As I see it, God sets you in a space, and He gives you work to do, an' you do it the best you can. But you don't say to Him, I don't like this job You've given me, I'm made for better things, when deep in your mind it tells you that you couldn't do better things, any better than you are doin', if you follow what I mean.'
Millie followed what she meant, and it saddened her. She said, 'Then you don't like people getting on in the world, getting out of the rut?'
'Not if they're made for the rut, lass, not if they're made for the rut. Take Constable Fenwick. He was on this beat for years; then he goes and becomes a sergeant. I ask him how he feels about it and he answers truthfully, he doesn't know. He's missin'
something 'cos his work now is different and he has to write a lot of things which keeps him indoors, whereas before, he knew almost all the people on his beat; and him being' Irish and a Catholic, he helped those he could, especially the bairns. He's had a lot of them re-housed in his time. But now, with his rise, he's lost touch. There's hardly a day went by when he didn't pass that gate, and if he didn't look in he'd give me a nod, as he always did if I was on the road with the cart. And I know that he did things that no ordinary policeman would do.
But now he's a sergeant he'll have to watch his p's and q's. And he told me he was doin' what you call studying. Studying what? I said to him. And when he said bits of the law, I remember I made him laugh when I said, if he carried the bits out he'd better not show his face in The Courts round about or they would pinch his bits, and more than his bits. No, I'm not for education, not really.'
'Then why have you pushed it into me? Why have you sent me to school? Why did you put me under the nuns? Why did you insist that I go to Mrs Quinton's?'
'Oh, that's a different kettle of fish. There was a reason behind that. It was a lesser of two evils.-Oh aye, by God! the great lesser, and you know what I'm talkin' about.'
Millie sat back from her, laid her head against the end of the couch, surveyed the fat bulk for a moment, and then said, 'Mrs Agnes Winkowski, you are a complex creature.'
'Is that what I am?'
'Yes, and more, and I love you. Oh, oh, I know you will term that slaver, but I will say again, I love you, Mrs Agnes Winkowski.' And quickly now she leant forward and placed her lips against the sagging cheek, then ended, 'And if I didn't love you for anything else I would love you for giving me that beautiful dress.'
She now struck a
pose. 'By! it's going to startle the staff and their betters when I make my appearance in The Grange on Tuesday night.'
Aggie didn't smile, she didn't laugh, in fact, she said nothing, for if she had voiced her thoughts she would have startled and troubled Millie, for she would have said, 'I wish to God you weren't goin' to that party, love. I do. I do.'
EIGHT
William Quinton had taken her to the back door, smiled at her and said, 'Enjoy yourself.' Then he had pushed the door open and said, 'Go on, or else they'll have started.'
She had passed through the boot-room, lit by two candle-lanterns hanging one each side of the door
leading into the pan scullery, which was illuminated in the same way. She walked slowly, taking in, first, the enormity of the room, and then, the amazing number of iron pans arrayed along a bench and the tubs of water standing to the side. Now she was in the kitchen. And here she stopped to gaze about her in amazement. She had never imagined such a place. There were two ovens flanking a large fire and, over it, a spit from which was hanging a huge piece of meat; and turning it with a twist of the handle was Ken Atkins. He looked washed and scrubbed and, glancing over his shoulder, he said, 'I've just slipped out to turn it. They're all in the dining-room. Come on.'
He held a hand out
towards her; then stopped and looked at her. She was wearing the brown cloak over the dress, but it was open at the front; and glimpsing the material, he said, 'That looks pretty stuff. Look, you'd better leave your cloak in the hallway here.' He led her up the long kitchen and into a short passage that opened out into a small hall and, pointing, he said, 'Leave it on that chair there.'
After she had done so and stood before him, his mouth fell into a gape as he looked her up and down,
then said, 'Eeh! My! Well!' and as if reluctant to take his eyes from her he stood gaping for seconds before he said, 'Come on.'
