A Child of Secrets

by Mary Mackie

  Three feet below the window lay the slope of the spined stone roof of the conservatory. Each spine ended in a spiked finial of wrought iron – except that one was newly missing. The voice came from somewhere below, an undertone edged with hysteria. ‘Clemency! Jane! What shall I do?’

  ‘It’s Amelia,’ Lily realised and, without hesitation, began to climb over the sill. Anne clutched at her in alarm. ‘What are you doing? If you’re caught…’ But her warning was in vain; Lily was reaching her bare foot for the nearest stone rib.

  The adventurers had used a knotted rope, looping it around one of the iron spikes, which had broken under Amelia’s weight. Fortunately, the sharp finial had fallen to one side; it lay beside her on the paved terrace with the rope tangled about it.

  ‘Pass me the rope,’ Lily hissed.

  Between them, she and Anne got the shivering Amelia back up into the senior drawing room, where Lily questioned her: ‘What were you doing? You surely didn’t go out with Clemency and Jane?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t,’ Amelia said miserably. ‘It’s my job to close the window and the shutter after them and wait for them to throw stones at my window when they get back.’

  ‘You mean…’ Lily could hardly get the words out, her throat felt so tight, ‘this has happened before?’

  ‘Oh, several times,’ Amelia sighed. ‘They find out when Miss Rattray’s on landing duty – you know how heavily she sleeps – and then they make their arrangements. I think they meet…’ she lowered her voice as her mouth shaped the forbidden word, ‘men.’

  Lily clenched her hands, wanting to beat something, riven with a wild mixture that included anger at their stupidity, envy of their daring, and bile-green jealousy. ‘What men?’

  ‘I don’t know. I… I told them I wanted to go with them next time and they laughed at me. So I hooked the rope round the spike and let myself down, and… and the thing broke. They just abandoned me.’

  ‘You were lucky to escape so lightly,’ Lily said. ‘You must promise me not to do anything so foolish again.’ But a part of her envied Amelia and the others. If she herself had had the chance for such an adventure, wouldn’t she too have been tempted? Especially if she were going to meet Ash Haverleigh.

  * * *

  As Lily and Clemency travelled home to Norfolk for Easter, there was not much chance for private talk, the train being crammed with people.

  The Clares’ coachman met them at Hunstanton station and as they rode along the edge of wild marshes haunted by seabirds the girls stared out of opposite windows, each busy with her own thoughts. Lily was torn between delight at coming home and despair because of the questions that gnawed at her heart, and Clemency must have been thinking of the same thing. Without preamble, she said, ‘If you tell, I shall be disgraced, and it will be your fault. My family will never forgive you.’

  ‘I would never tell on you!’ Lily denied, turning her pale face and wide, liquid eyes. ‘You know that, Clemency. But… you shouldn’t take such risks. If you’re discovered, your reputation—’

  ‘Oh, a fiddle for my reputation!’ Clemency scoffed. ‘Who cares about that? I’m enjoying myself. I’m doing no one any harm.’

  ‘Not even Amelia?’

  Clemency shrugged and gazed out of the window, her fingers plucking at a fringed flounce that ornamented her skirt. ‘Amelia’s a fool. Anyway, she wasn’t hurt, only frightened.’ She flashed Lily a sidelong glance, her mouth tightening. ‘And don’t sermonise at me. Who do you think you are?’

  Feeling that shrinking, curled-up misery inside her, Lily said, ‘I’m – I’m trying to be your friend.’

  ‘Well, you’re not my friend! You’re a gypsy brat. Your own mother didn’t want you. And Uncle Hugh only took you in out of pity.’

  ‘That’s not so!’ Lily denied.

  ‘It is so. Aunt Helena was sorry for you – and she wanted a child. She couldn’t have children of her own so she clung on to the only one that did come along. And she persuaded Uncle Hugh to keep you – against his better judgement. I’ve heard him say so more than once. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d have grown up in the workhouse – or died in that basket where your own mother abandoned you. You owe everything to my family. Your home, your clothes, your food – even your education. You’ve been useful as a companion for me because I don’t have any sisters. That’s the only reason you were allowed to have lessons with my governess. And they’d never have dreamed of sending you to the Academy if I hadn’t been going.’

