Nobody’s Darling

by Nobody’s Darling (retail) (epub)

  ‘Then you’ll come to the party?’

  ‘Oh, yes. YES!’ No sooner were the words out of Ruby’s mouth than she and Cicely fell into each other’s arms and hugged and laughed until the wretched girl came with the news that Cook had sent her to fetch Ruby. ‘On account of she wasn’t born with four pair of hands,’ she said in parrot fashion, whereupon Cicely sent her away with instructions that Ruby was presently employed and would be down shortly.

  After the wretched girl scurried away, Cicely returned to the room to find that Ruby had already slipped out of the gown and was in her work-dress. ‘I’d better go,’ she said anxiously. ‘Or Cook will have me scrubbing ’taters for a week.’ She would much rather have stayed here with Cicely, but she must never forget her place in this house. Better folk then her had overstepped their mark and lost their job. As to this idea of Cicely’s, well, it was probably spur of the moment high-spirits that she was regretting already. ‘Can I really have the dresses?’ she asked hesitantly.

  Cicely was shocked. ‘Of course you can, Ruby. Haven’t I already said so? And I meant what I said, about having them altered to fit you.’

  ‘I’m very grateful, Miss Cicely. But I had a mind to alter all but the burgundy one, to fit my mam.’ Thoughts of Lizzie had a sobering effect on her and her heart sank to her boots. How could she have imagined that she could actually go to a gentry party? A maidservant, dressed like a lady and mingling with the wealth of Blackburn? The like had never been known. What foolish notions would she be thinking next? she asked herself crossly. By! If her mam could have been in this room not five minutes since, seeing her and Cicely swinging each other round and making such outrageous plans, she would have given her daughter what for and no mistake! ‘If you’ll excuse me, miss, I must get back to my work.’ For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, Ruby was deeply angry.

  ‘Ruby.’ Cicely stepped forward, bending her head a little so as to see Ruby’s face the better. She knew there was something going on in that quick mind, and feared it would put an end to their wonderful arrangement.

  ‘Yes, miss?’ Like the atmosphere in the room, Ruby was subdued, and it showed in her voice.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten what we planned?’ Her voice was soft, persuasive.

  Ruby looked up. There was surprise in her face, astonishment in her voice. ‘So you did really mean it? The party and everything?’ She daren’t think about it now. It was too wonderfully frightening.

  ‘I meant every word. You will be there, won’t you, Ruby?’ The corners of Cicely’s mouth were lifting in a smile, and her bright blue eyes were twinkling. ‘You did promise,’ she reminded Ruby.

  Ruby’s face was a picture of delight. ‘If we can do it without arousing my mam’s suspicions, I’m all for it,’ she said. Before anything could happen to change things, she clutched the handle and flung open the door. ‘You’ll stay with me, though? I mean, you won’t leave me at the mercy of everyone?’ Suddenly it was too real. After waiting hand and foot on the privileged, it would be a strange thing to be on the other side of the fence. Somehow, though, Ruby had a feeling that was where she belonged.

  ‘I’ll be at your shoulder all night if you want me to,’ Cicely said. ‘And we’ll think of a way to allay both your mother’s and my father’s suspicions. Trust me.’ She slipped her long fingers into Ruby’s small hand, saying softly, ‘It will be fun, but most of all I want you there because you’re my one and only friend.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Ruby could only imagine how lonely Cicely must be, and the thought of being an only child was abhorrent to her. ‘I’ll try not to let you down.’ As she went out of the door, Ruby could hear Cicely’s voice reminding her, ‘I’ll arrange for the burgundy dress to be altered, and I’ll have the others packed and waiting for you when you go home.’ Ruby refused Cicely’s suggestion that Ruby should take a cab at her expense. What! Her mam would have a fit when she arrived home with a pile of ‘fancy’ clothes, never mind about turning up in a cab paid for by the gentry.

