Her Sister's Gift

by Isabel Jackson

Isa got up and followed Harry through to Mrs Roberts’ parlour, where Harry left the door open and turned to face her, his head hung low.

  “Isa, I was seen by His Lordship last night and told I could lose me job. I’ve served the Tolquhouns for three years now and they’ve no complaints about my work: never a scratch on the carriages, horses well looked after, routes carefully planned, always smartly turned out. But they’ve docked a day’s wages off me for what I did to you and I’m heartily sorry. I never fought it might mean you could lose your job. I s’pose I hoped for tears or a tantrum or somefink and then I’d tell you what I’d done. I never fought dragonface would find the wretched thing.” He ventured to raise his head to look at her face. “Isa, please forgive me for bein’ so stupid and unkind. I want to stay here and I want us to get along.” Here he paused. “Can we start again, do you fink?”

  “What do you mean, ‘start again’?”

  “I want to show you I’m really a decent bloke. I wants us to be able to work alongside each other. I don’t want us to be h’enemies.”

  “As long as there’s no more messing about like in the cupboard that day. I don’t want that. I won’t put up with that, Harry.” Isa thought she might as well make things clear when she had the chance.

  “I’m really sorry.” There was another pause, then he dared to look up at her. He wiped his hand on his trousers and held it out to her. “Friends?” he asked tentatively.

  Isa waited a second or two, looking in his eyes and then at his hand. There seemed no point in being enemies and she didn’t want the rest of the staff hating her for threatening Harry’s employment. Besides there was a new deference in his manner towards her that seemed genuine. He appeared to have realised the possible effects of his “prank”. She shook it. “Friends,” she said.

  Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Fank you, Isa. You won’t regret this. I’m going to make it up to you. You’ll see.”

  9

  It was October 1914 when Lord and Lady Tolquhoun received a telegram informing them that their son, Simon, who was serving with the Gordon Highlanders regiment, had been taken prisoner by the Germans. It was the talk of the kitchen for the next few days, as most of the staff knew him. Many, like the cook, the housekeeper and the nanny, had known him since he was a boy. Isa saw the shock etched on the faces of her employers a few days later when the staff were assembled to see them in their full regalia, ready to leave for the State Opening of Parliament. They were both pale and drawn and there was a sadness in their eyes.

  The staff, in their various greys and faded blacks, with white caps and aprons or black ties, were all lined up in the hallway, shoes polished, hands scrubbed and held crossed in front if female, clasped at the back if male. Both Lord and Lady Tolquhoun came down the grand stairway, their scarlet velvet robes rippling over each step, the ermine collar and trim snowy white with the regular spots of black sealskin. They both wore coronets encrusted with crystals and gems whose every facet sparkled in the light from the gas-lit chandelier. This was a first for Isa and it took her breath away. Other staff members were used to the annual ritual but for Isa it was as if she was in the presence of royalty. It put her in mind of all those curtsies she and Betty had giggled over in training and made her want to address her employers as “Your Majesties”. Yet these were the people who had said they would be her protectors whenever she needed them. Quite unbidden, she found tears welling in her eyes and a constriction in her throat. Her father would be so glad to know she was here under their safe patronage. She hoped he too was safe. She bowed her head and curtsied deeply as they passed her. Truly these were people worthy of their titles and worthy of her respect.

  *

  Christmas was approaching and so began a very busy time, with preparations of Christmas puddings, cakes and preserves underway. Despite the war there was no shortage of foodstuffs. From the estates in Scotland they had received hares for jugging and several brace of pheasant and, for the main course, a massive haunch of venison. Fred’s vegetable garden had been harvested, the carrots layered in sand boxes for the winter, the apples laid out in the attic and potatoes in sacks in the cellar. Mrs Roberts had preserved plums and pears back in September, when there was a glut in the orchard, and these would now be opened to provide colour and contrast with the heavier puddings. Isa had been helpful in making crowdie and cheese, using her knowledge from the farm. All in all there would be a worthy feast.

