Candles in the Storm (20 page)

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Authors: Rita Bradshaw

Tags: #Romance, #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction

BOOK: Candles in the Storm
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‘Rhyme?’ The girl’s kindness was more debilitating than Gladys’s spite, and Daisy had to gulp hard before she could speak.
 
‘Aye, you know, the one all the wee lasses skip to when they’re bairns.’
 
And when Daisy shook her head, Kitty began to chant softly, pretending to skip with an imaginary rope:
‘Sour is as sour does
And sour suits the lemon.
Not so though the bonny wife
Who at the start of wedded life
Did give her man the sort of strife
That sent poor Jack fair barmy.
That’s why he joined the army.
One, two, buckle her shoe . . .’
 
 
 
As Kitty continued with the rhyme, her eyes bright, Daisy began to laugh, and when the other girl paused, panting, Kitty said, ‘You mean to say you’ve never skipped to that one as a bairn?’
 
There had never been any spare time for playing games or skipping when she was a bairn, and she’d been running her da’s house at eight years old. Daisy didn’t go into all that, merely shaking her head as she thought, She’s as good as a tonic, this lass.
 
‘Mind you’ - Kitty now thrust her head closer, her voice conspiratorial - ‘me da never joined the army. Had it too cushy here for a start. Besides which, if ever there was a Jack for a Jill, it’s me mam an’ da.’
 
‘You’re not close to them then?’
 
‘Close to me mam an’ da? Blimey, lass, I’d as soon be close to a dose of the fever.’ Kitty grinned at her and now Daisy laughed out loud.
 
There was something immensely likeable and funny about the little maid with her wobbling bun of curly brown hair and her smiling face. Daisy found it amazing she had come from the two in the kitchen.
 
‘Look, you take no notice of me mam, like I said. She’s got the jitters, see? All on edge you’ll step on her toes and get on too well here. Me mam fancies she’s like that’ - she joined her two hands together in a handshake - ‘with the mistress, but I reckon the mistress know’s what’s what. She’s not daft, her, but me mam’s a good cook an’ me da’s a hard worker and so they suit. Me mam’s been used to having it her own way with the other nurse companions that have come and gone. They’ve all been scared to death of the mistress and too anxious to please everyone if you ask me, but from what me mam heard about you she clicked on you’re not like them. They were all educated, you see, gentlewomen fallen on hard times and so on. No match for me mam. But you, you’re a tough ’un and she hasn’t got the edge with you.’
 
Daisy blinked. Kitty meant all she had said as a compliment, but it was odd to be told she was no lady, uneducated and hard-nosed to boot - as a commendation. She must remember to tell her granny all of this, word for word. She’d split her sides laughing, her granny would.
 
‘Come on, I’ll show you your room.’ Kitty continued talking as they climbed the magnificent staircase, saying, ‘There’s five guest bedrooms now the mistress’s old room is one too, but it’s once in a blue moon anyone comes to stay overnight. People just visit in the day, and then they don’t stay too long ’cos of tiring the mistress, you know?’
 
At the top of the staircase there was a thickly carpeted corridor branching to right and left, and as in the hallway below there were fine pictures hung on the grey-painted walls.
 
‘The mistress’s old quarters, the master bedroom you might say, is right at the end there and has its own bathroom.’ Kitty pointed to the right. ‘Next to it are three other bedrooms with another bathroom between them. Both the bathrooms have a dry closet attached to them. This way’ - Kitty turned to the left - ‘there’s two connecting rooms which was the nursery when the old owners had it, and that has its own bathroom an’ all.’
 
They passed the door to this suite and then stepped down on to what appeared to be another small landing which had one door leading off it. When Kitty opened this, Daisy noticed that the other side of the door was covered in green baize. Kitty followed her eyes and said briefly, ‘You’re in the servants’ quarters now. Your room’s the first one and it’s the best of the lot. Me mam’s always hankered after it but they - me mam an’ me da, that is - are right at the far end. I’m next to them and then there’s another small room the size of mine that’s just used for storage and such these days, and that’s between your room and mine.’
 
