by Val Wood
‘A drama?’ Mary frowned as she pondered on what that meant. ‘Trauma, was it?’
‘Oh, it might have been trauma. I don’t know what a trauma is; perhaps it’s something like a drama. But I don’t think I’ve had one.’
Mary took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what it is either,’ she lied, ‘so we won’t bother about it and we’ll tek a short walk into town.’
It was a warm and sunny day when they ventured out after Lucy had eaten breakfast, with Mary carrying an umbrella in case of rain.
‘Could we go and see your house, Mary? The one you’ll live in when you get married?’
Mary hesitated. The house, or room as it really was, was situated in one of the poorer districts of Hull, being the only place that she and Joe could afford. ‘I haven’t got the key yet, Miss Lucy,’ she said at last, ‘but I’ll show you where it is.’ It wouldn’t do any harm, she thought, if the child saw how ordinary folk lived.
They walked from Baker Street into the town. Dr Thornbury and his wife had decided on that address as it was close to the General Infirmary where, had he lived, it was expected he would have eventually become a senior surgeon, but Mary took Lucy in a different direction so that she didn’t see the hospital. As they went through other streets Lucy seemed to be concentrating on her white buckled shoes. She gave a few little hops. ‘Did you hear that, Mary? My heels make a tapping noise when I go forward.’
Mary laughed. ‘So they do,’ she said, and she too hopped. ‘Tap, tap, tap!’
‘They’re dancing shoes.’ Lucy tried several different steps, and by the time they had skipped and hopped to her satisfaction they were well away from the Infirmary, cutting through narrow streets and into the town, skirting the Queen’s Dock and heading towards Whitefriargate where they could look in the smart shop windows.
Hull already had some fine buildings, but in this year, when the town was to be granted the status of a city, there was much talk of change and plans of demolishing the slum courts and alleyways were under discussion; new streets and housing would be built and the imposing Venetian-styled town hall, designed by the Hull-born architect Cuthbert Brodrick, would also be knocked down and a new guildhall built to reflect the status of a city. Mary hoped that they wouldn’t start demolishing just yet; some of the properties tucked down the alleyways between High Street and Lowgate, where she and Joe would live when they were married, must surely be on the list.
‘What’s that smell?’ Lucy wrinkled her nose as they crossed over Lowgate and through narrow Bishop Lane into High Street.
Mary knew what it was but hedged, saying, ‘It could be all manner of things, Miss Lucy. There are lots of mills and factories in this area and all of ’smells mingle together. There’re fish manure works and fish oil companies, and linseed and turpentine works. All manner of places. Hull is a busy industrial town, and we must put up with a few bad smells if it’s to thrive.’
The overriding aroma to which Lucy was referring, which Mary hardly ever noticed any more, came from the old privies at the back of the houses where the drains, such as they were, overflowed when the rain came down, or stank during hot weather. That was another reason why the corporation was so very keen to knock down some of these ancient buildings where people no longer wanted to live.
‘Why, look here,’ she went on, as a man approached. ‘Here’s Mr Harrigan himself. Joe, what you doing down here at this time of day? Why aren’t you at work?’
A solidly built man in a shabby tweed jacket and wearing a cap that he took off as soon as he drew near bent down to greet Lucy.
‘This must be Miss Thornbury her very self, is it, Mary?’ he said, putting his hand to his chest. ‘How do you do, miss? I’m very pleased to have your acquaintance.’
‘I’m very well, thank you, Mr Harrigan,’ Lucy piped, and politely dipped her knee. ‘And I hope that you are too? You may call me Lucy if you wish.’
‘I’d be honoured, Miss Lucy,’ he grinned. ‘Dee-lighted.’ Then he frowned. ‘But what ’you doing down here, Mary, and bringing ’young miss? That’s not on at all, you know.’
‘I asked you first, Joe,’ Mary said. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
‘Short time,’ he said glumly. ‘I don’t start till after dinner.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought I’d collect ’key to ’house while I’d got ’time off.’
‘Oh, so I can see the house after all,’ Lucy said excitedly.
