The Downstairs Maid Read online

  ‘You’ll be all right once you get to know people, lass,’ Mrs Hattersley said after the housekeeper departed. ‘For a start you’ll be doing all the rough jobs in the kitchen and helping wherever you’re asked, but if you’ve the knack for it I’ll be teaching you to cook and then you’ll be excused some of the scrubbing. We ought to have a scullery girl for that, because I need help in the kitchen all the time. Now I’ll take you up to your room. You can change into uniform and come back quickly.’

  Emily listened but said very little as they went upstairs. She was told she was to share a room with Mary. They entered the room, which was a bit bigger than Emily’s at home, but looked crowded because there were two beds, two chests and two cupboards. She was told which was hers and then left to get changed. She didn’t bother to unpack, just left her things on the bed, changed into the pale pink striped uniform, tied the white apron over the top, put the cap over her hair and hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen. She was given tea in a nice blue and white cup and then set to scraping new potatoes and preparing asparagus. She’d never eaten it, but she asked and was told how to prepare it.

  The servants’ quarters were in the basement, though their bedrooms were right at the top of the house, but everywhere Emily had been so far seemed dark and oppressive. The furniture was heavy and ponderous, probably Victorian, but nothing of any merit found its way into this part of the house it seemed. At least the kitchen was lighter and it smelled of baking and herbs, rather than the slight mustiness that seemed to cling to other parts of the house.

  Emily found the morning soon fled by. Once she’d done the vegetables she was fetching and carrying things from the huge pantry. Mrs Hattersley seemed to think several courses of food were necessary to satisfy the family upstairs and Emily was astonished at all the butter and cream that went into the fancy dishes she made. Ma was a decent cook but she didn’t make things like the syllabubs, lemon mousse and upside-down apple cake Mrs Hattersley seemed to think essential for a simple lunch.

  By the time the other maids came in for their meal, which was a rabbit pie with mashed potatoes, carrots and onions followed by a treacle tart and custard, Emily was feeling as if she’d been run off her feet. Upstairs was having roast chicken, fish pie, devilled kidneys, sauté and boiled potatoes, asparagus, peas and baked onions, followed by an assortment of puddings, fruit and cheese. All of which was sent up in a serving hatch to be served by June and Mary and the footmen.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Mary said, pulling her chair up to the table as Emily served her. ‘Give me more of those potatoes please. I’ve been on the go since six this morning.’

  Emily might have reminded her that she’d walked five miles to get here and had also been working hard, but Mrs Hattersley had told her to serve the others first and then she could sit down and have her own meal.

  She was hungry and could have eaten more than her share of the rabbit pie but it disappeared quickly as, one after the other, the staff came in for their meal. Mrs Marsh and Miss Lancaster were having the same as was served to the family, though only one main course and one pudding. They ate in Mrs Marsh’s parlour and only came into the kitchen when they felt like it. Mr Payne and Mr Marsh could have done the same but they preferred to sit with the others.

  They all greeted Emily with a smile, seeming willing to accept her as one of their own, though Mary was a little bit sharp.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of her,’ June whispered when Mary grumbled about being given too small a slice of the treacle tart. ‘She was in hot water with Mrs Marsh this morning so she’s in a bad mood.’

  When all the staff had eaten and gone back to work, Emily cleared the dirty dishes into the scullery and started to wash them in hot water and soda. It took more than an hour to finish them and her hands felt sore when she wiped them and returned to the kitchen.

  ‘We’ve got half an hour to sit down before we start the dinner,’ Mrs Hattersley told her. ‘We make several more courses for dinner than we do for lunch so put the kettle on, lass, and we’ll have a cup of tea before we get started.’

  Emily filled the kettle then sank down into one of the comfortable wooden elbow chairs by the range. She could hardly believe that the family upstairs could eat all that lot and then do the same again at night.

  ‘Do they always eat this much?’

  Mrs Hattersley laughed. ‘You wait until they have a big party. That was just the family. Mr Nicolas is home from Eton. He’s finished there and will be going to Oxford in the autumn. The gentlemen have big appetites and Lady Prior eats a good meal herself. You’ll get used to it, Emily.’

