by Lynn Austin
Eve often dreamed of what her life would be like if he hadn’t died. She would live on the farm with him and Mum and Granny Maud. Daddy would tend his sheep and cows and Mum would stay home with Eve instead of working at Wellingford Hall. She would sing as she worked in the kitchen the way Granny used to do.
“We need to decide what to do next,” Mum said. “You can’t live here all by yourself while I’m working at Wellingford or staying up in London with Lady Rosamunde.”
Eve knew her childhood in this little cottage had ended. And even though she couldn’t imagine leaving the only home she’d ever known, Eve didn’t want to live here all alone where every sight and scent reminded her of Granny. “I want to work at the manor house with you.”
“Oh, Eve. No.” Mum pulled her into her arms and held her tightly. “I never wanted you to go into service. Never. So many things changed after the war, and now there are much better jobs for smart young girls like you besides being maidservants. I had dreams of you taking a typing course someday or maybe working in a shop. But you’re only twelve—still too young for either of those.” She released Eve again and stroked her hair. “I hoped to leave Wellingford Hall myself someday, but there was never enough money left over after paying the rent.”
“We’ll have more money now that we aren’t living here. We can save up.”
“That’s true, but—”
“Besides, I don’t mind going into service. You’ve done it all these years, so I can, too.”
“Maybe for just a few years. And we’ll save all our money for your future.” Eve saw the sadness in Mum’s eyes despite her attempt to smile.
“I’ll get to see you more often,” Eve said. “And I won’t have to wrestle with this cranky old stove anymore.” She gave the range a kick.
“They’ll make you work very hard up at Wellingford until you prove yourself. And you’ll have to take orders from Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper.”
“I know. Just until I’m sixteen, right? Just until we save enough money.”
Tears filled Mum’s eyes again. “All those years that I spent downstairs in that dark servants’ hall, I was able to imagine you running outside, climbing trees, and playing in the woods. You’re so free-spirited, Eve, and I never wanted you to work in that cold, dark manor house. Now you won’t even be able to go to school . . .” She couldn’t finish.
“I don’t mind, Mum. Really, I don’t. Granny Maud used to say, ‘Rain or shine, just take the day the Lord gives you.’ Remember?”
Mum nodded. She wiped her tears. “I suppose we’d better start packing. We don’t have very much, do we?”
“Our job will be easy.” Eve swallowed the tears that were trying to escape and lifted the framed picture of Jesus from the nail in the wall. He carried a lamb on His shoulders, and “The Lord is my shepherd” was printed across the bottom in gold letters. Granny loved telling stories about how Eve’s daddy used to tend his flock of sheep on the farm. Sometimes, one of them would squeeze under the fence and wander away. And Daddy would go looking for it, bringing it home just like the shepherd in the story Jesus told.
“You remember these words, Eve,” Grandma would say, pointing to the picture. “You may not have a father here on earth, but you have a heavenly Father. And the Lord will always be your faithful shepherd.” Eve wrapped the framed picture in one of Granny’s afghans to take with her to Wellingford Hall.
She awoke in her bed in the cottage the next morning for the very last time. Outside, the gray clouds hung so low Eve could almost touch them, as if they offered misty tears in sympathy. She closed the cottage door with a silent goodbye, and she and Mum started up the long road to Wellingford Hall carrying everything they owned.
Just as the great manor house came into sight, they were halted by a flock of sheep, blocking the way as they straggled across the road and through the pasture gate. The shepherd greeted them with a tip of his hat.
Eve knew then that the Good Shepherd would watch over her in her new home.