  * * *

  The rest of the day was spent in a frantic rush. Ruby believed that Cook had it in for her, because she piled so much work on her that there was hardly time to breathe. By the time she put on her coat at the end of the day, Ruby had cleaned all the silver in every cupboard throughout the house, each and every mat had been taken out and slung over the line, where it was beaten until it hung like a limp rag, the legs of every table and chair had been first dusted and then polished: ‘Until I can see my face in it,’ threatened Cook peevishly. Following that, Ruby was made to take the long feather-duster and sweep the many curtain valances throughout the house.

  ‘You old bugger, Cook,’ she muttered when the older woman’s voice called out a merry ‘goodnight’ as she left for the evening, with the carefully wrapped bundle of gowns tucked under her arm. ‘Thanks to you, I feel bow-legged and worn to a frazzle!’

  All the same, Cook had not been able to dim her excitement about the coming event. All the while Ruby had been going about her work, she had counted the days to Christmas Eve. It was now the twenty-fourth of September. In just over twelve weeks’ time, on the very day before her fifteenth birthday, Ruby believed she would be attending the most important occasion of her entire life.

  As she boarded the tram and sat in the farthest corner where she could be alone with her daydreams, the thought of herself in that gown, at that party, made her shiver with delight. The thought of her mam finding out made her shiver with horror.

  * * *

  Lizzie was adamant. ‘You’ll take them rags straight back where you got ’em. You’ll never see the day when I take charity from the rich.’

  ‘But it’s not charity!’ Ruby was devastated. She had come into the house quietly and hidden the bundle in the front parlour. All evening she had been bursting to tell her mam about her wonderful surprise. Now, when her father was snoozing in the chair and the young ’uns were abed, she had taken her mam into the parlour and proudly unfurled the gowns at her feet. There were tears in her eyes as she and Lizzie faced each other now.

  ‘If it ain’t charity, what the divil is it then?’

  ‘It’s a present.’

  ‘I don’t want no “presents” from gentry.’ Even as she spoke, Lizzie was thinking about another ‘present’. That present was her own precious Ruby. And wasn’t she got from the gentry? she asked herself. Got in a tide of love? Got between two people who had a passion for each other? And wasn’t it more than passion? Wasn’t it something very wonderful? A longing for each other that Lizzie felt even to this day, in spite of the fact that she had enough love for her husband to keep him content? In her deepest heart, Lizzie was made to acknowledge the truth and it was this… in the whole of her life, two things had happened to bring her a deal of joy that would carry her to the end of her days. The genuine love of Jeffrey Banks, and the birth of her darling daughter.

  Lizzie knew she had many reasons to be grateful to the good Lord. After all, he had seen them through some very bad times, he had forgiven her for the shocking thing she did, and had brought her happiness many times over with the birth of her beloved children. But, to Lizzie’s mind, every woman deserved to keep a secret, and that secret should bring them the greatest happiness of all. Through the years, because of what she had done outside her marriage, Lizzie had suffered in all manner of ways; she had been first ashamed, then guilty, fearful, then lonely; she had been torn in so many ways, and there were times when she believed that the good Lord would turn away from her forever.

  Now, though, she had come through all of that, and every time she looked at Ruby, her heart would soar at the memory of how that delightful girl came to be. She looked at her now, and her heart swelled with love and gratitude. In that fearful moment, Lizzie was closer to confessing the truth than she had ever been.

  ‘Please, Mam?’ Ruby had seen how her mam had gone into a quiet mood. She had seen the hardness melt from her eyes, and sensed that it would take only a little persuasion fo
r Lizzie to accept Cicely’s wonderful gift. ‘Won’t you at least try one on… for me?’ She deliberately chose the cream-coloured one to hold against the candlelight; it was slimmer in style than the others, and she believed the soft colouring would flatter her mam’s light brown hair and pretty hazel eyes. ‘Cicely is a wonderful, kind lady, and she did so want us to have them.’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘No, lass.’ Her face creased into a smile, and Ruby knew her mood was changed. ‘Whatever would the neighbours think? And wherever would I go in such a fancy thing? That’s provided I could get into it in the first place!’