  Stung, Lily cried, ‘They sent me because I showed promise! I’m as clever as you are. I have good brains – they came from my parents. My real parents. And when my real father comes for me—’

  ‘Oh, really,’ Clemency drawled, ‘you don’t believe that nonsense any more than I do. Your real father was some uncouth farmhand who bought the services of a gypsy woman for a penny and lay with her in a ditch somewhere. That’s why you have those eyes – because you’re a mongrel cross-breed bitch! And that’s why your own mother abandoned you – even the gypsies were ashamed to own you.’

  ‘That’s not so!’ Lily cried again.

  ‘Isn’t it? Then where is your “real father”? Why doesn’t this fine gentleman come for you?’ Seeing Lily flounder for an answer, Clemency supplied her own: ‘Because he doesn’t exist, that’s why. Whatever man it was that fathered you, Lily Victoria Clare, he did it in a moment’s fit of lust and then he forgot all about it. He’ll never come for you. Never!’

  Lily turned her head away, fighting the tears that boiled in her throat and blinded her eyes. The bitter truth in Clemency’s words seemed to have curdled the air.

  After a while, when anger overtook the pain, Lily’s mind began to work again. Clearing her throat of a lace net of distress, she said, ‘And where do you go, when you go out at night? Who do you meet?’

  Clemency’s long, slim fingers went on playing with the fringe of her skirt and she continued to stare out of the window, but the corner of her mouth curved in one of her irritating secret smiles.

  ‘Men?’ Lily asked. ‘You meet with men? Students from the colleges?’ One particular name was in her mind, but she daren’t say it aloud.

  Clemency looked at her sidelong through veiling lashes. ‘A lady doesn’t discuss her private life.’

  ‘A lady doesn’t sneak out at night to assignations with men,’ Lily retorted. ‘Not with her face painted like a… like a…’

  A bubble of laughter escaped Clemency. ‘The word is “whore”, Lily dear.’ Sparkling eyes scanned Lily’s scarlet face. ‘You’re such a child. You don’t know anything.’ Her face contorted into ugliness and malice. ‘You’re to forget about it, do you hear? If you ever – ever! – repeat one word…’

  She didn’t complete the threat. She didn’t need to.

  ‘Anyway,’ she added after a while, ‘we shan’t meet again until we return to school. Mama and I are going to London to be with Papa and do some shopping. So don’t bother to come slinking along to the Manor trying to ingratiate yourself because we shan’t be there. Except for Aunt Jane, of course. You can come and wheedle round her, if you must. Though I have to warn you you’re wasting your time – she has no money to leave you.’

  Lily said nothing. She sat staring out of the window, her face feeling stiff.

  As always, when faced with rejection she sought refuge in her dreams, telling herself that when her real father came Clemency would regret her unkindness. And maybe it would be too late. Maybe, by then, Lily would no longer feel so forgiving.

  Soon the carriage was turning in by the Lion Gate of Hewinghall, bowling along the tunnel of trees among thick growths of rhododendron, then climbing through the park to skirt round the church in sight of the big house before heading off down the east drive. Lily was desperate to be home, to tell Jess what had happened. Jess would listen, would understand…

  They must have been watching for her. As the carriage drew up she saw the front door open. Gyp ran out, barking his enthus
iasm, and Lily jumped down without waiting for the footman to help her, bending with a glad cry to gather the little dog into her arms, her face to his warm coat. He felt awfully thin, all bones beneath his silky coat. Had he been pining for her?

  She looked up, smiling through her tears at the figure on the step. ‘Oh, it’s good to be home!’ she said, opening her arms to embrace dear Cousin Oriana’s plump shoulders and kiss her cheek.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ Miss Peartree said, falsely bright. ‘Come in, my dear. You must be tired.’

  Lily looked up to where the maids were standing in the doorway, her smile dying as her eyes cleared. She recognised Eliza, of course, and the smaller, thinner girl, snuffling and blowing her nose, must be Mary Anne, who had replaced Dolly. But—

  ‘Where’s Jess?’ Something was wrong: she could tell that from the way Cousin Oriana was cleaning her spectacles and blinking worriedly. ‘Oh, gracious goodness – busy in the kitchen, I expect. She is such a worker,’ she answered her own question, desperate now to avoid whatever the truth was.

