by Mary Mackie
So they had argued, and so they were believed.
Lily felt light-headed with joy: Clemency and her closest friends had spoken up for her. It was wonderful! The senior girls – the cream of the school – the ones who had once avoided or scorned her, now clustered round, anxious for her favour, impatient to welcome her into their circle. It was as if, by achieving a measure of notoriety, she had suddenly become worthy of cultivation.
‘It was unforgivable of Ash,’ Clemency commiserated. ‘But you won’t say anything about it, will you? Not to Dickon, or to anyone? I mean… if Mama or Papa got to hear of it, there would be a dreadful fuss. You wouldn’t want to make trouble for Ash. Would you?’
‘Oh, no,’ Lily assured her. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Bless you!’ To her amazement, Clemency reached to kiss her cheek, her doll-pretty face flushed, her eyes sparkling. ‘Dear Lily, I knew I could count on you. You see, Ash is a special friend. A very special friend of mi… Of my family.’ Her lashes fluttered as she glanced away, confused by the slip she had almost made. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mean to embarrass you, Lily dear. He just wouldn’t think of the consequences. Men don’t, you know. It was just foolishness.’
* * *
In Norfolk, February drew on with more snowfalls, and then a day of gales that sent slates flying and rattled at the eaves even after Jess went to bed. She lay awake listening to it, praying that her brother Matty wasn’t out in that awful storm. On just such a night, she and Mother and Fanny had watched until dawn, only to see the fleet limp in without SARA GIRL. All they’d found was a piece of board, with her name scrawled on it in white paint. They’d never found ‘Hardlines’ Henefer, or his best mate ‘Ginger’ Fysher. Dear God, let Matty be safe…
She must have slept at last for she came suddenly awake, wondering what had disturbed her. The night was silent. Still. That was it – the wind had died; it was the stillness that had disturbed her. Thank the Lord, the storm had ended.
But now she was wide awake. Times like this she hated – lying wakeful in the darkness, wondering how her family were, wishing she could see them and let them know she was well. Oh, such idle thoughts were stupid. Think of something else. Reuben Rudd, for instance… His face came clear in her mind, thick with freckles, brown lashes framing bright hazel eyes that asked questions about her coolness even while he was teasing her. He was puzzled about her, that she knew. And Reuben Rudd was no fool.
So why was he involved with Eliza? Jess would have sworn he wasn’t the type of man to come sneaking to a woman’s bed just for the physical pleasure it gave him. Or was it that she didn’t want to believe he was that type?
Something broke into her thoughts like scissors cutting a taut thread. The night was dark, clouds hiding both moon and stars, and in the wake of the gale the earth was resting, waiting for the dawn in a silence so deep that any noise was magnified. Jess knew she had heard an alien noise, maybe the clicking of a gate latch.
Gyp must have heard it, too. Faintly, his barking came drifting up to Jess from the kitchen, sending her leaping out of bed to ease her window half-open. As she craned to listen harder, she distinctly heard the tap of fingernails on glass, followed by the drawing back of the bolt on a door below, and, the night being so dark, she saw a misty drift of lamplight as Eliza – it had to be Eliza – admitted the caller.
Hearing Gyp barking even louder, Jess didn’t hesitate. She threw on her coat and crept out down the back stairs, moving softly on bare feet through the darkness.
The back stairs ended at a doorway which led into the side passage. It opened outwards, from the stairs into the passage. Carefully, hardly breathing, Jess turned the handle. It moved soundlessly. But the door stayed shut. Something was stopping it.
It was locked!
Momentarily baulked, Jess stood against the wall in pitch darkness. Evidently Eliza didn’t want her interfering in whatever was going on. But for sure something was going on. Where she’d only suspected before, that locked door made her certain.
Going as swiftly and as silently as she could, she scrambled back up the bare, narrow stairs and let herself on to the upper landing. She could hear Miss Peartree snoring, but the rector’s room lay silent behind closed doors. Jess glided by like a phantom, making for the main stairs where the carpet runner was thick under her feet, the banister smooth and polished. The parquet in the hall felt cool, then, as she let herself through the baize-backed door which led to the rear part of the house, she stepped on to flagstones whose cold caress made her gasp. Was that the sound of a closing door? Beyond the angle of the passage, a shadow moved in pale lamplight that was shut off as another door closed. Eliza’s door. Had she let her visitor out again, while Jess was chasing through the house?