She followed him along another passage, from the far end of which came a high buzz of voices and laughter, which continued for a moment or so after they had entered the room; then one face after another was turned towards her.
Millie stared at these faces. She was shaking inside, for she knew she had made a mistake, or at least that the dress was a mistake. Nobody in the room was dressed in ordinary clothes; they were all in their household uniforms.
Someone started to laugh, but this was quickly quashed by a voice saying, 'Be quiet! Carter,' and the owner of the voice stood up and pointed
towards the end of the room, to a plank table with a form alongside it on which Amy Carter the kitchen maid and Jane Fathers were already seated. Ken Atkins made his way quickly to the form and sat down; but when Millie did not follow him, Mrs Roper, the housekeeper, cleared her throat before saying, 'Take a seat.'
Millie did not
immediately obey the order, but in a clear voice she said, 'I'm very sorry. I understood it was a party.'
'Of course it's a party! But we know how to dress for a party. Take a seat!'
As she walked across the room to sit down next to Ken, her mind was crying at her: Mrs Quinton should have known, and she was given the answer.
Perhaps she did, and she was going to tell me, but Mr Quinton stopped her, for it was he who had said: It's a party, Rose, and that dress is a picture. Let it be. And then he had said something that she couldn't understand: They want startling, that lot; and if it wasn't for one thing I'd be enjoying the effect.
Now she knew what he had meant, except for that one thing.
Slowly the conversation and the laughter rose again, and during it and between gulping her food, Jane Fathers gave Millie a running commentary on the hierarchy, from Miss McNeil, the lady's maid, and Mr Winters, the valet, and Mr Carlin, the butler, whose presence at the communal board appeared to her like visitors from heaven itself: if Queen Victoria and her Prince had been sitting here they could not have aroused greater admiration in the narrow breast.
The food was served in turn by the three housemaids, helped with great laughter from John Tester, the second footman, especially when, bowing to Millie, he exclaimed loudly, 'And what is your desire, madam, beef or turkey? I am here but to serve you,' only for the laughter to die down somewhat as the immediate company was brought to another
silence when the chit who was dressed in brocade, like a Chinese lady, dared to say, and in no small voice, 'That I should be served with civility, if you please.'
When John Tester turned round and looked towards the housekeeper and the butler, this could have been the beginning of an awkward situation; in fact, could have put a damper on the whole party had not David Boswell, the first footman, chipped in with, 'Play acting at its best, if I've ever heard it.
What d'you say, Mr Carlin?'
Feeling it was his duty to keep the party going merrily, the butler joined with his underling, crying,
'Well said! serf. Well said!' which brought guffaws and laughter, and once again the meal continued except that Jane Fathers, her head down now whispered, 'Eeh! you shouldn't have spoke like that Millie. Nobody does. What's come over you?'
Millie didn't know what had come over her; she only knew she didn't care for the company and she wasn't going to enjoy herself, and that the whole thing had been a mistake. Her mind was again blaming Mrs Quinton. She should have put her wise; yes, she should. She shouldn't have let her make a fool of herself. Yet, she didn't feel a fool: at this moment she felt.., well, she didn't like to put it even into a thought, but she felt superior. How many in this room, she wondered, had any learning at all, could
even write their own name? Very few. How many would have the courage to go to night class Ben was doing? None of them, she told herself. It would have been beneath them; it would have shown up their ignorance. Once this meal was over and she could get her cloak, she would slip out the way she had come in...
The meal was over, including the toast to Mr Thompson; and the exodus had started for the games room where, waiting for them, were two fiddlers and a flute player.
This, she thought, would be her chance to escape, but she was baulked by the man who had come to her aid before. Noticing that she had not risen from her seat with the others and sensing her feelings, Mr Carlin, too, stayed his departure and made his way towards her.
Taking her hand and bending down to her, he said, 'Never be ashamed of looking bonny, love.
It might have been the wrong dress, but it had the right effect. Aye, it had that. Come on now and enjoy yourself.' And with this he led her through what seemed a maze of corridors to the two rooms that had been made into one by the pushing back of a partition.
