Emma knocked on the door and was instantly told, ‘Do come in, Miss Wright.’ They shook hands, and then Mr Summers pulled out a chair and waited for her to settle down opposite him.
‘Now, how do you find us?’ he asked diffidently.
Emma could hardly say that the glimpse she had had of the Misses Summers was not as she expected. They were dressed much more extravagantly than Milady and her friends in Wymondham. She had yet to meet young Frances, although the staff seemed very fond of her.
‘She was Mrs Love’s pet. After school, she is usually downstairs in the kitchen, with the cat on her lap – her aunts don’t seem to know how to get on with an eleven-year-old girl – it’s an awkward age, especially as she has no mother,’ Anna had said earlier.
Emma said now, ‘I am happy to be here, Mr Summers – and, oh, I am only ever called Emma – do you mind that?’
For a brief moment he looked nonplussed, then he cleared his throat and said, ‘Emma . . . well, you look nothing like most cooks I have known, although they have always been good at their job, but you, I have a feeling, may surpass them all.’
‘Thank you, Mr Summers,’ said Emma, not knowing what else to say.
‘I shall look forward to my dinner tonight. I must leave now. My sisters would like to make your acquaintance in the drawing room. Don’t worry, I’m sure they only wish to compliment you on the excellent breakfast. I hope you have a good day, Emma.’ He ushered her out.
The Misses Maria, Rosalie and Adelaide were preparing to go out too. At thirty-eight, thirty-six and thirty-four, there were only four years between the eldest and the youngest. They were in the process of having their hair arranged by Anna, who doubled up as a ladies’ maid. Her duties were much less arduous than the housemaids’. She supervised the meals in the dining room, made tea in the drawing room and looked after the ladies’ clothes.
Miss Adelaide was the most talkative. ‘We are joining our friends for a sewing morning to raise money for the poor of the parish, which is why we will only require a light lunch at one thirty. Our hostess today will no doubt provide an abundance of sweet cakes mid-morning as usual. Do you like to sew, Miss Wright – or may we call you Emma, as Anna suggests?’ She sounded very girlish despite her age, and the ringlets Anna was coaxing with a comb round her face added to the illusion. The latest hairstyles were very time consuming.
Emma replied, ‘Yes of course.’ Adding shyly, ‘I made my frock!’ She had actually used Milady’s new sewing machine for this, but she enjoyed hand-sewing and embroidery.
‘We have a good supply of remnants,’ Miss Rosalie put in. ‘The ladies of the church are very generous. Would you like a bag or two of those?’
‘That is very kind of you, thank you.’ Emma thought, Perhaps I can make a nice dress for Nan!
Miss Maria was pulling aside the heavy curtains at the window to look down on the street below. ‘The cab is here! Girls, hurry! Might I suggest the smoked salmon, Emma, on our return?’
Emma and Anna were left in the drawing room. ‘We’ll go down together,’ Anna said, tidying up. ‘There are some things I think you haven’t been told – I propose to enlighten you!’
Emma looked round the room appreciatively. There was an impressive fireplace, with a mantel and mirror over it, but the fire had not yet been lit. Paintings in ornate frames were arranged on the walls, including the portrait of a lady with a pale face and sad expression. ‘Mr Summers’ late wife,’ Anna informed her. There was a polished piano, open, with the morning’s hymn music on the stand and silver candlesticks on the piano top. Elegant chairs were grouped round small tables, one laid ready with crockery and a spirit kettle. Glancing up, Emma saw that gasolines had supplanted candelabra. In one corner was a ladies’ davenport, where the sisters wrote their letters.
‘This is a lovely room,’ she said, ‘but I feel sorry for the maids having to carry heavy buckets of coal for the fire up all those stairs. The new lights are brighter, but I don’t care for the smell of gas.’
‘You mentioned smells,’ Anna said, when they were in the kitchen. ‘and that you don’t like the smell of gas, but I promise you there are far worse smells in London, if you venture away from here. Especially in the slums, which are so overcrowded and absolutely stink of sewage, as does the Thames. Anyway, speaking of water, it is only available between certain hours, so we all have to use it sparingly. So, baths only once a month for everyone, even the family. And not too may pulls on the lavatory chain. Of course, we have the earth closet in the backyard and that is emptied when necessary by the night soil man.’
