The Downstairs Maid Page 7

  ‘Stella not down yet?’

  ‘Not yet. Let’s have our breakfast together and then I can make Ma’s toast or whatever she wants when she comes.’

  Pa sat down, looking at the loaded plate she set before him. Emily brewed tea in the large barge teapot. It was colourful and her favourite, though normally more for display than use, but this was Christmas and special.

  ‘Making a fuss of your old man?’ Pa teased. ‘Expecting a nice surprise, Em?’

  ‘I don’t mind what I’ve got,’ she said truthfully. ‘But I got something for you.’ She placed a parcel wrapped in pretty blue paper by his plate.

  ‘What’s this then?’

  ‘Something you need.’ Emily watched as he opened the parcel and saw the little paperback copy of a book with all the English silver hallmarks. The smile on his face was her reward for not buying herself the eau de Cologne she’d wanted in Woolworth.

  ‘Just what I’ve always wanted,’ he said. ‘Look in my haversack in the corner, Em. There’s something for you and a small parcel for Stella. Fetch them out, love.’

  Emily fetched out the parcels she found in the haversack. Ma’s was wrapped in brown paper and felt like a box of perfume, but Emily’s was smaller and she guessed it was something special from the look on Pa’s face. She tore off the wrappings and discovered a small silver compact with enamelling on the lid. As far as she could see it was perfect and she looked at him in surprise.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Pa – but it’s perfect?’

  ‘Just like my Em,’ he said and smiled. ‘Look under the cushion now. There’s a couple more gifts came for you. Harry Standen gave me one when he called to have a word the other morning, but I don’t know who sent the other. It came through the post and was addressed to you. I put it away until today.’

  Emily was still admiring her compact. The enamelled picture was of a beautiful girl and delicately painted. Pa could surely have sold it for good money, but he’d given it to her and she would treasure it all her life.

  She placed it on the table beside her plate and then went to the cushion. One parcel was quite small and wrapped in pretty Christmas paper; the other was strongly wrapped in brown paper with her name boldly inscribed in black ink and with a row of postage stamps. Emily opened the smaller parcel first and discovered a tiny bottle of Yardley perfume. She squeaked with delight and opened the stopper, smelling the scent of roses. She held it up to show her father and then read the note, which just wished her Happy Christmas from Harry.

  Fancy Harry Standen sending her a Christmas gift. She hadn’t expected anything from him. Christoper had given her a small box of chocolates when she saw him in Ely, and she’d given him a card and a man’s handkerchief that she’d made and embroidered in the corner.

  Emily ate her breakfast, because she didn’t want to waste it, but kept eyeing the bigger parcel as she tried to work out who it was from. Only when her plate was clear did she pick it up and break the seals. Inside, she discovered a box. It was a shoebox from the expensive shop in Ely High Street. Her heart beat like a frantic bird trying to escape from a cage. Lifting the lid, she saw a pair of white satin dancing shoes and almost dropped the box.

  Who would send her a gift like that?

  ‘What have you got, Em?’

  Emily took out a shoe and held it up for him to see. It had a rounded toe and a shaped heel, with a strap that fastened with a button across her foot – a bit like the ones Miss Concenii had been wearing when they visited Uncle Albert, but with thinner heels and more delicate.

  ‘Very pretty. Who sent you those?’

  Emily looked through the wrappings. She found a card from the shop saying they were a Christmas gift but could be exchanged if necessary. She went through it all again, thinking she must have missed something but all she could find was the shop’s card. She passed it to her father, explaining that there was no other message.

  ‘Well, there’s a mystery,’ Pa said. ‘You’ve got a secret admirer, Em.’

  Emily was silent. She didn’t think her mother would have bought something like this, so unless Pa had wanted it to be a surprise she had no idea who had sent the shoes. Pa’s gift must have cost him as much as he could spare so who had sent her the shoes and why shoes like these …?

  Suddenly, it came to her. Someone had noticed that she didn’t have proper dancing shoes and had sent her these as a gift – but who would do that? She would have thought it was Harry, but he’d given her perfume. The only other person she could think of was Mr Jonathan Barton, but surely he wouldn’t – why would he?

