by Val Wood
Mrs Moody looked at her and then at Polly. It was hard to tell the difference between them. Both were wet through and each had a bedraggled shawl draped round her shoulders. ‘Which of you is Maister’s niece? I was expecting onny one young lady.’
‘Really?’ Rosalie said. ‘I am Rosalie Kingston.’ She gave a perplexed frown. ‘My uncle has surely not forgotten that Miss Parker was coming also?’
‘Well, happen he did,’ the housekeeper grunted. ‘But it wouldn’t be the first time he’s forgotten to tell me who’s coming and who isn’t. You’d best go and warm yourselves in front of ’embers. Mr Howard, if you’ll shift the dogs, please, I’ll go and boil the kettle yet again. There’s soup and some cold chicken,’ she added, ‘and a piece of pie. Would that be sufficient?’
This time Polly answered. ‘That would be very nice, Mrs Moody, thank you. Are there fires lit upstairs?’
Mrs Moody frowned. ‘Onny in one room. Like I said, I was onny expecting one guest, but the bed will take onny a minute to make up and I’ll slide the warming pan over it.’
Rosalie smiled. ‘Not guests, Mrs Moody,’ she said sweetly. ‘Family. Just treat us as you do our cousins.’
‘Yes, miss.’ The housekeeper glanced at Howard, who kept a perfectly straight face as he nodded in agreement. ‘Of course.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Rosalie and Polly chorused. ‘So kind!’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘There’s only Mr Edwin home at present.’ Mrs Moody clutched a burning candle as she led Rosalie and Polly upstairs. ‘And he’ll be in bed. Master’s not got home.’ They were warmer now after hot soup and several slices of chicken and bread and butter. Howard Carleton had stirred the fire, put on more wood and then wished them good night.
‘I hope you sleep well,’ he had said. ‘The beds are very comfortable, that’s one thing my uncle insists on. I shall see you sometime tomorrow, perhaps at midday when I come in for my dinner. We tend to eat at midday.’ He smiled. ‘A good dinner keeps us going for the rest of the day.’
‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Carleton,’ Rosalie said. ‘You’ve been most kind.’
He’d tipped his head to one side. ‘If you are coming to live here, Miss Kingston,’ he said. ‘I think we should at least address each other by our first names. We are almost related.’
Rosalie blushed. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. Of course. Howard.’
He gave a small bow. Then, turning to Polly, he put his hand to his chest, bowed again, and winked. ‘Miss Parker!’
‘Mr Howard!’ she answered cheekily. ‘Good night.’
Rosalie’s room was very cosy with the fire and a lamp turned low. A soft rose pink eiderdown lay on the high bed with several pillows. A communicating door led to Polly’s smaller room. There was a lamp lit at the bedside here too but no fire in the grate; Polly put her hand between the sheets and found that Mrs Moody had swept the warming pan over the bottom one. A hot brick wrapped in a piece of flannel was in the middle of the bed.
‘It’s lovely,’ she told Rosalie, when the latter commented on the smallness of the room. She took a breath. A room of her own. What luxury.
‘Will you be warm enough?’ Rosalie asked. She turned to Mrs Moody, who was hovering in the doorway, obviously anxious to return to her bed. ‘Mrs Moody, you will be sure to have a fire lit in here tomorrow? Miss Parker is susceptible to the cold.’
‘Then this baint the place for her to live,’ the housekeeper replied sourly. ‘We get a lot o’ weather up here.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ Polly gave a sudden sneeze. ‘I’m quite hardy. You mustn’t worry about me.’
‘I’ll bring another blanket,’ Mrs Moody conceded. ‘And I’ll tell the maid to light a fire first thing.’
‘I’ll come to fetch ’blanket,’ Polly said. ‘Show me where they’re kept and then you can get off to bed.’ She smiled at her, thinking that she should keep her sweet. ‘You must be tired. It’s very late.’
She followed the housekeeper along the wide landing until she opened a door to what Polly thought would be a cupboard. Instead, a low step led them into another narrower landing with doors along one side. Mrs Moody opened one of them, lifting the candle to reveal a large room with sheets suspended from a drying rack. From a cupboard she brought out a thick blanket which she handed to Polly. She then picked up a saucer with a stub of candle from the top of a chest of drawers, lit it from her own and gave it to Polly.