  ‘Lily…’ Miss Peartree sounded anxious but Lily refused to hear it. She brushed past, hurrying into the house, through the passages to the kitchen. It was empty but for the boy Button bringing in the newly cleaned knives. He stared at Lily, slack-lipped.

  ‘Where’s Jess?’ she demanded of him.

  ‘Jess, miss?’

  ‘Yes, Jess! Oh, don’t stand there with your mouth open, boy. Are you stupid? You know who I mean. Jess. Jessamy Sharp.’

  From behind her, Oriana Peartree said, ‘It’s all right, Button. Leave the knives on the table and go.’ He did so, glad to escape. ‘Now, Lily Victoria, my dear… Oh, perhaps I should have told you in one of my letters, but the fact is—’

  Lily whirled to face her. ‘She’s gone, hasn’t she? She’s run away again. Oh, I was afraid of that! What happened, Cousin Oriana? Was it Eliza? Or was it Papa – he never did want her here. Did you try to find her? Where did she go? Oh, I knew I shouldn’t leave her. I was the only friend she had. She must have felt so alone…’

  ‘My dear. My dear…’ Miss Peartree, not knowing what to do, stroked Lily’s arm. ‘Jess isn’t far away. She… she has accepted a situation at the big house, as nurserymaid to young Bella Fyncham.’

  Lily stared at her in disbelief, her mismatched eyes wide and accusing. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, my dear… she wasn’t really suited to the kitchen. But your father wouldn’t just turn her out – he knew how concerned you were for the girl. And so, when he heard there was a position at Hewinghall… She’s quite happy there. Mrs Roberts sent word to say she’s settling in well.’

  ‘I see.’ Lily felt numb.

  Miss Peartree regarded the pale, beautiful face worriedly. ‘There’s no reason you shouldn’t see her, my dear. I’m not entirely sure on what day she has her free afternoon, but we could get a message to—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lily said abruptly. ‘I must go upstairs and change. Excuse me, Cousin Oriana. I’m very tired suddenly. The journey…’

  Her journal that evening was scrawled with bitter jottings. She felt betrayed, bereft, bewildered and angry – the whole world had turned against her. Even Jess. She had so looked forward to talking to Jess!

  But how could Jess possibly understand? She didn’t believe in Lily’s dream of having a real father – she hadn’t the intelligence to comprehend how much that dream meant to Lily. And she had such working-class ideas of right and wrong; if Lily told her what had happened at school Jess would be shocked by the idea of such immodest behaviour among gently born young ladies. She’d be sure to say, yet again, that Lily ought to forget Ashton Haverleigh.

  * * *

  At the big house, Jess woke with the dawn, washed in cold water and dressed herself. In her morning uniform of a brown print dress and sacking apron, with a grey knitted cardigan for warmth, she went at once to unbolt Bella’s door – from the outside – and check that the child was all right.

  Bolting her in her room every night was wicked, but Nanny insisted it be done and since that first night, when Bella had walked in her sleep and frightened herself half to death, Jess hadn’t dared disobey the rule. She compromised by staying with the little girl, telling stories and singing songs, until she was asleep. Once or twice, when Bella was extra restless, Jess had spent the night in her room. She hadn’t won the child over, exactly, but at least Bella had accepted her in Kate’s place.

  Having seen that Bella was still sleeping, Jess set about lighting the fire in the schoolroom. She had learned to carry the coals up the previous night rather than leaving them to morning, when so much else had to be done. The grate had to be cleaned out and blackleaded, paper and sticks laid under the coals. While it was taking light, she finished sweeping the ashes and put them in newspaper in their bucket, to be taken down later, then washed down the hearth and began sweeping and dusting and polishing in the schoolroom.

  Now, in April, the sun was rising as she took up the rugs and tossed them out of one of the dormer windows. The window had a step under it; you could climb out on to the roof – there was a little ladder on the other side that let you step down to the flat leads of a parapet edged with a stone balustrade. From there you had a wonderful view across the park. That morning a mist lay under the trees, with cattle moving knee-deep in it, and shadows stretched across the grass as the sun lifted. In the distance, a figure with a gun strode along the edge of the wood. Was it Reuben Rudd? He was too far away for her to be sure, but her blood beat faster anyway.