  Following the fashion set by the royals, which had started with Prince Albert, a huge Norwegian spruce had been set up in the hallway, its topmost branches scraping the ceiling. Staff had assisted the family with its decoration, which had taken hours. Hundreds of tiny coloured wooden and silver ornaments twirled on its branches in amongst yards and yards of ribbons and silver garlands. Candle holders had been fitted to the lower branches and the candles would be lit on Christmas Eve. Isa loved it: the tangy smell of the pine needles, their dark blue-green a perfect backdrop for all the shiny colour of the decorations.

  Isa was terribly excited, because on Boxing Day the staff would be presented with a box to take home to their families and she was taking the train up to Stirling to see her sisters for two whole days. The Tolquhouns were to be guests of the Hamiltons for a seven-day period and were releasing most of the staff for that time, since they would not be needed in Cadogan Square. The thought of seeing her sisters and of being in Scotland with the comforting familiarity of landscape and tongue around her kept Isa buoyant and cheerful.

  Christmas Day itself was a day of intense work for the staff at Cadogan Square. Upstairs the main reception rooms had to be thoroughly cleaned and dusted, the dining table set with elaborate white linen cloths, damask napery folded into swan shapes and the best silver cutlery polished and laid at each place setting for the five-course dinner, which was being prepared in the kitchen. Long fronds of ivy and white lilies were garlanded on the table and the low silver urn centrepiece was filled with dark laurel greenery, white lilies and chrysanthemums tumbling in all directions and splaying on to the white cloth. Small red poinsettia plants in silver pots were placed strategically in amongst the white flowers in striking contrast. It was spectacular.

  Downstairs had been a hive of activity since four in the morning. As well as the big early dinner for family and guests, there was the elaborate breakfast and cold supper buffet. All had to be prepared, served and cleared up afterwards.

  The ovens were on all day, grilling the breakfast kidneys, bacon and sausages, and roasting the pheasants and venison for the dinner. Thankfully the ham and roast beef, which would be served in the cold supper buffet, had been cooked and chilled the day before. The kitchen maids were stirring pans on the stove from morning to night. First it was the porridge and scrambled eggs for the breakfasts; then the pan of soup for staff lunch. Their fingers were numb from peeling vegetables all morning. Then towards dinner there was more soup, cream of cauliflower, which Isa had had a hand in preparing. It was velvety, creamy and slid down like silk, according to Mrs Roberts when she tasted it. The Brussels sprouts, carrots and potatoes steamed away, while parsnip and beets had been added into the roasting pan, soon followed by the parboiled potatoes. Next it was gravy for the meats and vanilla sauce for the pudding that needed stirred. The kitchen was very hot and sweat was dripping from their faces, but the atmosphere was good. Mrs Roberts had everything organised. All was going according to plan and so there was a positive feel despite all the hard work. There was enough space for each to move about their tasks without getting in each other’s way and all were willing to follow instructions. They knew too that they would have a share in what they had prepared.

  Upstairs, the butler, Mr Westfield, was kept busy ensuring everything was served properly on the right dishes, that the correct wines were offered at each course to complement the food, that glasses did not remain empty and that dirty plates were carefully cleared away. It was a relief when the coffee and petit fours were served and the ladies withdrew, leaving the men
to their brandy and the staff to the clearing up.

  When the washing up was done from upstairs, the staff sat round the kitchen table and made a feast of what was left of the dishes. There was Isa’s lovely cauliflower soup sprinkled with cheese. Next came roast venison with trimmings of vegetables, roast potatoes and gravy. And finally the Christmas pudding and vanilla sauce. Lord Tolquhoun had given Mr Westfield instructions to ensure the staff had wine and so they did. It was a very happy feast. But everyone was very tired. When all was carefully cleared away and stored, Mrs Roberts signalled for Isa to follow her through to her parlour.

  “Come in, Isa. I wanted to give you a little something.” She reached into her bureau and drew out a small package wrapped in tissue paper and narrow red ribbon. “Here. I hope you like it.”