3
WELLINGFORD HALL, 1932
Eve knew how to disappear. In the nine months that she’d been a scullery maid at Wellingford Hall, she’d become an expert at climbing through a window or slipping outdoors unnoticed to escape for a few minutes, then reappearing where she was supposed to be as if she’d never left. As long as she worked hard and got everything done, no one took much notice of her disappearances. Today she peered through the grimy scullery window at the green world beyond, and the warm spring sunshine and blue sky beckoned to her through the wavy glass. She hurried to finish scrubbing Cook’s best copper pot with washing sand and dried it to a gleaming shine, then climbed up on the scrub table so she could squeeze through the tiny window and escape. It was a tight fit. Eve had grown taller during the past few months and her shoulders were broader. She wouldn’t be able to squeeze through the opening much longer, but for now, she was free.
Her eyes watered in the bright sunshine after working in the dismal cellar. She waited for them to adjust, listening for the sound of George’s trimmers snapping and clipping. Eve found him pruning a row of boxwood in the formal gardens. She loved the beautiful world of bright flowers and green bushes that George had created, divided into neat geometric shapes by gravel walkways. Water burbled from the fountain. Marble statues and benches lay tucked behind bushes, waiting to be found. Eve could no longer roam through the woods, but exploring Wellingford’s formal gardens was the next best thing.
George stopped snipping and pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe sweat from his brow. “How’s my favorite lass?” he asked. “The world treating you okay today?”
“It’s treating me just fine, George.” Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she bounded over to hug him. With his slender, compact frame and round, bristly face, brown from the sun, George reminded her of a whiskery otter she’d once seen in one of Mr. Clarkson’s nature books. George walked to church on Sunday with Eve and Mum and sat in one of the pews with them. Eve didn’t have a grandfather, but she imagined that if she did, he would be just like George. “I wish I could work outside with you all day instead of inside,” she said.
“I wish you could, too, lass. You’re a sight prettier than those oafish lads from the village who work for me.” He stuffed the rag into his pocket and leaned toward her, lowering his voice as if telling a secret. “Can you spare a minute, Eve? I’ve got something special for you.” He took her hand as they wove through the manicured flower beds toward the kitchen garden near the stables, now converted into garages for Mr. Clarkson’s automobiles. George halted beside a sunny garden patch. “The first strawberries are ripe—see them in there? Go ahead and pick yourself a few.”
“Strawberries!” Eve dropped to her knees and plucked a deep-red one from the vine, then popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes as she savored the juicy sweetness.
“Take as many as you want, lass. Just don’t tell anybody, especially Tildy.” He gave her a wink. Mum said George and Tildy, the cook, were sweet on each other, but Eve couldn’t imagine two people as old as them falling in love.
She ate a few more berries, then filled her apron pockets with them. George helped her up. “Thanks, George. I’ll eat the rest by the kitchen window in case Mrs. Smith yells for me.”
“You’re very welcome, darling.”
George had known her daddy before the war, and Eve loved to ask about him. “He was a fine young man, your father,” he’d told her. “Pity you never knew him. That war was . . .” He shook his head as if unable to find the words. “Such a waste. . . . Such a hellish waste of life. You never saw a young man more smitten than your father. Flirted shamelessly with Ellen. I think he used to let his sheep out of the pen on purpose so they would wander down here, and he’d have an excuse to see her. Of course, your mum was a beauty. Still is. You take after her, lass.”
Eve walked back to the formal gardens with George, then squeezed out between the bushes again. As she stood beside the scullery window, sh
e heard someone weeping in the manor house above her. The sound came through an open window on the second floor. Was Miss Audrey home from her fancy boarding school? She’d been away for most of the time Eve had worked at Wellingford, returning home only a handful of times. Now she was crying her heart out over something.
Eve slipped through the kitchen door, then tiptoed up the servants’ staircase. Her own bedroom was on the third floor with the other servants’ rooms, but she stopped on the second floor beside the forbidden door that led to the Clarksons’ bedrooms. Mum worked in there as Lady Rosamunde’s personal maid, but Eve had never been in the Clarksons’ part of the house before. She wasn’t allowed. She heard the pitiful cries from the stairwell and made up her mind to open the door. Once in the hallway, it was easy to follow the sound. A soft carpet muffled her footsteps. She trailed her fingers along the walls, which were covered with pretty striped paper. Sparkly electric lights lit the way. Eve hesitated outside Miss Audrey’s door before knocking on it.