Daisy glanced about her. The walls were whitewashed and clean but there were no pictures and no carpet in this corridor, just plain unvarnished floorboards. The only light came from a small slit window situated at the top of the wall below the ceiling.
 
‘There’s a bell above your bed that clangs if the mistress needs you in the night, the pull’s next to her bed. Sir Augustus had that done when the mistress had to move downstairs,’ Kitty continued, adding, as she pointed to the door they had just passed through, ‘An’ mind the step out there, lass. I’ve lived here all me life and still I’ve tripped up more than once when I’ve been seeing to the slops. Nearly had a bucketful all over me and the carpet. I empty all the slops up here every morning and put fresh water in the jugs for washing once I’ve seen to the mistress’s room. If you want extra water you’ll have to see to that yourself. This is your room.’ Kitty nodded towards the door nearest the green baized one. ‘Oh, and if the mistress is really bad any time there’s a couch for you to sleep on in the dressing room off her bedroom.’
 
After a moment’s hesitation Daisy said, ‘Why wasn’t a room set aside for her nurse downstairs when the library and study were altered? Wouldn’t that have been better?’
 
Kitty pulled a face. ‘Aye, Sir Augustus thought that an’ all,’ she said ruefully, ‘but the mistress wasn’t having any of it. According to her she’s not an invalid, see? Eeh, she can be right stubborn when she wants to be. Said she didn’t want some nervous nitwit hovering over her every two minutes to see if she was still breathing. She likes her privacy, that’s the thing, but then old people get like that, don’t they?’
 
Not if they’re stuck in a one up, two down fisherman’s cottage. There was little dignity left for her granny. But it was no use saying so to Kitty so Daisy merely nodded, and then opened the door to her room as the other girl said, ‘I’d better get back, there’s the fire in the drawing room to see to before I take the mistress her breakfast tray.’
 
Alone now, Daisy looked round the room that was going to be her home from home in these strange surroundings. She stood just inside the door for a few moments as the sheer space that was all hers overwhelmed her after her tiny niche in the bedroom of the fishing cottage. It took her a second or two to realise that although the room was a good size, the fact that it was sparsely furnished made it appear even larger.
 
It held a single brass bed with a faded patchwork quilt, a chest of drawers and small wardrobe, and a stout marble-topped oak table with a jug and basin on it painted with bright red poppies. The floorboards were again bare, but a thick and new-looking clippy mat lay on the floor to one side of the bed and there was a rather enormous chamber pot, again decorated with poppies, under the bed.
 
Daisy walked over to the small square window through which sunlight was streaming, her heart lifting at the knowledge that this clean, bright room was hers. It had a friendly feel to it which was enhanced by the bright yellow curtains. The colour reminded her of the piece of cloth covering the makeshift table in her small nook at home, and when she looked out of the window on to the kitchen garden below her eyes were misty.
 
It was a minute or two before she left the window and walked across to the wardrobe. Once she opened it a musty smell tickled her nose. She pulled apart her small bundle of belongings which had been wrapped in Tilly’s spare shawl. It didn’t take long to hang her other set of clothes and cloak in the wardrobe, and place her two pairs of red flannel bloomers and vest in the chest of drawers. Lastly she placed her hairbrush and hand mirror, along with Alf’s box, on top of the chest of drawers. Her unpacking completed, she walked across and sat down on the bed for a few moments, trying to clear her mind.
 
She was here, she had done it. She glanced across at the lovingly carved box and for a second or two remembered how upset Alf had been at her decision to work and live away from the village, and then she resolutely put the image of his face out of her mind. She couldn’t think about Alf now or dwell on the feeling that she had let him down in some way, not when she needed to be strong. And she certainly needed to be strong, not only to cope with Miss Fraser but with those two down in the kitchen.
 