‘There you are miss,’ she said. ‘Will you be able to find your own way back?’
‘I’m sure I will,’ Polly said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll wish you good night then,’ Mrs Moody said. ‘I can go this way to my room.’ She nodded towards the other end of the narrow landing. ‘Saves traipsing through the house. Close the door after you if you please, miss.’
Polly put the candle down on the chest and wrapped the blanket round her shoulders. It smelled of lavender. She looked round the ironing room. Two walls were fitted with high cupboards, and on opening one she found it full of neatly folded sheets. An ironing table stood in the middle of the room. A fire was laid ready for lighting and in the hearth stood several irons and a small metal pail filled with water which would be used to test the heat of the irons. Bet everybody fights to do ’ironing in winter, she thought. It’ll be ’warmest spot in the house.
She picked up the flickering candle and carefully closing the door behind her made her way back to the main landing and her room. The adjoining door was ajar and she saw that Rosalie was already undressed and in her night shift and dressing robe.
‘I’m so cold,’ Rosalie said. ‘I’m going to sleep in my robe. I’d sleep in my stockings too except that they are damp.’
‘Mine are too,’ Polly said. ‘But we’ll soon get warm. This is an amazing house,’ she went on enthusiastically. ‘There’s a hidden landing where there’s an ironing room and it leads to another part of ’house. I think mebbe where ’maids sleep.’
‘Oh?’ Rosalie shivered and climbed into her bed.
‘G’night then,’ Polly said reluctantly. She would have liked to chat more about the possibility of exploring the inner workings of the house, but Rosalie obviously wasn’t interested. I suppose it doesn’t mean so much to her, Polly thought as she undressed. She’s used to better things. Not like me.
She pulled on her new flannel nightdress and jumped into bed. This to me is like being a princess in a palace. She blew out the candle and turned down the lamp until it popped and there was instant darkness. She gave a deep satisfied sigh, put her head on the pillow and was asleep at once.
Rosalie shifted and shuffled in the unfamiliar bed. It was comfortable, as Howard Carleton had said. The feather mattress was deep, the pillows were soft and the eiderdown was cosy. But she was too tired to sleep. She ached from sitting astride the horse and her elbow was very painful. She turned the lamp low but not off.
Polly is so lucky, she thought. She has a happy nature and can adapt to different situations. Whereas I – I’m entrenched in rules and aware of what society demands of me as a woman, and I must discover what is required of me here in my uncle’s house. Must I be passive, virtuous and disciplined and never self-indulgent, as was expected of me in my father’s house? For it was always my father’s house, even though he was rarely there, and it was my mother who took care of the household management.
She turned over in bed but that made her elbow even more painful so she sat up, propped herself on her pillows, pulled the covers up to her chin and resigned herself to a long sleepless night.
For some reason Sonny Blake came into her mind. He’d been angry with them for setting out when they did. And of course he was right, she admitted. The weather had been appalling and they could so easily have been marooned. Madness, he’d said. She gave a little laugh. That’s what they’d all said. Amos, Mrs Moody, Howard Carleton; she still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his first name, nor Sonny Blake either. But what was it that Sonny Blake had
said to her? ‘Your life is your own. We have only one. Swim against the tide if you want to.’
‘But I don’t know how,’ she murmured. ‘I need someone to teach me.’
It seemed like hours and she was still awake and cold. From somewhere in the house she heard the distant chimes of a clock. Two o’clock! The lamp spluttered and went out and darkness overwhelmed her. At home there had always been some light from a street lamp seeping into her bedroom, but here was total blackness.
She threw the covers back, searched for her slippers and crept towards where she thought the window would be. She felt about, her arms outstretched, and finding the curtains she pulled them back and peered out through the glass. Nothing! No moon, nothing but a snow-covered window sill and white ground below her. Then she looked up and saw a thousand brilliant stars in the sky.
Rosalie turned about and with her arms in front of her explored the wall in search of the door leading to Polly’s room. She found the knob. The door was still open, and she went through.
‘Polly,’ she whispered. ‘Are you awake?’
