by Val Wood
It was Mary who answered the bell. She smiled at Lucy and looked enquiringly at her mistress. ‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘Can we spare Ada to look after Miss Lucy? I think she’s bored.’
‘She’s up in ’loft moving ’boxes, Mrs Thornbury,’ Mary said. She looked at the little girl sitting so forlornly. ‘Could Miss Lucy come into ’kitchen wi’ me and Cook? We’re baking some little cakes,’ she added, for Lucy’s benefit more than Mrs Thornbury’s, and the child’s eyes lit up.
‘Oh, yes, of course she can,’ Nora said with some relief. ‘Would you like that, Lucy?’
‘Yes, please.’ Lucy slid down from the chair and put her hand into Mary’s. ‘I’ll make a cake for Uncle William’s supper.’
Nora had given Ada precise instructions on what was expected of her. She would be the only maid living in after Mary left. Ada would rise at six o’clock in the morning and her first job was to see to the fires. She would riddle and relight the kitchen range so that the oven would be hot when the new cook arrived at seven, and then clear and clean the sitting room and dining room hearths and lay them for lighting later. Then she would prepare the table for Mr Thornbury’s breakfast: porridge and toast that Cook would have ready for him when he came downstairs at seven thirty.
After he had left for the bank Ada would prepare the table again for the mistress and the children. Whilst they were eating she would make the beds and dust and tidy the rooms, and after they finished she would wash the dishes and prepare the vegetables for luncheon before beginning any other jobs that the mistress required. Once a week she would polish the brass, including the knocker and the bell on the front door.
‘I’ll see how it goes,’ Ada told her aunt Mary. ‘If I’m to be general maid, I’ll need somebody under me to fetch and carry, chop wood and carry coal. I can’t be expected to do all that myself, or who’s going to mek ’beds and do ’dusting an’ that?’
‘I’ve allus had an undermaid,’ Mary agreed. ‘But mebbe they can’t afford anybody else.’
‘Well, ’mistress will have to shift herself,’ Ada muttered, ‘and do some of ’jobs herself.’ She pondered for a minute, scratching her chin. ‘Do you think they’d run to paying a lad for filling ’coal hods and chopping wood for ’fires, cos I could get our Bob to do that. He’d even clean an’ polish Mr Thornbury’s shoes.’
‘Hmm,’ Mary said. ‘I’ll mention it when ’master’s at home. He’ll look after ’finances, I expect.’
A few days later Mary presented herself to Mr and Mrs Thornbury as she was clearing their supper tray in the sitting room. It was always something very simple: cheese or cold meat and pickles and a small helping of bread and butter and perhaps a slice of cake or biscuits with a pot of tea or cocoa.
‘I thought I might comment on how Ada and the new cook are managing their duties, as I shall be leaving you at ’end of next week.’
‘Will you?’ Mr Thornbury seemed surprised. ‘Of course!’ he exclaimed after a moment. ‘You are to be married. Oh, my word. You will be sorely missed, and particularly by my niece. I do believe Lucy has come to rely on you absolutely.’
‘She has, sir, but she likes Ada and Ada is very good wi’ children, so I think Miss Lucy will come to terms with me not being here. I’ve told her that I’m leaving and she’s asked if she can come to our wedding.’
‘Well, and indeed why not?’ He glanced at his wife. ‘Someone would accompany her, wouldn’t they?’
Nora drew herself up, her back rigid. ‘I’m not sure if—’
Mary interrupted before Mrs Thornbury could make any objections. ‘Ada said she’d bring her if you wouldn’t object, ma’am. Miss Lucy has already chosen what she’d wear if she’s allowed to come and it would be such a treat for her, poor little mite.’
‘I quite agree,’ William Thornbury boomed. ‘She’s had her fair share of sorrow at such a young age; a wedding would cheer her up immensely.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Mary bobbed her knee. ‘And if I might just mention, to get back to Ada and her duties, I wonder if it would be possible to hire a young lad to chop wood and fill ’coal hods and buckets? There’s quite a lot for Ada to do, especially if she’s to look after Miss Lucy as well as fulfil her other duties; if there was a lad to do ’heavier work and even ’jobs like cleaning shoes and boots and sweeping ’front of house and back yard, it would save her having to do it.’