  To make up for being rude about her boots?

  He’d rescued her from her uncle in Ely and he’d danced with her in the progressive – but he hadn’t sought her out for a dance; it was his brother Nicolas who had done that … why would he send her shoes?

  Emily puzzled over it. The only other person who might give her something was her uncle and he always gave her the same gift. Five shillings, which he left with her mother – and which she always put in her mother’s jar on the mantel. If Emily thought the shoes had come from him she would have sent them back to the shop but she was sure they had come from one of the gentlemen she’d danced with at the village hall.

  Had it been Mr Jonathan or Mr Nicolas? Emily would have liked to thank whoever it was, but she couldn’t unless she knew.

  Why hadn’t he sent her a card?

  Perhaps it was because he thought her pride might make her refuse the gift. Perhaps she ought to – if she knew for certain. Her mother would tell her to return it and her father might think it unwise to keep a gift like this from a man she hardly knew – unless Pa had sent the gift himself and didn’t want either Ma or Emily to know how extravagant he’d been.

  That was the sensible explanation and the one that made her feel comfortable.

  Hearing her mother coming down the stairs, Emily put her gifts away and cleared her dirty things into the sink. She’d bought small gifts for her mother and Jack, and she placed them on the table, turning as her mother entered the kitchen.

  ‘Would you like bacon and egg, Ma – or just toast?’

  ‘Toast and marmalade as usual,’ Ma said. ‘Here, take Jack for me and I’ll make the toast. You burn it too much.’

  Emily did as she was asked, smiling down at her brother. He was beginning to make intelligible sounds and he blew bubbles at her, mumbling what might have been her name. She was glad that he seemed to be free of cold for once, because she wanted her little brother to enjoy Christmas.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Jack darling,’ she said and kissed him. Jack gurgled with laughter and held up his chubby hands. She took her parcel from the table and opened it, giving him the soft toy she’d purchased for one shilling and sixpence in Woolworth. It had been marked down, because it had a little spot on the pink fur but Emily had washed it away and it was as good as new. Her brother’s hands flapped at the toy, his face a picture as he laughed. ‘Look, Pa, he’s laughing. He knows it’s Christmas.’

  Pa looked at her but didn’t say anything. She waited for him to produce a gift for the baby but he made no move to do so. She thought it odd he hadn’t bothered to buy his son a present and then thought he must have given Ma money to buy Jack a gift.

  Ma had made a fresh cup of tea. She poured herself one and offered one to Pa but he shook his head. Ma drank her tea and then started to make her toast. She made no attempt to open either of her gifts, just sat down when she was ready and started to eat.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open your presents?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Your father knows I would rather have the money,’ she said. ‘What good is perfume to me when I’m stuck here day in day out?’

  Emily felt hurt for Pa. She’d saved up to buy Ma a pretty scarf although it didn’t matter about her feelings, but why did her mother always try to spoil everything for Pa?

  ‘Pa thought you would like it.’

  She sniffed and ignored the parcel. ‘Derek left five shillings fo
r you. I put it on the mantel. Do you want it?’ Emily shook her head and her mother frowned. ‘I don’t know why you’re so difficult. What has my brother ever done to harm you?’

  Emily didn’t reply. She put Jack down on a blanket on the floor with his toy and started to prepare the vegetables for dinner. Hearing his gurgles of glee, she glanced at him and smiled: at least her brother was happy. When she’d finished them, leaving the cabbage, carrots, onions and potatoes in water, she gathered her parcels and went up to her bedroom. The quarrel started the minute she closed the door to the stairs behind her.

  ‘Damn you, Stella,’ she heard her father say. ‘Can’t you ever let the girl have a good day? Do you always have to ruin everything?’

  ‘What about me?’ Stella said and the bitterness ran deep in her voice. ‘My life was ruined the day you got me pregnant. If she hadn’t been on the way I might have married anyone.’