The side passage now lay dark and silent. The sliver of light under Eliza’s door blinked out as Jess glanced at it. In the black stillness, she fancied that Eliza was laughing at her.
Turning to the kitchen door, Jess opened it quietly and found the room dimly lit by the embers in the range. There was no sign of Gyp – his basket was empty. She ran across to the side window, pressing her face to the glass with her hands shielding her eyes. Faint pre-dawn light showed up the pathway outside, with just the ghost of a figure disappearing into the shrubbery.
Annoyed with herself for indulging in such a wild-goose chase, Jess lit a spill from the embers of the fire and applied it to a lamp. The glow spread around the huge kitchen, sending her shadow looming up the walls as she made for the pantry and the marble shelf where a jug of milk stood under a beaded cloth. She poured herself a drink and let its creamy goodness slide down her throat to lie cool in her stomach. Oh, she loved milk. It was a luxury she’d always adored since she was a little ’un.
As she returned to the kitchen, she heard a faint noise in one of the big store cupboards. She flung open the door and stared at the huddled form of Dolly, miserably holding Gyp and trying to keep him quiet. The young maid was kneeling on a lumpy pallet, tangled in a ragged blanket, with an old and battered rag doll lying in a corner.
‘He can’t help it!’ Dolly wept, curled over the dog as if to protect him with her own body. ‘He’s poorly.’
Sensing the child’s abject terror, Jess knelt down beside her, touching her shoulder. ‘Dolly. It’s me – Jess. Oh, poor little mawther! Whatever’s wrong?’
Dolly lifted a face drenched in tears and, seeing Jess, set the dog free and threw herself into Jess’s arms with a cry of despair. Noisy sobs escaped her, but she fought to quiet them, muttering, ‘Don’t wake ’Liza. Mustn’t wake ’Liza. If ’Liza comes—’
Neither of them had heard Eliza come in but all at once she was there, saying harshly, ‘If ’Liza comes, what then, you blahrin’ baby? You’ve now woke me up good and proper, you and that solin’ dog. I keep a-tellin’ you, I ’on’t have my beauty sleep broke up on account o’ that useless lapdog.’
She aimed a kick at Gyp, who cowered away and made for his basket. Dolly was still weeping, silently now, clinging to Jess for dear life. Jess stroked her back and her hair, trying to calm her.
‘Hush now, little ’un. Hush now, that’s all over.’ She sat on her heels, holding the trembling Dolly and looking up at Eliza.
In the soft lamplight, the girl looked beautiful; she was wearing a softly draped wrap with her hair in a thick plait that trailed across one shoulder and on to the swell of her breast. But her expression was cold, her eyes hard.
‘What’s she bin sayin’?’ she demanded. ‘She’re thick as a hedge. Tell lies, she do, soon’s spit. Don’t you, young ’un?’ She swooped, reaching past Jess to snatch up the rag doll and carry it away towards the embers in the range.
Dolly screamed, surging to her feet to throw herself after Eliza and scrabble for the doll. Eliza held her off, keeping the doll out of reach.
‘Leave her be!’ Jess shot upright, prepared to do violence to defend Dolly. ‘She say Gyp’s took sick again, that’s all. She were afraid he’d disturb yo
u.’ Something of her fury must have impressed Eliza for she thrust the doll at the sobbing child and moved away, muttering insults.
Jess went to rescue Dolly, drawing her back to her bed under the bottom shelf of the cupboard. ‘Lie you down, Doll. Lie you down quiet now and go back to sleep. That’s all over. She ’on’t bother you no more. And if she do, we’ll have a word with Miss Peartree. All right, now?’
Still snuffling with misery, Dolly allowed herself to be tucked up, clutching her doll. Jess left the cupboard door ajar, checked on Gyp, who was shivering in his basket, and carried the lamp into the passageway. Eliza was there, standing by the door to the back stairs, which was wide open now as if to prove it had never been locked.
‘Do you harm that child once more,’ Jess said, ‘and I’ll tell the master. “Beauty sleep”, is it? You hen’t been asleep, Eliza. Not lately.’