‘On the farm where I was brought up, my brother William had that task. There are smells in the countryside, too, and not all of them pleasant, what with privies and cesspits, as well as manure which is spread on the fields, but there is plenty of fresh air to compensate,’ Emma told her. ‘However, I haven’t got time to be homesick; I must see if the washing up is all done!’
*
Later that afternoon, Frances, a shy girl with a rather anxious expression, appeared in the kitchen after finishing school, and at around the same time the maids mysteriously disappeared for ten minutes. Anna enlightened Emma, ‘They both have followers, young men who come along about this time most days and lurk round the side of the house. Maids rarely stay more than a year or two – they dream of being married and having a family, I suppose.’
Emma detected a note of wistfulness. ‘Weren’t you like that at their age?’
Anna shook her head. ‘My parents weren’t happy together. I was glad to leave home. Anyway, I have my nephews and niece – they are grown up now – I think the world of them.’
‘And you have me,’ Frances put in, sitting by the stove, stroking the large tabby cat on her lap.
‘Of course, I do! And I shouldn’t be surprised if Emma has made a hot, buttered muffin for you!’
‘Here you are.’ Emma passed the muffin to Frances. ‘Would you prefer cocoa to tea?’
‘Please! This muffin is much nicer than usual.’ She brushed a crumb or two from the cat’s fur.
‘That’s because I baked it myself! I’ll teach you how to make them, if you like, Frances.’
‘Mrs Love never offered to do that. She always said, “Eat your greens! Or you’ll get worms!” ’
ELEVEN
TF
London, 1861
In March 1861 TF was in Cadiz on the St Jean d’Acre. He had served as man and boy with the Royal Navy for an eventful period, but he was only half-way through the ten years to which he had committed himself. He had spent his last shore leave with his Uncle Patrick, his father’s brother, in Woolwich, and it was then he realised that despite the camaraderie aboard ship, he was lacking a home and family of his own.
Uncle Pat offered to advise him if an opportunity arose for a new career and in July he wrote that the committee of the London Fire Engine Establishment, the LFEE (which would eventually become the London Fire Brigade) was recruiting experienced mariners as firemen. This followed a catastrophic fire in Cottons Wharf, Tooley Street, which started in a warehouse storing hemp and jute on Saturday afternoon, 22 June. Fire doors were left open as workers fled and the blaze spread quickly as a result. The loss of property was estimated at two million pounds. James Braidwood, the long-time Superintendent of the LFEE, was with his men offering support and brandy when the wall at the west front of the warehouse collapsed on to him and a colleague. Both were killed instantly. Queen Victoria wrote an emotional tribute to James Braidwood when his body was found on the following Monday. She ended with: It made me very sad. Church bells tolled all day on the funeral route from the brigade headquarters in Watling Street to the cemetery at Stoke Newington.
TF found the history of the fire brigade fascinating. He learned that steam power had been employed on the Thames fireboat for the past ten years, but now the latest steam engine, pulled by horses, was used by the LFEE. They had moved on from buckets of water passed along a human chain to a manual pump in
vented by Richard Newsham in 1721, which could pump 110 gallons per minute continuously.1 Wheeled escape ladders were kept in churchyards during the day and at street corners at night in the city, a temptation, of course to mischievous lads and petty criminals intent on stealing lead from roofs. When there was a fire, a barrel of beer would be rolled out from the nearest pub to fortify the weary firefighters, as well as eager volunteers from the crowds who gathered to watch the conflagration. When the barrel was empty, pumping would grind to a halt. But another barrel would be at the ready!
Before this new era, after the devastation of the Great Fire of London, insurance companies were formed to reduce losses from fire. These companies each had their own fire brigades and a fire mark or ‘plate’ marked insured buildings to show which insurance company was responsible for that building. The fire brigades only dealt with fires covered by their particular insurance company, which meant that often those crying, ‘Fire, fire!’ and pointing frantically, would be disappointed as the fire engine would not stop if the building wasn’t covered by their insurance company. By the early 1830s, the insurance brigades realised they would have to amalgamate and so the LFEE was formed in 1833.
