by Sue Reid
UPSTAIRS
‘Are you ready?’ George smiled at me.
As ready as I’ll ever be!
I took his arm and he led me out into the centre of the room. My heart was beating fast. Now now now, it was happening, the moment I’d dreaded for so long, my arrival into young ladydom, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to avoid the eyes that I knew were on me. Admiring? Criticizing? What were they thinking? How I wished I were back at Langdown.
I was one of several girls being hurried out before our presentation at Court. Uncle had already paraded Arabella to the room, their faces flushed with pride. Aunt I could see was watching me closely. Behave – and I’ll soon be rid of you. I kept my eyes straight ahead. I was in white – a colour that didn’t suit me – my hair rolled up on top of my head, flowers in my free hand. I curtsied – the deep Court curtsy I had practised at Langdown. I didn’t feel like me at all. I felt like a doll. I told myself that the parade would soon be over.
My dance card was already nearly full. George had claimed the first as his privilege. ‘It isn’t seemly to dance with a cousin,’ I’d said primly. I did not want to dance with Cousin George.
‘Piffle!’ he’d said. ‘We’ll show them how it’s done, Pen. You’ve had enough lessons!’ I didn’t like the familiar way he spoke to me, nor the way he tightened his grip round my waist as he led me back out on to the dance floor. I wriggled uncomfortably. ‘Sorry!’ he said. I could smell wine on his breath and I turned away my head in distaste.
If I didn’t look at him I could pretend that it was another who was whirling me around the room. If only I could shut my eyes … it would be so much easier to pretend… I shut them and felt myself stumble. That was a mistake – George’s hand immediately tightened on me. He said something, but I wasn’t attending. I was thinking about Fred. I’d had a letter from Fred that morning. As soon as I could I’d rushed away to read it in private, reading it again and again until I knew it by heart. All three of my cousins had been with me when Barrett had brought me the letter. I shivered, remembering the unpleasant little scene that had occurred when it was delivered. Arabella had been waiting for a letter of her own, and had seized it off the salver. ‘You must be mistaken, Barrett, it is for me,’ she’d said rudely. Her face fell when she saw my name on the envelope, but she soon collected herself again. ‘What’s this?’ she had said, staring at the envelope. ‘I didn’t know you had any friends living near Langdown?’
My heart gave a great thump. ‘It’s mine, Arabella, please give it to me.’ I held out my hand for it. Arabella smiled spitefully. She held it up above her head.
‘Ask nicely, and I’ll see,’ she said.
‘Give it to Polly,’ Clemmie said.
‘No, I don’t think I will,’ Arabella said.
‘You’re just horrid, Arabella,’ Clemmie said furiously. ‘It’s not yours. Give it here now.’ She lunged forward to grab it but Arabella whipped it behind her back.
George’s head popped out from behind his paper. ‘Can’t a chap be allowed to read in peace!’ he complained. ‘For goodness’ sake, Arabella, give Pen her letter.’
Arabella replied by dropping it on the floor behind her chair. I marched over and scooped it up. I saw George’s eyes slide to me as I thrust it into my pocket. ‘Aha. Secret, is it, Pen? A billet-doux from one of your many admirers?’ Arabella’s jealousy had got the better of her; she jumped up and, giving George a furious look, slammed out of the room.
Alone, I’d torn open the envelope, my eyes skimming the words on the page, before going back to read them slowly. For days I’d been expecting a letter from Fred. I had dreamed what he might write to me.
‘Darling Poll, I miss you so much. At night, I lie in bed thinking of you, dreaming of when I will hold you in my arms again. One day this torment will be over and we will be together for ever…’
The words Fred had actually written barely covered one page.
‘Dearest Poll,’ he had written in black ink. ‘I am thinking of you and missing you. I am not good at finding words for what I want to say, and there is so much I want to say, but I don’t know how to, so I hope you will understand and not be disappointed. xxxxxxxxxxxx’ The kisses had filled up the rest of the line. I’d pressed my lips to them, wondering if he had done the same before he’d sealed the envelope.