Eliza’s mouth stretched in a cold smile. ‘Who say I hen’t?’
‘Nobody say. I know. I seen him come. I heard him scratch at your window – and I heard you let him in.’
‘Who? Who’d you see?’
The challenge baffled Jess: she hadn’t actually seen anybody, and she certainly wasn’t going to mention Rudd’s name. ‘A man.’
The smile widened, turning into a laugh. ‘A man? What man? There wan’t no man here.’
‘Then who was it made them marks?’ Jess pointed to the telltale signs on the flagged floor behind Eliza, where muddy bootprints and pools of dark wetness proved that someone had lately come in trailing water.
It took Eliza only a moment to lie, ‘That was on’y Fargus.’
‘I thought you said there han’t been no man here.’
‘Fargus don’t count.’
‘So why’d he come?’
‘He was after a remedy for the boy. Button have a bad tizzick.’
‘Oh, have he? Since when?’
‘Since tonight. Likely it’ll be gone by mornin’.’
‘Must’ve been a powerful hummer of a remedy,’ Jess commented darkly. ‘I best tell the rector, come mornin’. He ought to know if Button’s took sadly with a cough. Could be he’s a-sickenin’ for somethin’.’
Eliza’s expression changed as she leaned forward. ‘Don’t you threaten me, Jessie Sharp! Do you imitate to get me into trouble with the master, I’ll have a thing or two to say about you.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Settin’ your cap after Reuben Rudd, for one thing. Rector ’on’t think much to havin’ a harlot for a kitchenmaid.’
‘Rector won’t believe your lies,’ Jess said, comforted that, after all, Eliza knew nothing against her.
‘’on’t he?’ Eliza’s smirk said she knew better. ‘Well, we’ll see. Good night, Jessie Sharp. Sweet dreams.’
When morning came, Jess didn’t know what to do. She had no proof of anything. It was her word against Eliza’s since Dolly was too afraid to speak up. She was too afraid even to talk about it to Jess.
‘But if we both went to the rector…’ Jess said.
Dolly shook her head violently, looking haunted as she glanced at the door, fearing Eliza might be lurking. ‘He ’ouldn’t believe us. ’Sides… she’d get even, Jess. It don’t do to cross ’Liza. Please don’t say nothin’.’
So Jess kept her counsel. She too was afraid. With so many guilty secrets in her past, she couldn’t risk having an enemy start fresh enquiries.
* * *
Behind the gales, cold fronts closed in from the Arctic, gripping the land in talons of ice. Below stairs at the rectory a tacit truce was struck: young Dolly kept her head down while Jess and Eliza managed to maintain an outer politeness, circling round each other like barnyard hens.
Then, a week or so after the incident of the night visitor, Jess was summoned to the dining room where Miss Peartree was alone at breakfast, the rector having gone out early. The old lady was peering at the close print of the latest edition of The Lynn Advertiser and, with a pang, Jess wondered if the paper contained some threat to her safety.
But Miss Peartree folded the paper and laid it aside. ‘Ah, Jessamy.’
‘Was the haddock done wrong?’ Jess asked anxiously. ‘Or was it the eggs? I know I hen’t yet got the knack of doin’ scrambled eggs right.’
Miss Peartree shook her head. ‘No, Jessamy. It’s neither the haddock nor the eggs. However… I fear I must tell you that Reverend Clare… Reverend Clare feels that you are… not quite right – as a kitchenmaid.’
Jess’s heart seemed to lurch in dismay. ‘Not right, miss?’
‘He feels that a kitchenmaid should be more… robust, let us say.’
‘I’m strong!’ Jess protested.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Miss Peartree blotted her upper lip with a lace handkerchief, her eyes behind her glasses looking pale and unhappy. ‘But you aren’t very tall… Now, don’t misunderstand me, Jessamy. We’ve been pleased with your work. This is in no way a criticism. It’s simply that we feel that you might be happier elsewhere.’
Taking a long breath to calm the churning of her stomach, Jess fixed her eyes on the cameo brooch which Miss Peartree habitually wore among a froth of lace at her throat. ‘Do this have anythin’ to do with Eliza, miss? If she’ve been sayin’ words against me—’
‘Eliza?’ Miss Peartree looked genuinely puzzled. ‘As far as I know, she hasn’t said a word about you. Oh, come, Jess. I know the two of you are not exactly friends, but I’m surprised at you for harbouring such uncharitable thoughts.’