TF left the Royal Navy and joined the LFEE as a second-class officer following a successful interview with Captain Eyre Massey Shaw, Braidwood’s successor at Watling Street. ‘Ah, a fellow Irishman,’ Captain Shaw observed as they shook hands, adding prophetically, ‘I expect you to go far in the firefighting world.’
Captain Shaw shared his predecessor’s belief that ex-naval personnel were the best choice, being well disciplined, healthy and strong, used to hauling heavy equipment and ladders, nimble, fearless climbers and calm in adversity. The LFEE also employed successful, skilled tradesmen, including surveyors, to great advantage. Recruits were between eighteen and twenty-five years old.
TF was twenty-four and his starting wage was twenty-one shillings a week. He was proud to wear his new uniform, a grey tunic with brass buttons, matching grey trousers and a buckled belt, together with a black leather helmet with chinstrap, and knee-high boots.
He found lodgings near the fire station in Northumberland Street, where the bell often rang out in the middle of the night.
During his training period TF met Charles (Chas) Holmes, who matched him for height and physique, but was dark-haired contrasting with TF’s striking blond looks. Chas was a year younger than TF and the two were inseparable thereafter and from the start worked as a team. This was approved by Captain Shaw, but TF, the more extrovert, was the leader of the two.
Chas, like TF, had had an unsettled childhood, although he never experienced poverty. He was the youngest son of a wealthy currier, an expert in the leather industry, in Chichester. But his parents had died when he was young, and his eldest brother had sent him to boarding school when he was six. He was not invited to return home in the holidays. Chas was a diligent scholar, and although he accepted his lot, like TF he had missed out on a normal family life. And also like TF he had joined the Royal Navy as a boy sailor.
1. One of these early pumps was in use for 200 years.
TWELVE
Emma
London, 1861
It was coming up to Christmas and Emma was busy in the kitchen preparing for the feast to come, when they heard the shocking news that Prince Albert had died of typhus at Windsor Castle on 14 December, aged only forty-two. Queen Victoria and the royal household were in mourning.
The Summers showed their respect for the queen’s loss and spent the Christmas quietly at home. Everything was draped in black and there were no bright decorations. Like the queen at Osborne House, where she had retreated, they dined alone on Christmas Day, and in South Kensington there were no jolly gatherings of the sisters’ friends.
Emma packed the excess food into baskets and this was distributed to the poor of the parish by the local church. It was a sombre time, and young Frances spent most days down in the kitchen with Emma, Anna and Nan. She sat by the range with her Christmas books, and a purring cat on her lap while they bustled about.
*
The following spring, Emma could hardly believe that she had been in London for over a year, but she was well aware that she was very fortunate to be where she was, with employers who appreciated all her efforts. She was glad to know that her own family were now all doing well, and though she was sad about losing her little brother, that had been expected. She corresponded regularly with her sisters and was excited about the prospect of becoming an aunt, as Martha, married to Elijah, was expecting her first baby. They had moved up country where Elijah was now a mill carter and lived in a tied cottage. William and Sarah kept her up to date with Wymondham affairs. Sarah was helping in the village shop, and they were saving hard to fulfil their dreams. They vowed that one day there would be a Wright again at Browick Bottom Farm.
Emma had become fond of Frances and Nan, who was only a couple of years older than Frances; she thought they both needed her love, just like her own sisters had in the past. She encouraged Frances to be more involved with her aunts. ‘Ask them to teach you some of their card games, and how to make a scrapbook, and perhaps Miss Rosalie might agree to teach you to play the piano? Oh, they are so clever with their needlework! Did you see those pretty net purses they made for the church bazaar? Perhaps you could write poetry like Miss Adelaide . . .’ She paused for breath and inspiration.
‘But I prefer being in the kitchen with you, Emma, learning to cook, with Dizzy the cat – did you know I called him after Mr Disraeli? That’s how the queen refers to him! Papa says he is sure to be prime minister one day soon. I do like his curly hair and twinkly eyes,’ she added dreamily. ‘He writes books, but Aunt Maria says I am too young to read them.’