By the time they entered the room, most were already seated along three of the walls; at the far end, in front of a step-high dais, sat the master and mistress, their two sons, sixteen-year old David, and fifteen-year old Randolph, together with Mr Bernard Thompson, in whose honour this function was being held. The musicians were already in place on the dais.
Although she was almost the last to enter the room her appearance certainly didn't go unnoticed by members of the family. The mistress herself had narrowed her eyes towards the girl, as if bringing her into focus, and had then turned to her half-brother, saying something which caused them both to laugh; her two sons apparently had the giggles, which was checked by their father; but he, too, was staring down the room at the young creature, whom he saw representing an exquisite piece of Chinese porcelain; and he could not keep the surprise from his voice when he muttered, 'My goodness!'
It was David, his elder son, who asked of no-one in particular, 'Why is that girl rigged out like that?
Did she think it was a fancy dress ball?' As he spluttered, his mother pushed him gently on the shoulder, saying, 'I dare you to go and ask her to dance.'
'What! Me? Oh, Mama; don't be funny.'
She now turned to her half-brother, saying, 'You'd better get up and thank them for being here, and let them get on with it.'
'No; Raymond must do that,' he said quietly, but Raymond Crane-Boulder was quick to put in,
'Not me. It was your birthday, so get on your pins.'
Slowly the young man rose to his feet and, holding up a hand for silence, began hesitantly, 'Thank you.
Thank you all very much for your kindness to me, and for your good wishes, and particularly for that very fine saddle you presented to me. Now, as you have already gathered, I'm no good at making speeches, so I suggest the musicians start up and we dance. Eh?' And on this he waved his hand back towards the three men on the dais, then sat down, to loud clapping.
The musicians struck up a lively polka; but no-one ventured on to the open floor until the valet took the lady's maid's hand and led her forward. From then, the rest soon followed, and the floor began to vibrate with the thumping of one, two, three, hop; one, two, three, hop.
When Berenice Crane-Boulder rose to her feet, her husband said, 'Where are you going?' And she, turning a disdainful look on him, replied, 'Where do you think?' And turning to her son, she said, 'You coming, David?'
'Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama, I'm coming.' The boy was giggling and not too steady on his feet from the wine he had drunk at dinner, and he turned now and pulled his brother out with him.
As the three went out of a side door to the right of where they had been sitting, Bernard Thompson muttered under his breath, 'We can't all leave.'
'No, no, of course not,' the older man nodded assent. 'But that's her, that's her. You've seen for yourself, haven't you, these last few days? She's got worse, much worse. Never sober. And she's got those boys ruined. It's a good job they'll be going back to school next week.'
Bernard Thompson had been looking down the room to where, apart from three elderly couples, two young girls and a boy were sitting; and now, as if on impulse, he rose and, smiling, threaded his
way between the dancers towards them.
Looking at Ken Atkins, he asked, 'Why aren't you dancing?' and the boy, who now stood up, answered,
'Don't know much about dancin', sir.'
'Well, you'll never learn sitting there. Look, take her.' He put out a hand and brought Jane Fathers to her feet and, pressing her towards Ken, he said, 'Just hop. Just hop.' And when they joined hands and both started to laugh, those who were dancing nearby laughed too. And this drew them into the throng.
Now he was left looking at the remarkable slip of a girl and, his voice changing, he said, 'Do you dance?'
'Yes, sir, I dance.., in my own way.'
How odd: her manner was as strange as her dress. She wasn't like the rest of them. And why was she dressed like this anyway? 'What is your name?' he said.
'Millicent Forester, sir.'
'Well, Miss Forester, may I ask if you will give me the pleasure of joining me in this dance?'
Without hesitation and, as was said later in the staff room, brazenly, she stood up and put out a hand to him. As he took it, his other hand he placed on her slender waist, and without pause she put her free hand on his shoulder. Then they were dancing.