Mary shook her head silently, indicating to Joe that it wasn’t a good idea, and Joe, catching on, said as if reluctantly, ‘I’m afraid not, Miss Lucy. It’s being prepared, cleaned an’ that, ready for when me and Mary gets married. Mebbe you could come after that.’
‘All right,’ Lucy said. ‘Perhaps when you’ve got your own furniture and curtains?’
‘We’d consider it a great honour,’ Joe said. ‘Wouldn’t we, my Mary?’
Mary put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder and gave a soft sigh. ‘We would indeed.’
Joe left them and continued up High Street whilst Lucy and Mary carried on in the opposite direction until Mary halted at the top of a narrow alleyway where there were eight small houses.
‘We won’t go down, Miss Lucy, but ’house that me and Joe is renting is down here. This is called Narrow Passage.’
Lucy peered down and then looked up at the topmost windows. ‘It is very narrow, isn’t it? And rather dark,’ she said. ‘Won’t you be afraid of walking down here on your own? Although I suppose Mr Harrigan will be with you most of the time.’ She looked rather puzzled. ‘Except when he’s at work. What kind of work does he do?’
‘Joe works on ’docks. He’s a labourer,’ Mary said. ‘He unloads cargo off ’ships that come in.’
‘I see,’ Lucy said. ‘I suppose that’s very difficult work. He’ll have to be very careful not to drop anything.’
Mary smiled. ‘Oh, he’s very strong is my Joe, and very careful. Come along then, Miss Lucy. Let’s turn round and be getting home again.’
As they strolled back across town, Mary stopped to speak to someone else. ‘This is my sister Dolly, Miss Lucy.’
They exchanged greetings, and then in a low voice Mary asked a question of her sister. When Dolly shook her head, Mary said more loudly, ‘Ask her to come and see me early tomorrow morning. And then I can tell her what’s what.’
Lucy laughed. ‘What’s what,’ she said merrily as they continued, cutting through streets that Mary seemed to know very well until they arrived back in Albion Street, where many of the houses were occupied by doctors who worked at the hospital, dental surgeons, bank officials and others who didn’t have any occupation but were supported by an inheritance which allowed them to live in such a superior district.
‘What’s what?’ Mary said, turning the subject on its head as they walked on into Baker Street. ‘In a few years’ time, Hull will have changed. Old streets will have been knocked down and new thoroughfares built.’
‘Will you still know the way, Mary?’ Lucy asked. ‘Or will you get lost?’
‘I won’t get lost,’ Mary answered. ‘Soon you’ll be able to walk right down Prospect Street and into town without cutting through all those little streets the way we did when we came in.’
‘But if their houses are knocked down,’ Lucy said, ‘where will all the people live?’
‘Ah, well,’ Mary said solemnly. ‘I don’t know if all those clever folk with big ideas have thought of that yet.’
The following morning, before Lucy was awake, Mary opened the back door in answer to a soft tap and let in her niece Ada, Dolly’s eldest daughter.
‘Ma said I should come to see you,’ the girl whispered.
Mary led her into the kitchen. ‘No need to whisper, there’s nobody else here at ’minute. Your ma said you haven’t got any work yet.’
‘I haven’t,’ Ada said. ‘I’ve applied for some but haven’t had any luck so far. I was going to try one of ’mills, but I’d rather work in a house than a mill or a factory.’
; Mary nodded. ‘I’m leaving here as soon as ’new mistress gets fixed up. She wants new staff and I don’t fancy working for her. I was used to my Mrs Thornbury’s ways and I know this one’ll be different.’
‘Bit of a firecracker, is she?’ Ada said perceptively.
‘I might be doing her an injustice,’ Mary answered, ‘cos I don’t really know her, but probably. Master’s nice though, just like his brother. But what I’d hoped,’ she lowered her voice, ‘was for somebody to keep an eye on Miss Lucy. She deserves some kindness after what she’s been through, and I know that you’re used to looking after your sisters and brothers.’
‘Surely they’ll want a nursery maid, not somebody like me?’ Ada said.