Emma smiled. ‘Your Dizzy doesn’t earn his keep as kitchen cat – we had to set a trap for a mouse Nan saw in the pantry.’ The cat’s ears twitched on hearing his name, but he feigned sleep.
‘He’s my best friend – after you, of course!’ Frances said. ‘Can I stir that jelly and pour it in the mould? I do like to see it wobbling on the dish when you turn it out.’
‘Which flavour would you prefer?’
‘Raspberry, please.’
Anna came in with some exciting news. The communal gardens, which had been closed over the winter, had reopened to residents who possessed keys and enjoyed their walks. It was a Saturday morning and a sunny day, just right for a stroll. Mr Summers was lunching at his club and the ladies were off to Kensington High Street for the day, visiting the couturier and the milliner, and would be eating out with friends after shopping. They would all be back for dinner, though.
‘I asked if we might take a picnic in the gardens,’ Anna said. ‘We are all to have the day off. Miss Maria said Frances could accompany us.’
‘I must get changed, I can’t promenade like this!’ Frances was excited at the prospect.
Nan was busy with dustpan and brush getting rid of the breakfast crumbs under the table.
Emma saw her wistful look. ‘You can come too!’ she cried. ‘I’ve finished the frock I am making you – well, almost – and I only have two buttons to sew on the cuffs. I was too weary last night; I didn’t get to bed until after ten. I’ll pack the basket and maybe Anna will be kind enough to dress our hair?’
Anna nodded. ‘Of course I will. Hurry up, and we can be out of here by eleven.’
‘My hands are all sooty – Miss Maria called me upstairs to dust round the gasolines, as the maids on’y flicked their feather dusters round, bein’ eager to git out, I reckon,’ Nan sighed.
‘I’ll find you a pair of gloves,’ Frances offered.
The communal gardens were part of the housing estate and had been planned before the crescents, some of which were still being constructed. Following the death of his wife, Mr Summers had joined forces with his sisters to buy their house when it was new. The Misses Summers were of independent means and had also invested in the house in Brighton where their sister-in-law had staye
d before her premature death.
Anna had the key safely in her bag, while Emma and the girls took turns in carrying the picnic basket. The gate swung open and they were in the gardens, which were a sight to see. Gravelled paths were set in a triangular pattern around sweeping green lawns with colourful shrubs and beds of early spring flowers. There were wooden benches under the shade of leafy trees where walkers could rest and admire the vista.
Anna observed, ‘Who would think we are in London still? D’you know, when our crescent was being built, for a time the land here was leased by a racecourse – it was called the Hippodrome. Now they say our gardens are the most beautiful of all.’
‘I would like to have seen the horses galloping round,’ Frances said wistfully. Coming towards them along the path was a lady with a lively cocker spaniel on a lead. ‘Oh, I wish the aunts would allow me to have a dog, but they say animals have fleas and shed their hair on the carpets.’ She bent to pat the dog, which rewarded her with an enthusiastic lick on her hand. ‘What lovely floppy ears! Such a cold, wet nose!’
‘You have Dizzy,’ Emma reminded her as Frances straightened up.
The two young girls plumped down on the grass, under a spreading horse chestnut tree. ‘When are we going to eat our lunch?’ Frances wanted to know.
‘It’s not midday yet,’ Emma said mildly, but she sat down on a convenient bench and motioned Anna to join her. They smiled to see the girls making daisy chains and Emma thought how different Nan looked in her rose-pink frock with lace collar and cuffs. The skirt was not as full as Emma would have liked, but she’d had to cut the material carefully as it was a remnant given to her by Miss Rosalie. Nan had borrowed a bonnet as well as gloves from Frances. Even her scuffed boots had polished up quite well. The bonnet concealed her wispy hair, because as Anna confided quietly to Emma, ‘Poor girl can’t wash it very often.’ Frances was at rather an unattractive stage, being somewhat chubby and pasty-faced, but Anna had tied her thick mass of hair back with ribbon to match her blue serge frock, which was more practical than becoming.
The Forget-Me-Not Girl Page 10