  ‘The neighbours would think you were very lucky,’ Ruby said hopefully. ‘You could wear it every Sunday to church. And I can alter it to fit you. Thanks to you, I’m an excellent seamstress, so I can put your teaching to good use.’ While her mam was still considering, Ruby held the dress against her. ‘It won’t take a lot of work,’ she fibbed.

  Lizzie threw back her head and laughed loudly. ‘Oh, yer little liar, Ruby Miller!’ she cried. ‘May the good Lord forgive yer. It would take a wagon and four to get me into that there dress, and well you know it.’ She pushed it away. ‘No, sweetheart. Once upon a time it might have fitted yer mam… when she were slim and the fellers cocked an eye at her, but after nine bairns, a body goes to seed. No. You tell your lady I’m grateful, but such things is wasted on the likes of me.’ Suddenly there was a movement at the door, and Lizzie swung round to see her husband standing there.

  ‘You’re too hard on yourself, Lizzie Miller,’ he murmured lovingly. ‘You may not be the dainty little thing you once was, but any man with half an eye could see that even in the sad clothes I can afford you, you’re still a fine handsome woman. You always will be. What’s more, I think you should let Ruby alter that pretty gown to fit you, because nobody could look more fetching in it than my lovely wife. Ruby asked you to wear it for her,’ he said softly. ‘If you won’t do it for her, then will you wear it for me?’ He had said what was in his heart, and now he gazed at her with smiling eyes and a proud look in his face.

  ‘Oh, Ted.’ Lizzie was overwhelmed. The tears trembled in her bright eyes as she looked at him, this humble, hard-working man whom she had wronged so long ago, the man who had been at her side through thick and thin. And, yes, although she would always keep a special place in her heart for Ruby’s real father, she loved this man in a different and wonderful way. She went to him then, and he opened his arms to embrace her. ‘I don’t tell you often enough how much you mean to me,’ he murmured, pressing her close to him.

  Thrilled and silenced by the depth of emotion between these two people whom she adored, Ruby gently laid the dress down and prepared to tiptoe past them. But Lizzie turned round to tell her softly, ‘See what you can do then, lass.’ She might have said more, but Ted took her by the hand and led her down the candlelit passage, then on up the stairs, leaving Ruby alone with thoughts of a young man only a few steps away from where she was.

  Earlier, when she had gone in to see Maureen, Johnny had sat in with them for a while. Afterwards he had walked her home. When it seemed he would kiss her at the door, Ruby had pulled away. She regretted it now. After all, what was in a kiss?

  * * *

  Oliver Arnold came into the dining-room where his three children awaited his arrival. The table was laid to perfection, the chandeliers were lit, and he bestowed a smile on each of his children in turn, before bowing his head to: ‘Thank the Almighty for the food we are about to eat, and for the well-being of all those who are gathered at this table.’ He was not unaware of the impatience of his son, who fidgeted throughout and whose attention was caught by every little movement. Somewhat irritated, he curtailed Grace and gave the customary signal, a discreet nod of the head, for the meal to begin.

  At once the maids stepped forward: neat little figures in black garments and starched white aprons with their hair scraped back beneath frilly caps, and their faces impassive as they served the first course. The evening meal was a traditional ceremony, beginning with Grace, eaten in silence, and ending only when the man at the head of the table placed his neatly folded napkin on the china plate beside him.

  The room was splendid with mellowed oak panels all around the walls; against the far wall stood a magnificent huge dresser displaying silver tureens surrounded by all manner of glassware and pretty condiment sets. The grand table was covered with a stark white cloth and dressed with the very best that money could buy: beautifully embroidered napkins, hallmarked cutlery, best china, and food enough to feed a small army.

  The meal always began at seven and ended precisely one and a half hours later. For Oliver it was a time of complete relaxation, when he could be with his family – yet remain quiet with his own thoughts. For Luke it was precious time wasted, when he would rather have been elsewhere; preferably with a woman of the town who would show him a good time without shame or conscience. The eldest daughter saw it as an occasion when she could play at being mistress of the house; while the youngest member of the family saw only that her beloved father was home. During the meal she would glance at him with soft green eyes and he would discreetly reward her with a smile. On Oliver Arnold’s instructions, there was no discussion at the table. They were gentry, and it was not the done thing to speak while eating.