‘There is so much I want to say.’ What did Fred want to tell me? As I was whirled around the ballroom I let myself dream of all the things he might want to say to me but found too hard to put into words. I came to myself to see that George was staring at me. The music had stopped. My feet had been dancing of their own accord. I had completely forgotten where I was. ‘You were miles away,’ George said. I hoped he wouldn’t start teasing me again, but he simply led me over to the wall and deposited me among a bunch of girls who were waiting disconsolately for partners. He walked away at once. I felt that I had been rude, but if it meant that he’d leave me alone, I wasn’t sorry.
I leaned back against the wall. The room was a blur of music and dancing feet and candlelight. The evening had hardly begun and I had partners for every dance. One after another boys came up to claim me – among them young Lord Ferdy Waterlow. If Flo hadn’t gently nudged him I am sure he’d never have found the courage to ask me.
‘Are you eng-g-gaged for this dance, Miss P-P-Penelope..?’ he had stuttered. His face was scarlet as he put an arm round me. We stumbled around the ballroom. I lost count of the number of times he stepped on my toes.
‘I believe it is my turn to claim you, young lady,’ a familiar voice said. I smiled as David Moore bowed before me. He led me on to the floor, his arm encircling my waist. David didn’t step on my toes, or drag me round the floor as some of my partners had. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said. ‘Is it the gown? Or the hair?’ I felt myself blush as his eye travelled from my hair to my slippers. Pristine white when I had put them on, they were slightly stained now from the eager tramping of many boys’ clumsy boots. ‘The charming young girl has become an elegant young lady.’ He smiled. ‘But is that all?’ he said, giving me a searching look. I felt my cheeks grow hot again. His eyes twinkled. ‘I’ll learn the truth one day; until then, how does it feel to be a young lady? Are you so much the young lady now that a ride in a plane will be frowned on? Or are you still a rebel?’ he said as we circled the room again. I caught Aunt’s eye. She smiled but her smile looked strained and her eye soon left me to wander the room – and I felt I knew why. Arabella had disappeared downstairs some time ago, and had not yet reappeared. I’d seen her when I went to check my hair and repair the hem of my dress that a boy had stepped on once too often. She had glared at me. Unlike me, her dancing slippers had barely begun to exercise themselves.
Like the other chaperones, Aunt had taken her seat in a gilt chair by the wall. The chaperones guarded us fiercely, their eyes roamed the ballroom constantly. Were their charges behaving properly? Why were they not dancing, or where had they disappeared to? Some of the girls hung about the door, their faces downcast, waiting for partners.
I turned back to David. ‘Do you need to ask?’ I said jestingly.
‘So you’ve joined the ranks of the suffragettes?’
I shook my head.
‘Why ever not?’ he said. ‘Many of our grandest society ladies are secret members of their set. Didn’t you know?’
‘What difference does that make to me? I’m never allowed out on my own.’
‘Ah, the chaperone. I will have to introduce you to more suitable company.’
‘Will any of them pass my aunt’s scrutiny?’ I asked.
‘I see that word has got around. Yes, my reputation is not all that it should be, I admit. It would be wise not to be seen to dance with me too often – though no doubt the lady dowager, my mother, will be pleased to see me dance with a respectable young woman.’ I felt his hand tighten slightly on my waist.
‘If Lady Moore hopes that I will reform you, it is a poor hope,’ I said.
&nbs
p; ‘Ah, still a girl of spirit. So many of the girls here are so dull, they simper, they have nothing to say for themselves. They don’t know how to dress, or conduct themselves. You, my dear Penelope, are most refreshing.’
I’d spoken in jest, but the warm look he turned on me made me feel uneasy. I pulled away slightly.
‘Where shall I take you?’ David said as the music stopped. I scanned the faces for one I knew. My eye fell on Arabella, who had emerged from her hiding place and was staring disconsolately at the dancers.
‘Take me to my cousin.’ Let her see whom I have snared. ‘And why not ask her to dance, too.’ I was joking but to my surprise I heard David’s voice behind me, asking Arabella for a dance. I sat down in one of the gilt chairs to rest my feet before my next partner came to claim me.