Jess wished she’d held her tongue – but she’d lay odds that Eliza’s fair hand had taken a turn at stirring this brew. She might not have spoken to Miss Peartree, but had she talked to the rector?
‘When do you want me to leave?’ she asked.
‘Come now,’ Miss Peartree said, not unkindly. ‘Don’t look like that. We don’t propose to throw you out into the street. Why, Lily Victoria would never forgive us. She’s very fond of you, as you know. We hope to find you a new position, not too far away.’
And what did that mean? Jess squinted through her lashes, waiting.
‘This afternoon, at three o’clock,’ Miss Peartree said, ‘you will present yourself at Hewinghall House for interview.’
Jess’s head came up sharply. Hewinghall House?
‘It so happens that Lady Fyncham needs a new nurserymaid,’ Miss Peartree said. ‘The present girl is about to be married, so they’re anxious to find someone as soon as possible. When Reverend Clare heard about it, he put your name forward. You should be grateful, Jessamy – it was kind of him to think of you.’
‘Yes, miss.’ So that was what he had meant on New Year’s Eve, when he asked her if she knew about children – this was the ‘something more suitable’ that he’d planned.
‘He has even written a reference for you,’ Miss Peartree added, picking up an envelope that lay near her plate. ‘Now, Jessamy… Be sure to be very polite to Lady Fyncham – she has an abrupt manner, but don’t let that worry you, you won’t be seeing much of her. Your job will be to look after the nursery and help Nanny Fyncham with Miss Bella. I gather you’ve had some experience with children.’
‘Yes, miss. With the little ’uns at home – my brothers and sisters.’
Miss Peartree’s mouth suddenly pursed. ‘I thought your family were all dead.’
‘Well… No, miss, I never said that, exactly.’
‘Quite.’ The pale eyes shifted. ‘It seems there are many things that you never said “exactly”, Jessamy. That’s another reason why I think you’ll be better in a larger household. So long as you do your work and behave yourself Lady Fyncham won’t trouble about your past, especially when she reads the kind words the rector has written. Be sure not to let him down. A position at the big house is something many a girl would think a great opportunity.’
‘Yes, miss.’ Jess twisted her hands together unhappily, wanting to apologise for her lack of honesty, but if she started down that road she’d have to go on and explain everything…<
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When Eliza heard the news she laughed, ‘That’ll put you in your place, Jess No-Name. From what I know of Nanny Fyncham she’ll have you scrubbin’ floors and cleanin’ grates until you can’t hardly straighten your back. Nurserymaid’s one of the lowest forms o’ life. See, I warned you not to cross me.’ The green eyes were bright with malevolence.
That afternoon, dressed in her best grey print and faded black coat, with a pheasant feather set jauntily in her knitted hat and her letter of reference safely in her handbag, Jess set out to walk the long drive to the big house.
The north-east wind blew ever colder, and as she left the shelter of the trees she could hardly see for the watering of her eyes. The going was a bit easier, downhill now, with some kind of big wall off to the right. A gang of men were busy around an old tree which they had been felling. It had fallen awkwardly and smashed down part of the wall, causing a deal of shouting and cursing.
Half-blinded by tears of cold, she found herself suddenly near the service wing of the big house. The kitchen courtyard had been swept clean of snow and lines were strung across it, with sheets billowing like sails. One of the lines had just snapped; it was whipping about in the wind, wiping wet linen on the cobbles, much to the dismay of the maids who came running. Steam billowed from a laundry room; there was the sound of clatterings and bangings from other outhouses, the grinding of a knife-cleaning machine in operation, a cat spitting at a bored old dog. Over it all a courtyard clock struck the hour of three. Lord, Jess thought – she was late!
On the far side of the courtyard, tall windows looked into a huge kitchen where various aproned cooks and maids were bustling about. The back door lay in a corner by one of the kitchen windows, from where a scullery maid, up to her elbows in a sink full of pans, stared out. She must have said something about Jess for other servants came to glance out at the caller, curious to see what might be a new addition to the staff.