‘Mistress’ll want a maid of all work if I’m any judge, and I think you’ll be right up her street if you play your cards right. Now this is what I suggest …’
CHAPTER THREE
A week after William Thornbury arrived back in Hull with his wife and stepson, Mary tapped on the sitting room door where Mrs Thornbury was arranging her own ornaments on the shelves and side tables and placing her predecessor’s treasures in boxes ready for storage in the loft. Mary had been helping her but had been called away to answer the door.
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, there’s a young woman at ’door asking if there are any positions vacant or likely to be in ’near future.’
‘Good heavens. So soon? Has she come in answer to the advertisement?’
‘I didn’t enquire, ma’am, but I wouldn’t have thought so. I only took it into ’newspaper office yesterday.’
‘Well, how has she found out?’
‘News travels fast in this town, ma’am.’
Mrs Thornbury humphed and huffed. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m quite ready to interview anyone just yet. Tell her to come back next week.’
‘She seems very presentable, ma’am,’ Mary offered. ‘And young. Not got into any set ways yet, I wouldn’t think.’
Mrs Thornbury glanced at her. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Just that she might easily find another position, ma’am.’
‘Oh, I see. Very well; send her in and I’ll talk to her.’
Mary went out and then came back again. ‘Mrs Thornbury will see you now,’ she said in a carrying voice, adding in a lower tone, ‘Mind your p’s and q’s,’ as Ada knocked and went in.
Nora Thornbury sat down in a chair at the side of the fireplace. There was no fire burning but a vase with palm fronds was set in the centre of the hearth.
‘Name?’ she said without preamble.
‘Ada Morris, ma’am.’ Ada dipped her knee as Mary had instructed her.
‘Age?’
‘Fourteen, ma’am. Last week,’ she added.
‘Previous employment?’
‘None. Onny at home. My mother said she’d teach me everything I needed to know before sending me out to work for somebody else. But I already know about housework and can do a bit of cooking, and I help out with me brothers and sisters as well.’
‘Do you? How old are they?’
‘Eldest under me, our Bob, is nearly twelve, then ten, eight, six and ’youngest is nearly three.’
Mrs Thornbury gave a shudder. ‘You must be pleased to be leaving home?’
‘Oh, no, ma’am, they’re all well behaved; my ma wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘I see. Why did you think there might be a vacancy here? You can’t have seen it in the newspaper?’
‘We don’t see ’newspaper until it’s at least a week old, ma’am, but I’d heard about ’nice doctor and his poor wife and of ’little girl left an orphan an’ I just kept me eyes and ears open in case there was another family coming.’ She heaved a breath. ‘And then I rang ’doorbell on ’off chance.’
‘Well, that was very perceptive of you,’ Mrs Thornbury acknowledged. ‘It shows that you can act on your own initiative which is good, but I must tell you that I would expect you to comply fully with my orders. I know how I want things done and to the letter. Do you understand?’
‘Oh, yes, ma’am.’ Ada nodded. ‘My mother said exactly ’same thing and that I might stand a chance with being young and untrained and ready to be melded to someone else’s ways.’
‘Your mother sounds like a very sensible woman.’
‘She is. Brought us all up to be polite and – and industrious,’ she added as an afterthought.
Mrs Thornbury thought of the rest of the boxes that needed unpacking and the contents arranging to replace those that were going up in the loft and knew that Mary couldn’t deal with all that and look after Lucy as was expected of her. And she was also preparing food until a cook was hired. She thought that perhaps another housemaid might eventually be needed as well as a cook, for it was a much bigger house than she had expected, but if she took this girl at least it would be a start.
‘Very well. I need a general maid and you seem presentable,’ she said, echoing Mary’s words. ‘I’ll give you a month’s trial and if you prove to be suitable I’ll take you on. Six pounds a year all found.’
Ada’s expression dropped. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I’m real sorry, ma’am, but I’d get more than that if I worked in one of ’mills and they’re known to be miserly.’ She buttoned up her coat. ‘I couldn’t work for less than six pounds ten shillings; all found,’ she added. ‘I have to give money to my ma, you see.’
Nora Thornbury had thought that she could get away with giving less to a Hull servant than she had to her London housemaid, but it seemed she was wrong.
‘But surely you wouldn’t want to work in a mill when you can work in pleasant surroundings in an establishment like this? With food and a uniform provided!’