  Emily closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears. So that was why her mother resented her so much. Now she understood. She hadn’t wanted Emily. She’d only married Pa because she’d been pregnant and he’d promised her that one day Uncle Albert was going to leave them a fortune.

  Emily sat down on the bed. For a moment the pain was so bad that she felt sick, but then she pushed away her own hurt and began to think of her father. Pa always bore the brunt of Ma’s dissatisfaction. He tried to please her as best he could and she didn’t deserve it.

  Emily was certain that she was having an affair with Eddie. Since the night of the dance, when she’d smelled a man’s strong scent in her bed, she’d looked for the signs and she’d seen them – a smile and a wink or a certain look in their eyes. Ma was cheating on Pa, and worse than anything was the fact that as he grew Jack had begun to look like Eddie Fisher.

  Pa had to know. Of course he did. Emily understood why he was so distant with Ma now. He must have known what was going on from the start and he suspected that Jack wasn’t his son.

  Her little brother wasn’t Pa’s. No wonder there were so many quarrels. Now Emily understood why Pa hadn’t bought the boy a gift himself.

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. It wasn’t fair on Pa. Ma’s cheating hurt Emily because she knew it had hurt Pa. He hadn’t hit his wife or thrown her out of the house, as most men would, but their quarrels were deeper now, bitter and resentful. Most of the time Pa just walked out on her – but today she’d pushed him too far.

  Hearing a crash downstairs, Emily rushed down to the kitchen just in time to see the door slam behind Pa. She looked at her mother and saw she was holding a hand to her cheek.

  ‘He hit me,’ she said, looking at Emily in disbelief. ‘He hit me.’

  ‘You pushed him too far …’

  ‘Take his side like you always do.’ Ma glared at her. ‘I suppose you heard it all? Well now you know. I never wanted to marry him and I never wanted you.’

  Ma went to the hook behind the door, took her coat and put it on then turned to look at her. ‘I’m going out for a few hours. If you want that goose cooked for two this afternoon, you’ll have to do it yourself.’

  ‘Are you coming back for dinner?’

  ‘I might and I might not. What do you care – it will be just you and your father then, won’t it?’ Swooping on Jack, she wrapped him in a blanket and went out.

  Emily stared after her, and then looked around at the kitchen. Ma’s parcels were still on the table untouched. She hadn’t done anything towards making the dinner and clearly didn’t intend to. Emily wasn’t sure whether to cook the goose or wait – supposing neither of them returned for Christmas lunch?

  She would just have to put it in the oven. They could always eat it cold and she didn’t know what else to do …

  Emily was basting the goose when the door opened and her mother walked in with Jack, who was whimpering. She put the child down on a blanket, gave him the toy Emily had bought, which seemed to quiet him, and went to the stove, looking inside the saucepans.

  ‘It all looks good, Emily,’ she said in a tone Emily hadn’t heard in a long time. ‘I wasn’t sure you would have it ready.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure what to do so I cooked it.’

  ‘Let me have a look at the goose.’

  Ma bent down to look in the oven. She tested the flesh with a long-handled fork and nodded as the juices ran clear.

  ‘It’s just right,’ she hesitated, then, as the kitchen door opened. ‘Don’t tell your pa I was gone all morning – please?’

  Emily hesitated, because her pa should know, but Ma’s eyes pleaded with her and as her father came in she gave a slight nod of her head. Pa looked cold and ill and she went to him, helping him off with his coat.

  ‘Do you want a drop of whisky, Pa?’

  They only ever had strong drink in the house at Christmas. The dairy that bought their milk usually gave Pa a small bottle as a gift and he made it last for months. He nodded, hardly speaking and went over to the range, opened the door and held his hands to the fire.

  ‘It’s bitter out,’ he said. ‘The dinner smells good, Stella. Has Em been helping you?’

  ‘She’s been a real good girl,’ Ma said and looked at him sideways. ‘You look frozen. I … shouldn’t have been so mean this morning. I was feeling a bit out of sorts.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘I pushed you too far. It won’t happen again.’ She hesitated, then, looking ashamed, she said in a low voice Emily could hardly hear, ‘It’s over, Joe. I’m sorry it happened.’