Their steps seemed to match, because he wasn't all that tall. She imagined, judging by Ben's height, which was a little over five feet, this man could be only six or seven inches taller. She had never done this dance before, but it was so simple, one, two, three, hop; one, two, three, hop.
When he looked down at her she laughed up into his face. But when he said, 'You're as light on your feet as a nymph,' her smile disappeared, for the words recalled the face of the man who had called her the rag nymph.
This man, however, was different: there was no evil in his eyes that she could see. He wasn't really handsome, but he was good-looking. And although he was the mistress's half-brother there was no resemblance between them; not in any way at least that she could see, especially not in his manner.
The dance came to an end amid great clapping. He led her back to her seat, and when she sat down he bowed to her, saying, 'Thank you very much, Miss Forester. I hope I may have the pleasure again during the evening.'
She did not answer him, just inclined her head towards him; and when Jane flopped down at her side, saying, 'Eeh! fancy. What was it like ... I mean, dancin' with 'im?' she answered, 'Just like you dancing with Ken.'
Ken almost doubled up with laughter, and spluttered,
'But I stood on her toes; and I kicked McTaggart on the shins backwards.' Then he leant past Jane towards Millie, and whispered, 'I've always wanted to do that,' which set them all off.
The music did not immediately restart and the room seemed full of chatter. Looking round, Millie realised that most of the staff were old.., well, in their thirties. In fact, some, she guessed, were in their
fifties, as old as Mrs Aggie. Even the housemaids were fully fledged women. Jane, Ken, and herself, seemed to be the only young ones present.
When the butler stood up the chatter ceased, and he called out, 'Will you take your partners for the quadrille, ladies and gentlemen?'
There was more laughter now and bustle as some members of the company paired off and grouped into four couples, making a square. But when others Seemed laughingly reluctant to get to their feet, the master and Mr Bernard Thompson rose together; and when Mr Bernard approached Sarah Cross, the first housemaid, the master continued down the room till he came to the three young people, and there, standing in front of Millie, he said, 'Will you do me the honour, my dear?'
Whereas she had accepted Mr Bernard Thompson's invitation without much hesitation, she now sat looking fixedly at the tall man, until he laughed down at her and, holding out his hand, commanded gently, 'Come;' then she allowed
him to lead her to where there were only two couples standing. Having joined them, he turned round and looked towards his head gardener and cried, 'Come on, Benson. Don't tell me you're too old for a dance? And you, Mrs Benson, get him up.'
The feeling engendered by the master's picking that chit of a girl, that stranger, that odd-looking creature, to dance, was somewhat placated by his enticing of the gardener and his wife on to the floor.
As the fiddles and the flute struck up a lively tune, Millie now muttered, 'I don't know the steps;'
and he, bending his head towards her, exclaimed loudly, 'What?'
'I don't know the steps.'
'Don't worry. Here we go!' And with this, he marched her briskly around in a circle; then turning her, he marched her back again. And so they progressed through the five figures of the dance.
Each of the other three men would take hold of Millie and swing her round, but Raymond Crane Boulder always caught her under the arms and swung her off her feet.
By the time the dance was finished everybody was gasping for breath but seemingly happily.
On this occasion, she wasn't escorted back to her seat because her last partner in the dance was Fred Bateholm, and he turned from her to rejoin his wife, so leaving her to walk down the room to where Jane and Ken were sitting. When she flopped down beside them, Jane said, 'By! the master does dance, doesn't he? And he swung you off your feet. D'you know'
her voice sank - 'your dress came up and you could see your blue petticoat and your white stockings right up to your calves.'
Millie wasn't taking much heed of Jane's chattering because she was looking towards the doorway
where the mistress stood. She had glimpsed her before watching the dancers, and now she knew she was looking at her. And when she turned away, she was struck by the thought that if she was in that woman's employ she wouldn't last long. But then she
wouldn't be in her employ. She would never work for anyone like her.
The Rag Nymph Page 14