‘It probably sounds like a lot o’ money, ma’am,’ Ada explained. ‘But when my ma needs help to buy food and clothing for five other bairns, six pounds doesn’t go very far, especially when me father’s off sick. So, I’m sorry. I really would have liked to work here,’ she added regretfully. She pressed her lips together and nodded her head. ‘Never mind, eh.’
‘Well, wait a minute.’ Mrs Thornbury pondered. A bird in the hand, she thought; she’s very neat and seems intelligent, and who knows who might turn up after the advertisement has been displayed; it might be someone totally unsuitable. ‘If I agree to give you six pounds ten shillings—’
‘All found,’ Ada said quickly, in case she’d forgotten.
Nora sighed. ‘All found. With that salary I would expect you to be on your toes at all times!’
‘Oh, yes, ma’am.’ Ada unconsciously stretched herself up on tiptoe. ‘It goes without saying I’ll always do my best.’
Nora rose regally from her chair to indicate the interview was over. ‘Very well, that’s agreed then. I’d like you to start tomorrow.’
‘Not tomorrow ma’am,’ Ada said. ‘Tomorrow I’ll help my mother clean ’house and wash ’sheets so that my brother can tek my bed, then pack my things to bring wi’ me. I’ll come ’day after,’ she said. ‘That’ll be Sat’day.’
Nora gave in. She had never been very good with servants. Perhaps because her own mother had never had anyone but a daily maid who, if she thought fit to turn up, did her regular chores in a morning and then left after eating a midday meal which she seemed to expect as her right. ‘Saturday morning then,’ she agreed. ‘Eight o’clock sharp.’
‘Bloomin’ old skinflint,’ Ada muttered as Mary let her out of the outer door. ‘Talk about getting blood from a stone.’
Mary put her hand to her mouth to hide a grin. She’d been listening from the hall. ‘And what’s this about your da being off sick?’
Ada rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, yeh! He had a sudden bout of idle-itis.’ She laughed. ‘He’ll mek a good recovery, don’t you worry! See you on Sat’day. Thanks, Aunt Mary. I’m going to enjoy working here.’
One day during the following week Lucy slipped into the sitting room and with her hands folded in front of her sat quietly watching her aunt pack the last of her moth
er’s possessions into a box. There were wax flowers in a domed glass container, a pair of cut glass celery vases, two crystal decanters which her aunt put aside, two photographs in silver frames that went into the box and various pieces of silverware that Nora held up for inspection before looking about the room as if deciding whether or not to place them somewhere. It was as she was doing this that her eyes fell on Lucy.
‘Good heavens,’ she exclaimed. ‘You startled me, Lucy. How long have you been sitting there?’
Lucy knew the numbers on the clock but hadn’t yet mastered the art of telling the time, nor could she judge the length of its passing. She looked up at her aunt from dark eyes and shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Aunt Nora. Can I help you? Those are Mama’s things.’
‘I know they are,’ her aunt agreed. ‘I’m packing them away so that they don’t get broken, and when you’re a grown-up young lady you’ll be able to open the boxes for yourself and put them wherever you want.’
‘In this house?’ Lucy asked.
‘Yes, if you are still living here, which I expect you will be.’
‘I asked Oswald if he would play a game with me, but he won’t.’
‘Well, he’s older than you, Lucy, I expect that’s why. He’s seven already.’
‘I’m nearly four,’ Lucy told her. ‘I’ll be having a birthday soon, won’t I? Will he play with me then?’
Her aunt sighed. She was no better with children than she was with servants, not even her own son; William said he thought she had spoiled Oswald, and she thought she probably had, but excused herself by saying she was trying to make up for his not remembering his father. Even though very young, Oswald hadn’t taken to William and he’d kicked up a fuss when they’d moved into his house after their marriage.
‘Oswald will be going to school in September,’ she said, ‘so he won’t have much time for playing. He’ll have his lessons to learn.’
‘So can Ada play with me?’
Nora pressed the bell on the wall. ‘I’ll ask her,’ she said, ‘but you really must learn to entertain yourself when grown-ups are busy.’