkerchief out of it for Mrs Miller. The sewing wasn’t very neat, however hard she tried, but it was the thought that counted.
To her surprise, she received a postal order for five shillings and a book from Mrs Miller in return. She walked round in a glow all day. She’d saved up some money from the weekly shilling from her wages, and from the Christmas bonuses. It wasn’t much, just under two pounds, but it was a start.
After Christmas, life settled down.
Well, it did until the 22nd January when the Queen died. Victoria had been on the throne for as long as most people remembered.
Dalton House went into instant mourning, of course, with the family wearing black and the servants black armbands.
Harriet stared at her armband. She hadn’t had anything black to wear when her mother died, and even Winifred hadn’t worn more than a black armband for her husband, and that only for a week.
The Queen had died at Osborne on the Isle of Wight, but Mrs Stuart read out to the servants a description of her coffin being brought back to London on the royal yacht Alberta. It came from the master’s newspaper, which was passed to the housekeeper once he’d finished with it.
She also read out to them the details of the funeral on the 2nd February.
The mood lightened after the grand funeral and everyone expressed hopes for a happy reign for Victoria’s son. Edward the Seventh had waited long enough to get to the throne. Let him enjoy it while he could, Mr Dalton said.
It seemed that the Daltons had met him in London, which made Harriet look at them with awe for a day or two.
She had expected there to be a coronation for the new king almost immediately, but it wasn’t to take place till the following year.
The household routine fell into its usual predictable patterns of behaviour.
Chapter Four
As spring approached, another problem rose for Harriet. She’d now read all the books in the schoolroom, a few of them more than once.
Thinking of how many books there were in the library, she plucked up her courage and went to consult Mrs Stuart, asking if there were any other books she could borrow. ‘I’ve read all my own books several times. And I’d look after the books, you know I would.’
‘I’ve never seen such a reader as you.’
‘I enjoy finding things out.’
‘I’m told you sit in the old summer house on your days off, reading away.’
She blushed. ‘I didn’t think anyone would mind. No one else uses it now.’ She waited, holding her breath. What would she do if she was forbidden to go there?
Mrs Stuart looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll ask about the books. And make sure you don’t catch your death of cold out there.’
‘Mr Gunson’s given me some old horse blankets and a piece of canvas. I’m really very snug.’
‘It’s a pity this isn’t a big enough house for us to have other maids of your age. You need friends of your own age.’
‘I’m fine as I am, Mrs Stuart, honestly I am.’
‘Well, ask Cook to make you some sandwiches next time and … I’ll ask about the books.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Harriet let out a sigh of relief. It’d make such a difference to get some new books.
When she had her morning consultation with the mistress the following day, Mrs Stuart raised the matter.
‘Well, Harriet doesn’t seem cheeky or forward, but it’s a strange request from a servant. I hope she’s not neglecting her duties.’
‘She’s a very hard worker. And Harriet isn’t at all cheeky. If anything, she’s too quiet for someone her age. She can’t afford to buy books because her stepmother takes most of her wages.’
‘Hmm. What do you want to do about her request?’
‘I was thinking about asking Mr Joseph to help, ma’am. He’s been rather restless lately, hasn’t he? I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I can’t help noticing.’ She waited, head on one side. The mistress didn’t like to be hurried.
‘You’re right, Mrs Stuart. Joseph is getting rather restless. I know he’s better than he used to be, but I still worry about him overdoing things.’
Mrs Stuart didn’t mention how much walking Mr Joseph did, up and down the first-floor corridors and round the quieter parts of the garden, even in the cooler weather. He still had a crooked, awkward walk, but he seemed much quicker and stronger these days.
Not only wasn’t it her business what he did, but she didn’t blame the poor young man. No one had discussed this, but all the servants were keeping quiet about his activities, even his manservant Pollins. They were glad to see him improving because he was never anything but polite to them.
At last Mrs Dalton said slowly, ‘What do you think Joseph can do?’
‘I wondered if he’d be interested in helping Harriet find some more reading material from the library and even, if he has time, answering any questions she raises. She’s asked me if I could explain several things she’s found in books, and I must confess, not being much of a reader, I couldn’t answer all her questions. I’m sure Mr Joseph would know the answers, though. He reads even more than Harriet does.’
‘I don’t know what the world is coming to when servants read the same books as their employers and ask questions.’
‘We’re in a new century now, ma’am, with a new king. Ways are bound to change.’
Mrs Dalton sighed. ‘I suppose so. Still … since you say she’s such a good worker, I’ll ask Joseph what he thinks. I’m not promising anything, mind, and if it tires him, of course it must stop at once.’
‘Of course. Thank you so much, ma’am. It’s always good to keep the staff happy. That way, they work harder and we don’t lose the ones we’ve trained. Mrs Miller always made a point of that, if you remember.’
Mrs Dalton shrugged and went off to consult her maid about an alteration to one of her gowns. She clearly felt enough had been said on the subject.
Mrs Stuart could only hope her mistress would remember to ask about the books.
That evening dinner was just a family gathering. Joseph wasn’t hungry but tried to eat enough to stop his mother nagging him. It had been a long rainy day and he hadn’t been able to get outside or walk about much.
‘Are you not feeling well?’ his mother asked once his father had dismissed the servants.
‘Stop fussing over the boy, Sophie!’ his father barked.
‘I’m not fussing, William. But a mother notices these things. Oh, I forgot to mention earlier, Joseph dear, that Mrs Stuart asked a favour today – or rather, she asked me if you might consider doing her a favour by helping out with something. But of course you must say no if it’s too much for you.’
He waited, sure it would be something and nothing.
‘That young maid, Harriet, is apparently a great reader and has finished all the books in the schoolroom, though I find that hard to believe. Mrs Stuart wondered if we had anything in the library we might allow her to read.’
‘She’ll probably just want some rubbishy novels,’ her husband said at once. ‘She won’t find anything like that in our library.’
‘If the girl really has read every book in the schoolroom, then she’s read a couple of shelves of textbooks as well,’ Joseph said, his interest piqued.
‘Well, I doubt whether a girl like that could have read so many books in just a few months. She probably skimmed through the difficult ones. But still, it’s a harmless occupation and a quiet one, so I’m inclined to humour her. Happy maids stay with you, and that makes life so much easier. Servants are getting very uppity these days.’
Joseph really liked the idea of helping Harriet, but shrugged, knowing better than to show great interest in this, or his mother would start to worry that it was too much for him. ‘I could quite easily select a few books for her. It’d only take me a few minutes. Though I’d rather do that during the daytime than wait until she’s finished her duties in the evenings. Perhaps she could be spared for a few minutes to tell me about her interests.’
His mother let out a little puff of irritation. ‘Of course she can be spared. She must come at a time that’s convenient to you. That isn’t the point. I don’t want you wearing yourself out.’