‘Has she complained?’ Nora asked.
‘No, never, ma’am. But she’s a good worker and it would be a shame to lose her if she should decide in say a twelvemonth or so to better herself.’
Nora frowned. ‘How much extra help did you have when you worked for Dr Thornbury?’
‘Allus a boot boy, ma’am, and a scullery maid as well as a live-in cook.’
‘We don’t need a live-in cook,’ William told his wife. ‘My brother and Alice entertained quite frequently, much more than we are likely to.’
Mary nodded in agreement. She recalled with pleasure the merry times the doctor and his wife had when entertaining friends to dinner.
‘But,’ William went on, ‘I quite agree we should have a lad to help out for a few mornings a week at least. We can’t have that slip of a girl carrying buckets of coal or wielding an axe; oh dear no! Do you know of someone, Mary?’ he asked.
‘Ada’s brother is of an age to be looking for work, and she’d make sure he was up to scratch and came in on time.’
‘Well, there we are then. Ask her if she can arrange it. Every morning. A shilling a week, would that be about right?’
‘I’ll tell her, sir.’ Mary bobbed her knee again. ‘Thank you.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Ada dressed Lucy in her prettiest dress for Mary’s wedding, which would have been a quiet affair except that so many people knew the bride and her groom that there was quite a large crowd of family and friends waiting outside St Mary’s church for her arrival.
Mary had borrowed a blue two-piece costume from her sister, one that Dolly had worn for her own wedding many years before, and she had splashed out and bought a new hat with the money that Mr Thornbury had given her before she left. He had pressed a gold sovereign in her hand and thanked her for taking such care of his niece following the death of his brother and sister-in-law.
She had been quite overcome by his generosity, and although she felt she didn’t want to spend the gleaming coin but keep it as a memento, reasoned that if she bought something as frivolous as a new hat for her wedding then she would always remember his kindness whenever she looked at it, even though she doubted that she would ever wear it again. The hat had cost five shillings so she had change left over, which reduced her feeling of being a spendthrift.
‘Mary looks really pretty,’ Lucy piped up as the bride arrived, escorted on the arm of one of her brothers.
‘She does,’ Ada said. ‘Can you see? Shall I lift you up?’ She scooped Lucy up to let her see above the crowd of onlookers, until they parted and let the little girl come through to the front to get a better view.
Mary’s family then piled into the church, sisters, brothers, nephews, nieces and cousins, closely followed by friends and neighbours. Ada marched down the church holding on to Lucy’s hand and sat next to her mother, who was saving her a seat at the front. Dolly lifted Lucy on to her knee to have a better view.
‘Is this ’first time you’ve been to a wedding?’ she asked in a whisper.
Lucy nodded and then gazed around the church, up at the stained glass windows and then back at the people sitting behind her, who seemed to know her as they nodded and smiled or gave her a little wave. She smiled back at them and felt the stone of sadness inside her dissolving and an uplifting surge of pleasure replacing it.
After the marriage ceremony was over, everyone followed the bride and groom outside to give their good wishes. Then another of Mary’s brothers announced that they had booked a room at the Commercial Hotel in Castle Street. ‘Family have all clubbed together,’ he said. ‘There�
�s beef and ham and plenty o’ bread and a jug or two of ale, an’ cake of course, and you’re all welcome to come an’ share it and drink ’health of our Mary and Joe.’
‘Are you coming?’ Dolly asked Ada. ‘You can bring ’bairn with you for an hour, can’t you?’
‘Yeh, I’ll risk it,’ Ada said, and turned to Lucy. ‘Would you like to come an’ have a glass o’ lemonade to drink to ’health of ’bride an’ groom, Miss Lucy?’
‘Oh, yes please.’ Lucy beamed. ‘I love lemonade. Cook used to make it when …’ Her words tailed off as she half recalled some forgotten time, and she tapped on her lips. ‘I don’t know – when it was.’
Mary came across to them and took hold of Lucy’s hand. ‘You look very pretty,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you could be here.’
‘I’m coming with you to have some lemonade,’ Lucy piped up, the uneasy memory disappearing. ‘Ada says that I can.’