While I waited, I gazed around me. I saw the mothers scrutinizing the room for eligible partners for their daughters, the girls competing for compliments, their eager desire to be married before their friends. If only they knew how I despised them, and the empty lives they led – their days spent dressing up, going to balls and parties. There had to be more to life than that. I was longing for the ball to be over. I had no shortage of partners but I was bored stiff. How dreary they were, these eligible young men. How little I wanted to dance with any of them. I yearned to be on my own, to think about my letter in peace.
Baxter plaited my hair for me before I went to bed. She asked me about the ball. I danced every dance, I told her. She seemed pleased. I thought of the girls who’d now be eagerly talking about their partners. I wished I had someone to confide in. I longed to talk about Fred. I thought about the letter he had written me. Even that had to be secret. I had to keep everything I felt about him secret. And I found myself wanting to talk about him all the time. But I couldn’t. Sometimes I felt I’d explode with longing for him. How hard it was – even harder now that I was away from him. Did he feel the same? I wondered as I lay in bed trying to sleep. How much longer would we have to pretend? One day I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to – everything I felt would simply burst out of me. But I had to try – for Fred’s sake, if not for mine.
DOWNSTAIRS
I patted my hair and surveyed myself in the mirror. I had put aside my housemaid’s apron and cap along with my housemaid’s duties. Now that I was Miss P’s official lady’s maid I was attired in a neat blouse and skirt. Ivy said I looked like a proper lady’s maid. But I still didn’t feel like one. I couldn’t think what I’d have done without Ivy. She was my only friend here. I didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. I didn’t feel comfortable with the upper servants, but I couldn’t relax with the lower ones either. They didn’t trust us. I knew just how they felt because it was how I’d felt, too. I knew they waited till we’d left the room to chatter and gossip. I longed to be round the big table sharing my sweet with them, instead of perched on a high-backed chair in Mrs Barlow’s parlour, making polite conversation. They talked about things I didn’t know about. I felt a fraud – I didn’t know what to say to them. Mrs Barlow tried to draw me out, but I still felt that the other upper servants looked down on me.
I looked at my watch. Where was Ivy? In about an hour the carriage would be back and then I’d need to dress Miss P again. When I was little I used to wish I was a young lady but I’d hate all the times I had to change my clothes. And that was another thing I didn’t like about being a personal maid – all the gowns I had to look after. Then there was the hair to attend to. Miss P’s hair needed a lot more attention than the daily one hundred brushes now that she was ‘out’. I’d learned how to roll it up and dress it with flowers or jewels at Langdown. Her ladyship’s maid had given me a few lessons.
I walked up and down the room impatiently.
Ivy had said she’d be here at three and now it was quarter past. I couldn’t wait any longer. My free time was precious. I pulled on my coat and gloves. Ivy hadn’t come to me, so I’d have to go to her. I made my way to the room Ivy shared with the kitchen maid. I knocked but there was no reply. So I popped into the kitchen. It was empty. Then I made my way along the corridor to the servants’ hall. Robert was in there and Ivy’s wasn’t a name to be mentioned in front of him – hadn’t been since the servants’ ball. Next I nipped into the scullery. Ivy wasn’t there either. I was beginning to feel upset. Ivy had let me down, and now my afternoon was spoilt. We’d planned to go out for tea together. Ivy had suggested a tea room, a Lyons corner house, but I couldn’t go there on my own. It didn’t seem a respectable thing to do. I was walking up and down, wondering what to do, when I saw Mrs Barlow emerge from her parlour, in hat and coat. She gave me a smile. ‘Why, Miss Baxter,’ she said, ‘are you going out?’
That was another thing that took some getting used to – being called Miss Baxter. Here, only Ivy called me Jess. It felt peculiar.
‘I thought I’d take the opportunity,’ I said. ‘I don’t get much time off.’ I didn’t mention that I’d planned to have tea with Ivy. I didn’t think the other upper servants would approve of us going about together.
She gave me a sympathetic look. ‘It’s a busy time for you, isn’t it, the London season. If you haven’t made any plans, why don’t you have tea with me?’
Me – Jess Baxter – take tea with the housekeeper! What would they say at home when I wrote and told them!
‘If it’s convenient,’ I said – as if I did this all the time.