  Isa was overcome. Presents had never been a big thing in her family. They had an orange and a threepenny bit and maybe a pennyworth of sweets in a twist of paper in their stockings. Carefully she undid the ribbon and opened the tissue paper and there at its heart she found a beautiful needle case in tooled leather. Inside was a tiny pair of scissors, rows of needles, tiny spools of thread and a thimble. “Thank you so much, Mrs Roberts. This is beautiful. You have been so kind to me. I never would have lasted here without your kindness . . .” She put her finger up to her eye to catch a tear.

  “Now, now. You have done very well, my dear. You’ve got talent, you have. You need to concentrate on your cooking. That’s where you can make a decent living for yourself. You’ll be in charge of a kitchen yourself one day, that’s for sure. Now it’s time we were both in our beds. You’ve a big journey ahead of you tomorrow, my girl. So have I.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Roberts. You trusting me has meant the world to me.” And after a brief hesitation, Mrs Roberts moved to hug this capable, sensitive girl who to all intents and purposes was alone in the world. Isa realised she was in a safe place here under the Tolquhouns’ roof and protection and with Mrs Roberts as an ally. Things were turning out well.

  *

  Her brief time in Scotland was spent in the family house, which was freezing from being unused. She soon had the range lit and huddled close, still wearing her travelling coat. Isa felt somewhat sad back in the house without her father and without Margaret and Chrissie. Her life seemed on hold, somehow, up here. In London she had tasks and constant goals to do everything better and become more skilful. There were people around her and a buzz of activity. Here she was on her own with no clear purpose in the house and too much needing done.

  The first night she lay in the double bed in the room she had shared with her sisters. Tired from the work at Cadogan Square and the long journey north, she fell asleep quickly under the warmth of the heavy quilt. In her dreams she was in a beautiful field so green she ached with the pleasure of it, warm sun on her back and her hair loose around her shoulders, hanging in waves to her waist. She could hear voices around her, happy and distant. She ran her fingers through the meadow grass and noticed now it was thick with daisies. She began to pick them and thread them to make chains for her hair and neck. She lay back in the lush grass and breathed happiness. Opening her eyes, she saw three smiling faces around her, made rosy by the sunshine. A dearly loved voice she had missed so much called her to get to her feet. Hands tugged at her until she was upright. Within her a nagging fear had begun to build in the pit of her stomach. She wanted inexplicably to stay where she was, with her lovely sisters in this grassy meadow, forever. Yet they had succeeded in pulling her to her feet and now, joined together, they were running towards the fence and the embankment. She should be enjoying this togetherness, this freedom. Why was she so leaden, so fearful? She could see the fence at the edge of the field and beyond that the railway line. Foreboding filled her with dread. Why did she feel this way?

  They were through the gate now and scrambling down the embankment. She held Chrissie in her arm on her left hip and held on to Margaret with her right hand. They crossed the line and started up the other side. She got them safely into the passageway behind the cottages and turned to speak to Eliza but she was not behind her. She felt herself sweating in fearfulness when she saw her sister still on the opposite embankment. At the same moment she became aware of a train coming round the bend. She heard herself yell, “Stay there!” She saw Eliza continue down the slope. She turned to check on the train, only yards away now. Turned back to Eliza in time to see her trip and lose her footing, her body tumbling and sliding down the slope. The train hurtling past, blocking her view. Panic clutching the breath out of her chest. Her gaze frozen to the spot. Terrified. Praying. Let her be safe. Let her be safe. The last wagon passing . . .

  She woke screaming, sobbing, broken anew at what she had witnessed and relived in every painful detail. Why? Why had this awful thing happened to Eliza? When would all this guilt and pain leave her? She had worked so hard to suppress these memories. She kept herself busy, she made sure there was no empty space in the day when she was not on guard. But at night it was impossible. She could not control what happened as she slept. Isa had a sudden, terrible realisation. The dreams might never go away. They were her penance for not looking after her sister that day. And in the empty house she howled in desperate grief.