  ‘Just forget it,’ he muttered and started to cough. Covering his mouth with a handkerchief, he was just too late to hide from Emily the flecks of blood on his lips.

  She felt a flicker of fear. Ma hadn’t noticed. She was too busy seeing to the dinner, bustling about as if she hadn’t just made an earth-shattering announcement.

  Emily looked at her father. He sat slumped in his chair and she could see he felt ill, but he wasn’t going to give in. She put the small glass of whisky in his hand and then impulsively kissed the top of his head, whispering that she loved him. He looked up and smiled but didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to because she knew all he couldn’t or wouldn’t say.

  Then she knelt down on the blanket and played with Jack, until her mother called her to help serve up the dinner.

  For the rest of the day Ma and Pa were carefully polite to one another. Neither of them smiled much, but in the evening Pa fetched out the pack of cards and they played whist for matchsticks. Emily went to bed at her usual time. She could hear them talking after she’d gone up but they didn’t quarrel.

  When she was alone in her room she tried on her pretty satin shoes. They fitted her perfectly and felt wonderful. She wished she knew who had sent them but if she did, perhaps she might feel obliged to give them back.

  Two days after Christmas, Pa took Emily on the wagon and they drove out to Harry Standen’s farm in Sutton Fen. It was a long way on the wagon but a wintry sun was shining and they both had a blanket over their legs to keep them warm. The main road from Witchford led eventually into the village of Sutton and they went straight through, past the pub on the corner of The Brook and then turned left and along the High Street, down the sloping hill towards the fen and left again towards the Burystead.

  Once they turned off the main road, the lane became narrow with just a few old cottages to either side. After a while even the lane disappeared and they had to negotiate the bumpy droves that led to Harry’s farm. Steep ditches formed a framework, draining the fields of rich black soil, which had been ploughed and left fallow for the winter. You could see for miles across the flat fields and in places the sky seemed to touch the earth. At first the sky had looked blue with just a few white clouds scudding across it, but gradually the sun faded away and the skies darkened. It was now that the lowering skies made the fens seem a hostile, lonely environment.

  It was colder once the sun had gone, but both Emily and Pa had knitted hats and scarves and their coats wer
e buttoned up to the neck. Emily was relieved when they saw the large farmhouse come into view. A man opened the door and came out to greet them as Pa pulled the wagon to a halt.

  ‘Nice to see you, Joe,’ Harry said. ‘I wasn’t sure you would come, Emily.’ He held out his hands and helped her to jump down.

  ‘I wanted to thank you for the perfume. I’ve never had any Yardley perfume before; it’s lovely.’

  ‘It was just a little thing,’ Harry said but he looked pleased. ‘Come in, both of you. My mother will make you a hot toddy and then I’ll take you to the barn, Joe. We got some lovely puppies, Emily – if you’d like to see them. They’re black Labradors and good farm dogs.’

  ‘I should love to see them,’ she said and smiled at him.

  Harry’s mother was a plump friendly lady with dark hair and eyes like her son. She welcomed them in, drawing them to the big open fire that formed a part of the modern range. Emily thought her smart oven with its enamel front was much nicer and would be easier to clean than their old-fashioned one, which had to be blacked every day.

  ‘What a cold day to be out,’ she said. ‘You drink this and warm yourself, Miss Carter, and then I’ll show you the pups while Harry takes Mr Carter to look at that old stuff in the barn. We were going to make a bonfire of it but then Harry told your Pa about it and he said he might buy it from us. Can’t see as there’s anything much good amongst it myself, but there’s no sense in burning it if it will do someone else some good.’

  Emily thanked her for the drink. Her father and Harry were talking. They drank their hot toddies and then went off together. Mrs Standen took Emily into a large back kitchen to see the puppies nestling in a bed of old rags she’d made for them. Their mother got up and came to meet her, leaving the pups crawling over each other.