“Who’s there?” a voice called from inside.
Eve opened the door a crack and peered inside. “It’s me.”
“I didn’t summon a maid,” Miss Audrey said, sitting up on her grand bed. “What do you want?”
Eve glanced around to make sure Audrey was alone, then ducked into the room and closed the door behind her. For a long moment, Eve couldn’t say why she’d come, struck dumb by the fairy-tale room. It was as large as her entire cottage in the village, and every wall was covered with pale-blue paper with tiny white flowers. Miss Audrey’s enormous bed had a tentlike roof of soft-blue cloth with tied-back curtains around the sides. A thick, patterned rug covered the floor, and one entire wall of the room had shelves filled with books and dolls and even a little toy house. Eve wasn’t finished looking at everything when Audrey said, “You’re the girl from the woods! What are you doing here?”
“I brought you something,” she said, carefully scooping the strawberries from her pocket. They were still warm from the sun. “I just picked them.” Eve stepped closer and poured them into Audrey’s lap. “Try one.”
Audrey brushed a speck of dirt off one and put it into her mouth.
“Good, aren’t they?” Eve asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” Audrey gave a little shudder as if trying to dislodge one final sob.
“I was going to eat all of them, but you sounded so sad that I thought you needed them more than me.”
“We could share them.” Audrey returned two of the berries. Eve closed her eyes as she chewed, letting the juice fill her mouth. “How did you get into my house?” Audrey asked.
“I live here now. I work down in the scullery. Your window was open and I heard you crying, so I wanted to cheer you up. Why don’t you come outside with me? Whenever I feel sad, it always helps me to go outside.”
“Mother is angry with me. I’m meant to stay in my room.”
“Well, I’m meant to be scrubbing pots but I don’t always do what I’m meant to do. The rain finally stopped and the sun is shining for once. Come on.”
Audrey hesitated, then climbed off the enormous bed and followed Eve to the door.
“You still owe me a picnic lunch, remember?” Eve said, turning to her. “But I won’t claim it today.” She led Audrey down the hall, to the servants’ door.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“I can’t go down the main staircase. I would get lost, for one thing, since I’ve never been in your part of the house before. And for another thing, Robbins would shoot me on sight if he caught me. Follow me.”
She led Audrey down the back stairs, pausing to listen when they reached the bottom. Silence. Most of the servants rested in the afternoon before the rush of preparations for the evening meal. “Can you run?” Eve asked. “We have to make a dash through the kitchen to the back door before Tildy sees us. Ready?” She didn’t give Audrey time to reply before sprinting across the room and through the door. Miss Audrey followed at a dainty jog. Eve led her through an opening in the hedge and into the formal gardens, then collapsed on a patch of grass beside the fountain. “It’s beautiful in here, isn’t it?”
“I can’t run as fast as you,” Audrey said, panting.
“Nobody can. I was always the fastest runner in school at the end-of-term races. I won all the prizes.”
“I dare not be gone for very long,” Audrey said after she’d caught her breath again. “And I mustn’t get my school uniform dirty.”
“Let’s just sit here for a few minutes, then. I love all the different kinds of flowers, don’t you? So many colors! I would spend all my time in this garden if I were you.”
“You never told me your name the last time we met.”
“You never asked. It’s Eve. Eve Dawson.” Tears flooded her eyes as she remembered what else had happened the day they’d met.
“What’s wrong?” Audrey asked.
“When I got home from our picnic that day, I found Granny Maud . . . I thought she was asleep but she was already in heaven.” Eve paused, waiting for the tremor in her voice to go away. Her grief was still a raw wound, even after all these months. “I couldn’t live all alone, so Mum got me a job here as a scullery maid.”
“That’s sad. I’m sorry about your grandmother.”