‘You’d be doing me a favour, Miss Baxter,’ she said. ‘I’d enjoy some company.’ We made our way to the door.
‘How well do you know the city?’ Mrs Barlow asked me.
‘Not at all. I’ve never been to London before,’ I said shyly.
‘Then you have a treat in store. I’ve lived in London all my life,’ Mrs Barlow said. ‘I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Would you like to see the sights? I’ll call a cab and we can have a proper drive round before tea.’
We walked outside and Mrs B hailed a cab. It pulled up straight away. The cabbie helped us in, treated us like we were proper ladies. It made a nice change.
‘London is so busy,’ I said, as the cab turned into a wide thoroughfare and joined a line of motors, cabs and wagons. Our pace dropped to a crawl. I’d never seen so many vehicles in one place before.
‘I expect it is, after the country,’ Mrs Barlow said. ‘But I like it. There’s always so much going on. Take a look out of the window, Miss Baxter, or you’ll miss the sights. Don’t let my chatter distract you.’
I did. And I saw a sight all right. But it wasn’t the kind of sight Mrs Barlow had in mind. Parked just ahead of us was a pink motor. For all I knew there were hundreds of pink motor cars in the city, but I’d have known this one even if Mr George hadn’t been sitting behind the wheel. He wasn’t alone either. There was a girl in the seat next to him. He was leaning close to her. I saw the girl’s head nod. Then she turned away to climb out. As she did, she looked up and straight into my eyes. She looked away at once, but I could tell from the shock spread across her face that she knew who I was and I knew who she was, of course. Ivy!
Ivy had stood me up for Mr George? My mind was in a tumble. What was the stupid girl doing out with Mr George? Hadn’t I warned her about him? Mrs Barlow wasn’t looking out of the window so she couldn’t have seen Ivy, but it would have served Ivy right if she had. All those plans Ivy had told me about. All those dreams. Had she thrown them all away – for him?
It was that fatal dance, I thought; she amused him, but he was just enjoying himself – Ivy the latest in a long string of idle fancies, easily picked up and just as easily tossed aside. I glanced out of the window again. I couldn’t see either Ivy or the car now. I turned back to Mrs Barlow, and tried to compose myself while she pointed out the sights on our way to tea. There is Rotten Row, where fine ladies and gentlemen ride. And that is the avenue that leads to some palace or other. Buckingham Palace. I nodded and smiled, pretending interest, but I wasn’t enjoying myself any more. I was too worried about Ivy. The stupid girl,
the stupid stupid girl.
I didn’t see her again until we sat down for supper. You’d never have known what she’d been up to – she looked as cool as the Langdown cat. I was still fuming, but I had to wait till the meal was over to confront her. As soon as we’d finished dessert I made my way back down to the servants’ hall.
‘Ivy,’ I said, putting my head round the door. ‘I’d like a word.’
I thought she might object but she got up at once – though she had the nerve to ask me what I wanted! ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ I said. The other servants glanced at each other. Robert smirked. Even if Ivy didn’t realize she was in for a wigging, they did. I remembered how I used to feel when I was summoned by one of the upper servants. It felt odd to be at the other end of it for once. But Ivy was acting as if she hadn’t a care in the world. I walked ahead of her down the passage. Once we were far enough away from the servants’ hall, I turned and faced her.
‘Well,’ I said, folding my arms. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, Ivy.’
She looked puzzled. Then she clapped her hand to her head. ‘We were meant to go out. I’m sorry, Jess. No wonder you’re angry. I forgot.’
What a performance!
‘I’ll pass over that. As it happened Mrs Barlow invited me to join her, but I can’t pass over what I saw from the cab. What were you doing in Mr George’s car, Ivy? It’s no good your pretending. I saw you. You know I did. And I know you saw me.’ She couldn’t wriggle out of this one.
She looked sullen. ‘None of your business.’
‘It’s not respectable for a young girl to be out alone with a young man,’ I said.
‘Times are changing, Jess. How many times do I ’ave to tell you!’
‘They’re not changing that fast,’ I retorted. ‘Besides, he’s wild, Mr George. You can’t trust him.’