  *

  Jessie Macleod had taught her the living call us back to the tasks of life and those tasks fill the void of grief. So the next morning Isa tidied up the house and set off to visit her sisters in Stirling. The box she had been given by the Tolquhouns contained surprise after surprise. There were gloves, scarves and bonnets for all three girls and two hand-me-down winter coats for Margaret and Chrissie, treats of cake and treacle toffee made by Mrs Roberts, and neatly edged handkerchiefs Isa had made from an old ripped pillowslip that was past mending, which she had saved from the duster pile. She had cut the squares out of the area that was still sound and hand-edged them, embroidering their initials after borrowing needles and thread from Mrs Roberts, who no doubt realised a sewing kit would make a suitable present for her as a result.

  Margaret and Chrissie were, as always, delighted to see her and this had been a long separation for them all so there was much to catch up on. They were desperate to hear more details of the stories Isa had related in her letters about “’Arry” and the smashed ornament, for instance. Isa saw that they were well cared for and happy and this set her mind at rest. Being so far away was really hard because she felt responsible for them still. She felt angry with her father for leaving them to go to the war when he could have stayed at home in his reserved job as a foundryman.

  She wondered where he was and what was happening. Staff often discussed newspaper reports of how the war was going around the breakfast table, but it was impossible to imagine what it was like to be in the midst of the fighting. She knew they were using trenches in France and many had been injured and killed there. The Tolquhouns’ son, Simon, had been taken prisoner in France and they assumed imprisoned in Germany, but there was no detail of where, or under what conditions.

  *

  Back in London it was difficult to settle again. She found she was crying herself to sleep thinking of her sisters and her father. Nightmares woke her, sweating and trembling, and she was left with a feeling of horror when she opened her eyes. Eliza’s death was vividly re-enacted in her dreams and now there were the added horrors of what might be happening to her father. Sometimes her fears were for Margaret or Chrissie needing her and being unable to reach her. It was hard to shake off the feelings these nightmares aroused in her, and at times she moved through her work the next morning pale and distracted. Thankfully Mrs Roberts did what Jessie had done and gathered her into her arms, allowing her to weep and release the stress.

  On January 20th 1915 the staff awoke to the terrible news of a new threat to the country. It was all over the papers that a German invasion was imminent. Several towns in Norfolk had been bombed by mysterious airships, which drifted silently through the night skies like huge whales, if the photographs were to be belie
ved. They were calling them Zeppelins. Only two people had been killed but sixteen had been injured. People were terrified by the suddenness of the attack and the fact they could do nothing to protect themselves.

  In April she read that her father’s regiment, the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, had been sent to Turkey, to the Dardanelles, to try to secure the sea route to Russia. From the school map she remembered Turkey was far to the east in Europe and that there was a narrow strait at the entrance to the Black Sea on the Mediterranean side. This was the area referred to as the Dardanelles. She thought of her strong father delivered to a beach shouldering his pack and weapons in a strange landscape. She hoped he would be safe and that the area would be quickly secured by the British and French troops. This war that had been supposed to last six weeks had now endured for close to nine months.

  Isa’s daily life that year took a more peaceful turn. The staff had got used to her and the teasing diminished to the same level they all received from each other. Her prowess in the kitchen was quickly recognised and the cook often let Isa prepare the staff meals, which involved the kind of wholesome homely cooking she had been doing for years. After the success of the soup for Christmas Day, she was allowed to contribute to the meals that went upstairs, preparing soups and sauces or vegetable dishes at first. Mrs Roberts was quickly satisfied that she could train Isa to be a decent understudy to herself.

  One day she approached Isa with some books in her hands.

  “Isa, when I first started as a cook’s assistant up in Edinburgh, the woman who trained me, Mrs Mackenzie, gave me a book and told me to write down in it every recipe, every hint, every bit of planning, especially for big occasions, so that I would always remember what I was learning and be able to show to new employers just exactly what I was capable of. This is it. I still refer to it even now. Although I’m on to a third book now with all I’ve gleaned over the years.”