  When she was finally released after supper that night Emily was exhausted. She tumbled into bed, knowing she had to be up again at five-thirty to scrub the kitchen and scullery out before Mrs Hattersley came down to start breakfast. Emily had thought she worked hard on the farm, but her first day at the manor was far harder than she’d imagined. If Pa hadn’t needed her money so that he could take on a man to help with the work in the yard, she would have given in her notice at once.

  It was slavery that’s what it was. Emily pulled up the covers, after blowing out her candle. She was already asleep when Mary came in a few minutes later and she hadn’t even unpacked her things.

  Chapter 15

  ‘Can I see your ring?’ Lizzie Barton pounced on her sister as she entered the bedroom, catching her in the act of trying on Amy’s clothes. She took her sister’s hand to look closer, awed by the magnificence of the expensive ring. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful! A sapphire to match your eyes and a cluster of diamonds. You’re so lucky.’

  ‘Don’t envy me,’ Amy said. ‘You’ll get your turn soon enough, Lizzie darling. That blue suits you – why don’t you keep the dress?’

  ‘Do you mean it?’ Lizzie whirled in front of the cheval mirror in excitement, the full skirts of deep blue silk swishing about her. Across the quilted bedcovers of rich crimson were scattered dresses of every hue. Amy had been going through her extensive wardrobe and abandoned the gowns in her hurry to leave, tempting Lizzie to try them on. ‘Oh, you are a darling! I love it. I absolutely love it – but are you certain?’

  ‘Of course. Mother is insisting on buying me loads of new dresses for my trousseau – of course it’s Grandmama’s money.’

  Lizzie arched delicate eyebrows. ‘You’re like Mother – you hate living on Granny’s money, don’t you?’

  ‘She does make one feel so obliged. It’s her house and her money. All Papa has left is the London house and hardly enough income to run his stables. Mother relies on Grandmama for her clothes and everything else.’

  ‘I don’t mind and nor does Nicolas. Granny never makes me feel obliged and Jonathan earns his keep by running the estate for her.’

  ‘I pity Mother. She has no choice but to live here, because Father barely gives her enough to manage on. I suppose Father should sell the London house but he refuses to think of it.’

  ‘Well, you’ll soon be out of it and mistress of your own house.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Amy removed the dress she’d worn to Ely that morning and selected another. ‘That is what makes marriage to Arthur so attractive.’

  ‘You do love him?’ Lizzie was shocked. ‘Surely you must, Amy? Sir Arthur is such a gentleman – such a lovely kind person and so handsome.’

  ‘You sound almost as if you’re in love with him yourself.’

  Lizzie was only two years younger than her sister but knew that she looked younger than her eighteen years, because of the flounces on her dress and the ribbons she wore in her long hair. Mama said she wasn’t out yet and refused to buy her anything more stylish. If Papa hadn’t lost most of his money, Amy would probably have married ages ago and Lizzie would have come out this year. She shook her head, her cheeks pink as she looked away.

  ‘Of course not. Besides, he never notices me. He is head over heels in love with you, Amy.’

  Amy laughed carelessly. ‘Of course I care for Arthur. I’m not madly in lov
e but marriage isn’t like that in our circles. You know that Mother married for the title. Grandfather was rich but he was a mere baronet, as Arthur is of course – but he has rather a lot of money. Father had the title that mattered. It’s why Grandmama puts up with him and pays his expenses – because he’s Lord Barton and she likes the consequence that brings to the family.’

  ‘That’s a horrid thing to say about Granny,’ Lizzie stared at her, her greenish-blue eyes reflecting hurt. ‘She is never unkind to you or me – or Nicolas.’

  ‘Mother bears the brunt of her temper and Jonathan is often made to feel his efforts are inadequate,’ Amy said. ‘Grow up and look about you, Lizzie. Life is far from perfect at Priorsfield Manor.’

  ‘I think you’re cruel and I shan’t keep your dress.’ Lizzie swiped at the tears on her cheeks and ran from the bedroom, leaving her sister to gaze after her and wonder.