  Later though, when the meal was over and the family retired to the drawing-room, the talk spilled over. Young Ida sat by her father’s knee and excitedly outlined every minute of her day, of how the tutor was pleased with her Latin, and how she had played the piano to excellence. ‘And I finished my whole sample of embroidery.’ She sprang up and ran to the dresser, bringing him the very sample. ‘There!’ she said proudly, her pleasant round face beaming from ear to ear as she held up the beautiful piece to show him.

  ‘Well now, let’s see.’ Oliver Arnold took the embroidery from her chubby fingers and turning it this way and that, he made a great fuss of examining it. ‘And what’s this?’ he asked, pointing to a strange shape sewn in bright orange thread.

  ‘That’s you!’ Disappointment clouding her eyes, she pressed herself between him and the sample. ‘Look…’ She pointed to the odd shape, painstakingly tracing her finger over it. ‘There’s your nose, and that’s your mouth, and these little bits are your eyes.’ She lifted her gaze from the sample and smiled brightly. ‘See?’ she asked hopefully. Ida was twelve years old, but delightfully immature for her age.

  He nodded his head. ‘Of course! I see it all now,’ he lied. ‘It’s a wonderful likeness.’

  ‘And you love it, don’t you?’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘Here you are then. It’s a present.’ She placed the piece into his hands. ‘You can hang it on the wall over your bed if you like.’

  ‘And I will,’ he promised. ‘Where else would I keep such a splendid portrait of myself?’

  He was teasing her and she knew it. ‘Oh, you…’ She laughed, throwing herself into his arms. ‘I do love you,’ she whispered into his ear.

  ‘And I love you,’ he whispered back. Kissing her on the forehead, he held her at arm’s length. ‘Leave me now, Ida. Your brother and I need to talk.’ He glanced up at Luke who was standing with his back to the fireplace, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets and a sullen look on his face At his father’s words, he groaned and jerked his head to one side, staring down at the casement doors and out to the star-lit night beyond. He wanted to be away, laughing and frolicking in some whore-house with better company than he would find here. Damn his father. Damn the bloody business, he thought vehemently. But then he reminded himself that he must be careful not to let his father suspect his deep resentment. As it was, it had taken far too long already to fool him into believing his son was coming to accept the weighty responsibilities of his inheritance.

  ‘What about me?’ Teresa stood up then, her face set hard as she stared from her father to Luke, and finally at her sister, who was still lovingly enfolded in her father’s arms. Teresa Arnold was as
different from her sister Ida as it was possible to be. Where Ida was small and round, with curly fair hair, bright green eyes and a wide open face that was quick to smile, Teresa was tall and elegant, with a certain cold beauty; her auburn hair was long and straight, sometimes drawn up in a coil into the nape of her neck, and sometimes hanging down her back to her waist, always brushed into a high sheen, and jealously treasured as her best feature. Her large oval-shaped eyes were almost the same shade as her hair, reddish brown, but wonderfully brilliant and often frightening to look upon. Through her eyes, Teresa could be all things. She could be bold or coy, loving or hateful, she could draw a body to her or cause them to cringe away. As she spoke again, her eyes almost snapped and her whole countenance was hostile. ‘I asked to speak to you after dinner, Father. Surely you remember?’ The words were spat out. Continuing to stare at him, she came forward and awaited his answer.

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry, my dear. Speak out then?’

  ‘Not in front of these two,’ she said bitterly, nodding her head first at Ida and then at her brother. ‘It has nothing to do with either of them.’

  Her father frowned. ‘Can it wait then? I do have a business matter to discuss with your brother.’

  ‘No, it cannot wait.’ She flared her nostrils angrily.

  Sensing another of her tiresome complaints, he sighed wearily. ‘Oh, very well.’ Leaning forward in his chair, he put the younger girl on her feet. ‘Sorry,’ he said simply.