There was no answer and she made her way towards the bed; she stubbed her toes against the iron bed rail. ‘Polly!’ she breathed again and there was an answering grunt.
‘I’m sorry, Polly,’ Rosalie said. ‘I can’t sleep. I’m so cold and anxious.’
Polly sat up. ‘Miss Rosalie?’ she said in a thick, sleep-sodden voice. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m sorry to wake you, Polly,’ Rosalie said again. ‘I’m really cold and very restless; apprehensive, I suppose, about what’s in store for us.’
Polly drew back the covers. ‘Get in,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s warm in here. Come on,’ she coaxed when Rosalie hesitated. ‘Be quick or we’ll lose all ’heat.’
Rosalie took off her slippers and crept in beside Polly, who was as warm as toast. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated.
‘It’s all right.’ Polly yawned. ‘Ma and me allus shared a bed. Top to toe usually, but when it was really cold we allus cuddled up. Come on.’ She put her arm round Rosalie. ‘Snuggle up and you’ll soon be asleep. It’s a lovely bed.’
Polly’s voice trailed away and Rosalie knew she had dropped off to sleep again.
It was very comforting, Rosalie thought. It was the first time she had ever shared a bed with anyone. She could recall her cot where as a small child she was tightly wrapped and then left alone. A night light burned, and every evening before the grown-ups retired someone, whether her mother or Nanny she knew not, opened the door a crack and looked in, but didn’t enter. When she was older and in a proper bed, she said good night downstairs and then stayed in her bedroom until morning.
She moved closer, stealing the warmth from Polly’s body in its flannel nightdress, and put her cold toes against Polly’s warm ones. ‘Thank you, Polly,’ she murmured, and in a few minutes Rosalie too was fast asleep.
Polly woke to a bright light seeping through a gap in the curtains. For a moment she didn’t know where she was or who it was beside her. She blinked when she saw Rosalie and then recalled being woken during the night. Poor girl, she thought. She was really cold; caught a chill I shouldn’t wonder.
She slipped quietly out of bed, padded towards the window and opened the curtains. ‘Oh!’ she breathed. ‘Oh, how wonderful!’
The view was spectacular. The house stood midway up a hill and below it for as far as she could see were acres of rolling moorland covered in glistening pristine snow. In the far distance was a jagged peak with patches of brown where the snow had slid away. Immediately below the track which led to the house she saw a stone wall and the road they had ridden on.
As she gazed in awe and wonder she heard a familiar sound out in the corridor. The rattle of cups on a tea tray. She turned away from the window and glanced at Rosalie, still soundly sleeping. Oh! The maid with a breakfast tray! There came a soft knock, not on her door but on Rosalie’s.
With only a second’s hesitation she flew into Rosalie’s room and took up a place by the window. Another knock, firmer this time. ‘Miss Kingston,’ a voice said. ‘I’ve brought tea.’
‘Come in,’ Polly said, turning to face the door.
The young maid murmured ‘Good morning’ and put the tray on a small table. She dipped her knee. ‘Is there anything else required, Miss Kingston?’
Polly looked at the tray, nicely set out with teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl, but only one cup and saucer.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Have you prepared a tray for Miss Parker?’
The maid looked at her blankly.
‘Next door?’ Polly pointed to the adjoining room. ‘She’s still sleeping but I’m sure she’d love a cup of tea when she wakes.’
‘Beg pardon, miss.’ The girl bobbed again. ‘I didn’t know there was anybody else. I’ll see to it right away.’
‘If you would.’ Polly smiled benignly. ‘Thank you.’
Polly put her hand to her mouth and suppressed a giggle as the girl left the room. She sat down at the table and poured a cup of tea, then added a drop of milk and a large teaspoon of sugar. ‘Ah!’ she sighed, sitting back and taking a sip. ‘This is ’life for me.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Tea, Miss Parker.’
Rosalie woke to an unfamiliar voice and the brilliance of the day as the maid opened the curtains letting in a stream of light.
‘It’s a lovely morning,’ she said, turning from the window. ‘But no sign of a thaw.’
Rosalie sat up feeling refreshed but slightly dozy. ‘Th-thank you,’ she said huskily and gazed round the room. ‘So it is, erm ...’