  Lizzie spent half an hour crying in her room. She took off Amy’s dress and threw it down, angry with her sister. Sometimes Amy could be such a beast. How could Arthur have fallen in love with her?

  Lizzie was sure she would give him a terrible time once they were married. She could be generous when she wanted but she was often selfish and hurtful – and Lizzie would hate her if she made Arthur unhappy.

  She wished she could tell him that Amy didn’t love him, beg him not to marry her, but of course it was far too late. Arthur had given Amy a ring and they were already making plans for the wedding in the late summer – and it was breaking Lizzie’s heart.

  She looked about her. Her room had been decorated in fresh spring colours, green, white and yellow. Granny had had it done for her birthday and she knew she was fortunate to be so privileged, but material things didn’t help when her heart was broken. The awful thing was that she couldn’t show her feelings, because she didn’t want Arthur to know she was in love with him. He would either find it amusing or be sorry for her and she wasn’t sure which would be worse.

  If only she could leave, go somewhere different, far away from this old house where everything seemed to go on the same, day by day. Granny ruled the house with the proverbial rod of iron and there was no chance of Lizzie escaping unless she married.

  And now she didn’t want to marry ever, because the man she loved was marrying her sister.

  Swiping at her cheeks, she rose and went over to the mahogany washstand in the corner. She had a pretty jug and washbasin set, pink roses on a white background, and there was some cold water left in the jug. Pouring it into the basin, she splashed her face. Amy said it was ridiculous that they had to wash this way. Granny had plenty of money to have new modern washbasins and running water put in, but she refused to do it because she didn’t want nasty builders making mess and noise all over her house. Instead, the maids still had to toil upstairs with water every time one of them needed a bath and that was ridiculous in 1914.

  Lizzie dragged a brush through her hair, glanced at herself in the Georgian mahogany dressing mirror and pinched her cheeks to bring a bit of colour to them. Then she put on a fresh skirt and blouse, leaving Amy’s beautiful dress lying on the floor. She would never wear it now, even though it suited her and made her feel grown up. Lifting her head proudly, she went out of her room. The sun was shining even though it had rained earlier and she needed some fresh air.

  Lizzie leaned against the low stone wall at the bottom of the garden leading to the orchard and watched her brother Nicolas. He had been riding and was walking back from the stables, crop in hand, his long boots and pale breeches splashed with mud. Nicolas was a wonderful rider and he took all kinds of risks when out with his horses. Generally considered an attractive man, his sister thought him perfect. Although reckless at times and moody at others, he was a gentle sweet man, a dreamer, quiet and thoughtful. Lizzie knew about his poems, though she didn’t think the rest of the family was aware of how much they meant to him.

  ‘I wish I’d come out with you,’ she said as he approached her. ‘Was it just too lovely?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Nicolas said in his soft lazy way. ‘You should ride more often, Lizzie. Granny has offered to buy you a horse of your own so you need not borrow Amy’s.’

  ‘Sir Arthur bought the mare for her use. My pony is too small for me now and I don’t like to borrow Amy’s horse, unless she tells me I may.’

  ‘Let Granny buy you a horse. I’ve seen a lively little filly that would do very well for you … same temperament, a little flighty but to be trusted in general.’

  ‘Nicolas! That’s no way to talk about your sister.’

  She tossed her long hair, which fell down her back in gentle silky waves and exuded the perfume of flowers, but her eyes were mutinous and her mouth was a little sulky as she pouted at him.

  Nicolas laughed as her eyes took fire. ‘I love to see you when you’re mad, Lizzie. I think you’ve spoiled me for all other women. I shall never marry because no one will ever match up to you.’

  ‘Please don’t be silly. Amy is beautiful. I’m just ordinary.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what I adore about you,’ her brother teased. ‘Plain little Lizzie. I can be myself with you. Amy is such a goddess we all have to worship at her feet.’

  ‘Oh, you wretch! I was cross with her for saying horrid things about Granny – and now you’re being a beast about Amy.’