“Me, too.” Eve scrubbed her eyes to rub away her tears. “Why were you crying just now?”
Audrey heaved an enormous sigh. “Mother is furious with me. I was so miserable and homesick at my boarding school that I became ill. The headmistress had to ring up Mother and tell her to send Williams to bring me home. I did what you said, at first. I told Mother I didn’t want to board there and I begged her to let Williams drive me every day. She refused.” Audrey sounded as if she might start crying again. “All the other girls board there, and Mother said I would never make friends unless I did, too. But the school term is nearly over and I still don’t have a single friend! They all have their own little groups and they either ignore me or play mean tricks on me. Last night they put dead beetles in my bed.”
Eve looked away to hide a smile as Audrey gave another sob. Beetles and mice skittered around the scullery all the time. Eve wasn’t afraid of them.
“Mother says I’m being stubborn and childish,” Audrey continued, “but she doesn’t realize how lonely I am. I want to sleep in my own bed in Wellingford Hall, not in a room with all those horrid girls!” She started crying again.
Eve wanted to be patient. But it wasn’t as if someone in Audrey’s family had died. She was merely feeling sorry for herself. If Granny Maud were here, she would say there were plenty of people in this world who were worse off than Audrey was. She would add that, rich or poor, God had a reason for putting everyone in the place where He wanted them to be.
When Eve had enough of her sniveling, she said, “Miss Audrey? Hold out your hand. Palm down, this time.” Audrey gave a little frown and wiped a tear but she did what Eve said. Her skin was smooth and as white as milk, as delicate as a lily petal. Eve stretched out her own hand and held it next to Audrey’s. “Look how different our hands are.”
“Why is your skin all red and cracked like that?”
“From cleaning pots and washing floors and scrubbing your front steps every morning.” She stood and helped Audrey to her feet. “Come on, I want to show you something else.” She led her out of the garden, back into the kitchen, and through the arched doorway that led into the scullery. Flaking plaster covered the low ceiling and stone walls. Large flagstones paved the uneven floor. It had only one tiny window—the one Eve had crawled through. Tin washtubs teetered in piles along with stacks of dented buckets for carrying hot water from the kitchen range. At night, only a single oil lamp lit the space. Mice hid in the corners and sometimes darted past Eve’s feet. “Have you ever been down in this part of your house before?” she asked.
Audrey took a step back. “No. It’s like a cave!”
“This is where I work every day,” Eve said. “I wake up before the sun and finish
scrubbing the last pot after dark. But you don’t hear me sobbing and crying and feeling sorry for myself, do you? Things are the way they are. Granny Maud used to say, ‘It doesn’t do any good to sit in the mud and mope. Either get up and wash yourself off or get used to the puddle.’” Eve heard the jingle of keys, a warning that the housekeeper was coming. She wanted to pull Audrey into the scullery and hide but it was too late. Mrs. Smith had spotted them.
“Miss Audrey! What in the world are you doing down here?”
Audrey looked like a startled fawn, even though she wasn’t the one who would be in trouble. “I would love to have your terrible life, Miss Audrey,” Eve said, hurrying to finish what she wanted to say. “I would be glad to go to your school—or any school—but I have to work down here. And I would love to have your nice clothes and your shelves full of books and your grand, big house, but I’ll never have any of those things, even if I live to be a hundred.”
Audrey seemed frozen in shock. Eve wondered if she’d even heard what she said. Mrs. Smith gave Eve a withering glare before resting her hand on Audrey’s shoulder and gently steering her away from the scullery. “Come. You belong upstairs, Miss Audrey.”
“I try not to think about all the things I don’t have,” Eve continued, speaking louder now as she followed behind. “My daddy is dead, Granny Maud is gone, and I can’t live in our little cottage anymore. But it’s not so bad here. Mum and I have a lot of friends. We’re saving our money so I can take a typing course and get a job in the village or maybe even London.”