‘Of course you can, and you’ll meet our Bob and Stanley, our Joshua and Edie an’ all of ’others. There’s loads of us. Our Bob is starting work at your house next week to chop wood for ’fires and fill ’coal hods and do a few other jobs for your uncle.’
‘Oh, goody!’ Lucy breathed. ‘That means I’ll know a lot of people.’
There were far more cousins and relations than she would ever remember, but Ada’s siblings, or bairns as Ada called them, Bob, Stanley, Joshua and Edie, who were all older than Lucy, scooped her up and took charge of her, sitting her at their table and making sure that she had a glass of lemonade, some bread and beef, and a slice of cake. Then there was the toddler Charlie who ran from table to table, was picked up and kissed and cuddled and then put down again. Dolly, who answered to Mam from her children, told Lucy, when she asked what she should call her, ‘You can call me Auntie Dolly, if you want to.’
‘Yes, please,’ Lucy said. ‘I’d like that. I only have one other aunt: Aunt Nora. Uncle William sometimes calls her my dear, but I don’t think that’s her name.’
All the others laughed at that and Lucy happily joined in but wasn’t sure why.
‘Our Bob’s coming to work at your house next week,’ Edie said. ‘Our Ada’s told him he’s not to speak to you if he sees you.’
Lucy gazed at her in dismay. ‘Why not?’
Edie shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Come on,’ she said, getting down from the table. ‘Let’s go an’ talk to ’other bairns.’
She took Lucy from table to table to meet her aunts, uncles and cousins and Lucy couldn’t keep up with who belonged to whom, but it didn’t seem to matter, as all the older people disciplined or praised all of the children regardless of whether or not they belonged to them, and they all called Lucy Miss Lucy, as if they knew her and all about her. All of the uncles took her hand and gently shook it and all the aunts smiled and some of them smoothed her hair or kissed her cheek and said ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Lucy’ as if they really meant it and murmured, ‘What a bonny bairn,’ or else ‘Poor bairn,’ and she didn’t really understand what they meant by that.
In what seemed to be no time at all Ada said, ‘Come on, Miss Lucy, we have to be getting back now or I’ll be in trouble with Mrs Thornbury.’
Lucy was sad to leave such a merry gathering but she didn’t want Ada to get into trouble. ‘I wish I could see Auntie Dolly and all of your bairns again, Ada. I don’t know any other children.’ She paused and then said, ‘I remember a little boy, I think.’ She shook her head. ‘But I don’t know who he was.’
He belonged to someone, she remembered. He’d come to their house with his father; he’d pulled her hair and she’d smacked him for it, and her mama had scolded her, her mama; hot tears flooded her eyes at the memory. She searched her remembrance. The boy’s father had been cross with him and had said, ‘That’s very naughty of you, Henry. She’s only a very little girl and you mustn’t do that ever again.’
‘Miss Lucy!’ Ada was holding out her coat for Lucy to put her arms in the sleeves. ‘You’re miles away. Did you hear what I said?’
Lucy blinked. ‘You said you’d get into trouble with Aunt Nora if we were late.’
Ada fastened up her coat and patted her on the head. ‘Are you tired?’ she asked. ‘You look it. Will I have to give you a piggy-back home?’
Lucy giggled and asked, ‘How do you do that, Ada?’
Before Ada could answer, a young man came up to her and put an arm round her shoulder. ‘I’ll walk you back, Ada,’ he said. ‘I’m going your way, and I’ll give Miss Lucy a piggy-back if she needs one.’
Lucy thought that Ada looked lovely as she blushed and smiled at the young man and accepted his offer of walking back with them, but she refused to let him give Lucy a piggy-back and told him that it wouldn’t be seemly. They talked to each other until they reached the top of Whitefriargate and then he left them to walk down Junction Dock where he said he worked. By then Lucy’s feet were aching and they still had quite a long way to go, but Ada knew a shortcut down Savile Street and Bond Street, where she stood Lucy on a wall and told her to climb on to her back and she’d carry her, and then Lucy knew that they were almost home for the next cut-through brought them into Albion Street and then Baker Street and she was carefully put down on her feet before they reached the house.