  ‘Silly Puss! You know I don’t mean anything. I adore both my sisters – but you’re just you, the little sister I’ve always known – and she is the beautiful Miss Barton, who is going to marry one of the richest men in England and perhaps the world.’

  ‘Is Sir Arthur really so rich?’ Lizzie’s nose wrinkled and the freckles she’d gained the previous summer disappeared for a moment. ‘He always seems just like you and me. Amy can look … well, regal, I suppose is the word, especially when she’s dressed to kill.’

  ‘Well, if this mine of his turns out well, Arthur will be fabulously rich.’ Nicolas looked at her in amusement. ‘Amy does pay for dressing, doesn’t she? Arthur will get his money’s worth if he is looking for a wife who can hold her own in the top echelons of society – even in London I doubt anyone will outshine our sister.’

  ‘You make it sound like a crime.’

  ‘Do I? I certainly don’t mean to criticise. I admire her for knowing what she wants and going all out to get it. I wish I had half her courage and determination.’

  ‘You have a different kind of courage. Look at the way you ride – and the way you protected us when that man Father dismissed shouted at Amy and I …’

  ‘That doesn’t take courage; it’s blind instinct,’ Nicolas said and his eyes had that queer remote look that seemed to come into them at times. ‘I was thinking of other things …’

  Lizzie turned and walked in silence beside him as they left the orchard behind, went through an old gate and began to walk across smooth lawns bordered by deep beds of roses, flowering shrubs and perennials. In the spring, sweet blue hyacinths, yellow crocus and tulips peeped out from neat borders that were regularly hoed and weeded and high grey stone walls enclosed the gardens on either side. Now, daises, irises, flowering shrubs and roses had replaced the glory of the spring bulbs. Beyond the flowerbeds were further gardens, including the kitchen courtyard and the glasshouses. In front of them the house rose in pure classical lines of yellow brick with rows of long elegant windows and a Portland stone arch over the impressive front door.

  Glancing at Nicolas’s face, Lizzie saw his frown and held her silence. She knew better than to chatter when Nicolas was in this mood. She was aware of some kind of suffering within him but she didn’t understand what it was or why he should be unhappy. Nicolas was different from other people, more sensitive, introspective and, at times, almost morose. She thought that perhaps it was when his muse was on him and that he had gone to that place even she could not reach, but after a moment he turned his head and smiled at her.

  ‘Poor Lizzie. It isn’t fair on you being stuck here in the country. At least Amy had o
ne season – and she might have married then had she wished, but she was hard to please. Granny ought to stump up the money for your season, but she’s annoyed with Mother for telling her so and refuses to do it.’

  ‘I know.’ Lizzie sighed and tucked her arm through his. ‘I don’t really care. I’m happy here with you, but I shall hate it when you go to Oxford in the autumn.’

  ‘Amy will be married by then. Granny may give Mother enough money to take you to London for a while – theatres and museums but you won’t be able to go to all the balls, of course. You’d need to open the house, buy loads of clothes and entertain lavishly for that – and unless Granny stumps up it won’t happen.’

  ‘I don’t really mind about the balls,’ Lizzie said not quite truthfully. ‘It’s just that you will be gone and Amy – and I’ll be here alone with Mother and Granny.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Don’t say I’ll still have Jonathan because he’s never around. When he isn’t working he’s courting that awful …’ she stopped and blushed. ‘Now I’m being horrid. Mabel Saunders is a perfectly pleasant girl …’

  ‘But very boring and plain,’ Nicolas said, his eyes alight with mockery. ‘I’ll say it for you. Poor old Jonathan doesn’t have much choice, you know. Father has nothing to give him and Granny keeps him on a string. He has no idea where she intends to leave her money or even how much there is of it, and he needs to marry money just in case. Mabel’s father is in manufacturing and rolling in the stuff.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Lizzie said. ‘Granny likes to keep Jonathan waiting – she keeps us all hanging on – but it’s her money. We shouldn’t expect that she will leave it to us or give us anything more than she does already. She does have other relatives …’