And William? The name sneaked in as she sat in a shaft of sunlight on the bed, and she shut her eyes tightly for a moment. She probably wouldn’t even see him again, she warned herself for the umpteenth time, and if he did visit his aunt he might not want to talk to a servant anyway. Although . . . she didn’t think he was like that. And then she remonstrated with herself quickly. How on earth did she know what he was like? She had to stop thinking about him all the time, it was daft, stupid. Her feelings for him could come to nothing, she knew that, even if she didn’t know exactly what those feelings were because she had never felt the same way about anyone else. A young lass’s romantic fancy, her granny would say if she shared her confusion with her. Nellie had certainly dropped enough hints over the last few days to warn Daisy that any regard for Sir Augustus’s son was born purely out of starry-eyed fascination, and although they hadn’t discussed William at all he had been there between them both nevertheless. And perhaps her granny was right, Daisy thought reluctantly. She usually was.
 
She opened her eyes and glanced round the room again. This was a bonny room
but it was in the servants’ quarters
. When -
if
she corrected herself sharply - William called, it would be to see her employer, and she would address him as befitted the young master of Greyfriar Hall. There was a chasm between them and it was unbridgeable. Those were the facts.
 
She stood up, smoothing down her skirt and adjusting the woollen shawl at her shoulders. In spite of herself her eyes were drawn to her heavy hobnailed boots. William,
Mr
William, was used to ladies whose dainty feet were shod in fine shoes with silver buckles and pretty little bows; ladies who had never done a day’s work in their lives and would have a fit of the vapours at the mere idea of it. The upper class. Funny, but she had barely given the matter of the class system a thought until recent days, but then why would she? She had been too busy working and living.
 
Daisy shook herself - a physical action although it carried a mental admonition at the heart of it - and took a deep breath before walking over to the door. She must go and meet her mistress whereupon she would be instructed in her duties and learn what was expected of her. This was reality, working-class reality.
 
 
Daisy was halfway down the staircase when Kitty appeared at the bottom of it. As the maid saw her she said, ‘I was on me way to get you, lass. I’ve just taken the mistress her tray and she wants you to go along. Come on, I’ll take you.’
 
Daisy followed Kitty along the hall and into the left-hand corridor. There were two doors in this section of the house, one situated halfway along the corridor and the other at the far end facing them. This had a highly polished table with a fresh flower arrangement set in front of it, however, and was clearly not in use.
 
Daisy’s first impression as Kitty opened the door was that she had stepped into another little house. She was standing in a beautifully decorated and furnished sitting room, and this, Kitty informed her, led on to Miss Wilhelmina’s boudoir. ‘That’s to one side of the bedroom and bathroom,’ the little maid continued as they walked across the room, ‘with an office on the other. On the days she’s not feeling too good she only needs to walk a few steps that way, you see. The bedroom and office overlook the orchard and it’s grand in the summer and autumn.’
 
Daisy made no reply to this, feeling overwhelmed.
 
Kitty knocked at the door to the bedroom and as a voice from within said, ‘Yes, yes, come in,’ stood aside and waved for Daisy to go through as she whispered, ‘I’m off to see to the drawing room.’
 
‘There you are, child.’ Wilhelmina spoke as though Daisy had just stepped into the other room for a while, and as she stared at the old lady she tried not to let her amazement show in her face at the sight of the strange apparition lying propped against numerous pillows in the huge bed in front of her. The room itself was a somewhat fierce assault on the senses, decorated as it was in various shades of pink with a salmon-coloured carpet and roseate curtains, but nevertheless it was the personage nestled amidst the rose silk covers Daisy’s eyes focused on.
 
Her new mistress’s nightwear was such that it wouldn’t have been out of place in a house of ill repute, and topping the vivid pink nightdress and negligee adorned with black bows was a lace-bedecked bonnet affair which tied under her chin with great bows. An article which suggested the reason for the bonnet was residing on the glass-topped dressing table, and as Daisy’s eyes flickered to the huge wig of black curls, Wilhelmina made a small movement with her head and said, ‘I know, I know. You think I’m a strange old bird, and you’re probably right.’

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