‘Hurry upstairs and wash your hands and face, Miss Lucy,’ Ada whispered as they entered the hallway. ‘Then put your indoor slippers on, there’s a good girl, cos Cook’ll have prepared afternoon tea and I’ll have to serve it.’
They must have been late, Lucy thought, as after obeying instructions she came back downstairs again and went into the sitting room to find her aunt and Oswald waiting for their tea.
‘Did you enjoy the wedding?’ her aunt asked. ‘You’ve been a long time.’
‘It was lovely,’ Lucy said enthusiastically. ‘And then I was invited to go for a – celebration and I had lemonade and cake.’ She turned to Oswald. ‘I wish you could have come, Oswald. There were lots of children there and—’
‘I don’t play with children,’ he scoffed. ‘I’m seven!’
‘Oh, but our Stanley is ten and our Joshua’s eight so you could have played with them.’
Oswald curled his lip. ‘I wouldn’t want to play with them. They wouldn’t be my sort.’
Lucy pressed her lips together and frowned. His sort?
‘What Oswald means, Lucy,’ her aunt explained, ‘is that they are different from us. They were Mary’s relatives, weren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy agreed. ‘And Ada’s as well. All of those bairns are her brothers and sisters and there were lots of others there too. I don’t know who they all were.’
Oswald pulled a face and his mother drew in a breath. ‘So there you are,’ she murmured.
Ada knocked on the door and came in with the tea tray. She had changed into a crisp white apron and a fresh cap. She put the tray down on a table and dipped her knee. ‘I’ll just bring in ’teapot and a jug of hot water, ma’am.’
‘Miss Lucy has been telling us of Mary’s wedding and the celebration afterwards,’ Mrs Thornbury said pointedly. ‘Where was the celebration held?’
‘In a hotel in Castle Street, ma’am. In a private room.’ Ada instantly made it clear that the event wasn’t in a public house, which was obviously what Mrs Thornbury expected. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind, ma’am. Mary specially asked if I’d take Miss Lucy. We didn’t stay long.’
The door opened again and William came in. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘That was excellent timing. Yes please, Ada, I will have a cup. Have you had a nice time, Lucy, my dear? Your first wedding, I should think? Did Mary look nice?’
Ada slipped out again as Lucy got up to stand by his side and tell him. ‘She bought a new hat and I was specially invited to go to the celebration afterwards and all the uncles and aunties were there with all their bairns.’
Her uncle laughed and fingered his moustache. ‘Were they really? Well, how splendid,’ he said.
‘And our Bob who’s coming to work her
e next week was there, but our Edie told me that Ada said he hasn’t to speak to me when he’s here.’ Her bottom lip trembled. ‘Why can’t he?’
Uncle William shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine why Ada should say such a thing,’ he said solemnly. ‘But I’ll have a word with our Bob when he gets here and tell him that he most certainly can.’
Lucy took a deep breath and smiled, instantly reassured, but wondered why her uncle raised his eyebrows as he looked across at Aunt Nora and then at Oswald.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘The child is unhappy, but doesn’t understand why,’ William told his wife later when the two children had gone to bed. ‘It’s good for her to mix with others, and Oswald should too, even if you don’t consider they come up to your exacting standards.’
‘You don’t seem to realize that we must raise her in the same manner as her parents would have done,’ Nora retaliated. ‘She’s a sweet child, but it doesn’t come easily for me to bring up a little girl with expectations who must be guided away from ne’er-do-wells and the servant classes.’
‘Now you are being ridiculous,’ he admonished her. ‘You are trying too hard. Do you imagine that people with money or advantages are always honest and honourable and not driven by greed or avarice? Well I can tell you that it isn’t always so. They can be as deceitful and unworthy as anyone else. And in general, the working classes are decent, sincere and trustworthy people.’
Nora turned her head away. Not all of them, they weren’t; she didn’t voice her opinion, for he wouldn’t listen, but she knew better. She knew them better than he did, those working class people he admired so much. They weren’t all decent. She’d lived with them, been brought up by them. Brought up, she scoffed. Dragged up more like. By her hair sometimes. William thought he knew all about her, but he didn’t. There were some things she hadn’t admitted even to him; afraid that if she did, caring and honourable man though he was, he would turn away and abandon her, just as other men had done.