  As winter’s grip had eased on the land, the chill between her and Rudd had grown deeper. He came to the big house now and then, but she didn’t often see him. At chapel he’d been as distant as the horizon, no longer teasing her, nor lingering to enjoy her company. He hadn’t forgiven her for laying into him in front of Jim Potts.

  As for Eliza’s brother, well, he’d been there outside chapel every time she went to service, flirting and making eyes, but since he’d been at his worst when Rudd was about Jess had known he was playing games; she’d treated him to her loftiest disdain, turned a deaf ear to his foolishness, and decided that chapel-going was too much of a strain. Pleading pressure of work, she had taken to attending the church in the park. Miss Peartree had seemed glad to see her, though the rector regarded her much as he might have regarded a stray sparrow.

  It wasn’t important, though. None of it signified. She had the feeling that she was marking time. Waiting. As if there was a distant storm brewing…

  Having finished the schoolroom she carefully closed the windows again – it was a rule that they be kept closed, for safety; then she took the ashes downstairs. She returned lugging two cumbersome enamelled ewers full of hot water.

  Setting one jug down, she tapped on the door of Nanny’s room, taking a deep breath. Holding that breath, she lifted the latch, said, ‘Mornin’, Nanny,’ and went to open the curtains. She would have opened the window, too, but the first morning when she’d tried that Nanny had shrieked in horror: she considered fresh air and draughts to be unhealthy. With no fire in her room she held in every bit of warmth she could. Which meant also holding in her body odours and the aroma of her chamber pot and the underwear she seldom changed. Nanny’s room stank.

  ‘’Morning, Nanny,’ Jess called again as she poured hot water into the china ewer on the wash stand.

  The mound under the covers stirred and, having done her duty, Jess slid out, glad to close the door and breathe easy again.

  Carting the other jug across the schoolroom, she went into Bella’s dressing room and filled the bowl before going to wake the child. Bella was sulky in the morning, but by the time Jess was fastening her into clean underwear, and wrapping her with the red flannel that protected her chest, the child was properly awake and wanting her breakfast.

  ‘Can I have devilled kidneys?’ she asked that morning. ‘Papa has devilled kidneys. He told me so.’

  ‘When you get to be a lady, then y
ou can have devilled kidneys,’ said Jess. ‘While you’re a little ’un, you must have your porridge.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you must, that’s why. Your mama say so.’

  Bella looked at her askance – mention of her mother always made her thoughtful. ‘I don’t like porridge.’

  ‘Even with raisins?’

  ‘I don’t like raisins.’

  ‘Then you can have your porridge plain,’ said Jess, causing the little girl to give her another sidelong look. By now she knew that when Jess said such things she meant them. Nanny was susceptible to tears and pleading. Jess was not.

  Having made another trip downstairs, for a loaf of fresh bread and some butter, milk and eggs from the Home Farm, Jess laid a table in the schoolroom. As she was cooking porridge on the trivet by the fire, Nanny appeared wearing her usual black woollen gown. She and Bella sat at table. In between serving them, Jess broke her own fast, watching for the kettle to boil so she could make tea.

  Later, she took the dishes all the way down to the scullery and washed them up. She was scrubbing egg from the plates when Sal Gooden came in and, in her usual cheerful way, informed Jess that Lily Clare was home.

  Her immediate rush of pleasure surprised Jess – she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed Lily. ‘Where’d you hear that, Sal?’

  ‘From the carter, Mr Witt, who heard it from the rector’s boy, John Button. He was there when Miss Lily come a-flyin’ in demandin’ to know where you’d got to. Since then she’ve hardly spoke to nobody, so he say.’

  ‘I feared she’d take it wrong,’ Jess sighed. ‘If she send a message, you’ll let me know, won’t you, Sal?’

  Next in the routine came prayers. This daily devotion took place in the conservatory known as Little Africa. Mr Longman, the butler, officiated, though once a week Sir Richard would appear and read a piece from the Bible before addressing his staff with a few words of encouragement. Hard words, if needed, came later, from Mr Longman to the men and Mrs Roberts to the women.