‘Dora, miss. Miss Kingston’s up already and had her tea. I didn’t know there was anybody in this room,’ she said. ‘Mrs Moody didn’t say.’
‘There was a mix-up with the arrangements,’ Rosalie said. ‘And we were late arriving. We had a very long journey.’
The girl looked warily at Rosalie, perhaps unnerved by her manner and voice. ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but are you Miss Kingston’s lady’s maid, or ... It’s just that nobody has told me owt so how am I supposed to know?’
From over the maid’s shoulder Rosalie saw Polly negatively gesticulating from the inner doorway. She hid a smile. Whatever had she been up to?
‘No.’ Rosalie tried to keep a straight face. ‘I’m her friend. She’s quite alone, an orphan, which is why I am accompanying her.’
‘Oh, sorry, miss.’ The girl seemed embarrassed. ‘I hope I haven’t spoken out o’ turn?’
‘It’s quite all right.’
Dora blushed. ‘Is there’s anything else, miss?’
Rosalie thanked her. ‘Nothing else for the moment. But perhaps you’d bring up hot water?’
‘We’ve a separate room with a bath and pan closet, Miss Parker. Maister went to the Great Exhibition, so Mrs Moody said, and had one fitted straight after. He’s going to get one of the new ones from Mr Crapper as soon as he can. I wish he would.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d rather use ’outside privy.’
‘Yes, well, thank you, Dora,’ Rosalie said hastily, thinking that her uncle was a forward-looking man. She and Polly burst into laughter as soon as Dora had gone. ‘Polly!’ Rosalie admonished her. ‘You naughty girl.’
Polly giggled. ‘What a lark! I didn’t know what she might think, finding us in ’same bed. She might have thought us a pair o’ jades; as it is she’s just a country girl who’s probably used to sharing a bed, like me.’
Rosalie nodded vaguely. ‘Jades! What are they?’
Polly stared and regretted her big mouth. ‘Erm, not a polite word, Rosalie. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.’
‘But what does it mean?’ Rosalie persisted. ‘I’ve never heard it before and I thought I was well read.’
Polly swallowed. ‘Too embarrassed to say,’ she muttered. ‘Come on, drink your tea. We’ve a whole new world to explore.’
By the time they had bathed, donned clean clothes and brushed their tangled hair it was ten o’clock. Rosali
e was wearing a blue gown and Polly a grey with a paisley shawl which Rosalie had loaned her, and both had dressed their hair in a similar style.
‘I hope we haven’t missed breakfast,’ Rosalie said as they made their way down. ‘I must ask the housekeeper when we are expected for meals.’
‘You’re a member of ’family now,’ Polly said. ‘Find out what ’others do. Don’t let her dictate to you. She’s a servant, after all.’
‘Yes,’ Rosalie whispered. ‘But it’s often the servants who run the household. They have to be kept sweet.’
Polly sighed. ‘You worry too much. It’s them who’ll lose their jobs if they don’t do things right.’
Dora was crossing the hall carrying a tray laden with a jug of hot water and fresh bread. She balanced the tray with one hand and opened a door with the other. She glanced at both girls and then her eyes swept from one to the other.
‘After you, Miss Kingston,’ she said to Polly. ‘Miss Parker,’ she added, looking at Rosalie.
‘No, I’m Miss Parker,’ Polly said.
‘And I’m Miss Kingston,’ Rosalie added. ‘We’re alike, are we not? People are often confused.’
Dora opened her mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it and followed them into the dining room where a large table was covered in a white cloth. She put the tray down on a side dresser among several covered dishes and tea and coffee pots.
‘Begging your pardon,’ she said. ‘I thought—’
‘I’m really hungry this morning,’ Polly interrupted, ‘after that long journey yesterday.’
‘So am I,’ Rosalie agreed. ‘I’d like coffee, please, Dora.’
‘And I’ll have tea. There,’ Polly said. ‘Now you’ll be able to tell ’difference between us.’
Dora dipped her knee. ‘Yes, miss. And would you like a cooked breakfast? Cook’s just frying some more bacon. Mr Howard’s been and gone,’ she informed them. ‘Mr Edwin’s not arrived home yet, nor has Maister.’