Justine Elyot (2 page)

A red-faced woman in a dusty cap and apron appeared in the inner doorway and brandished a rolling pin at her. ‘Whatever have we got here? A drowned rat from the garden?’

‘I’m Edie Prior, the new parlourmaid.’

‘Well, what are you doing skulking in here with these two ne’er-do-wells, then? Mrs Munn’s got no hair left, she’s torn that much of it out over you. Come on.’

Edie hurried after her, through a cavern of a kitchen that seemed to swarm with bodies rushing this way and that, and out into a cool, tiled hallway.

‘I’m Mrs Fingall, the cook,’ said the woman. ‘You’ll want to keep civil with me, because I’m the one as feeds you.’

‘Oh, I hope I’m always civil,’ said Edie.

The cook stopped and stared at her, hands on hips. ‘You jolly well do, do yer?’ she said. She knocked on a door. ‘Mrs Munn’s office,’ she said confidentially.

Edie was relieved to be out of the heat and clash of the kitchen, which she had found unnerving. All the same, perhaps she had just left the frying pans – literally – for the fire.

‘Come in.’ The voice was low and calm, giving the lie to what everyone had said about the occupant tearing out her hair.

‘Miss Prior, the new parlourmaid,’ said Mrs Fingall, jabbing her in with two fingers between her ribs.

An angular woman sat at a desk, poring over a ledger.

She looked up at Edie, expressionless.

‘Thank you, Mrs Fingall. Would you fetch Jenny, please?’

Edie wondered why she had never considered the reality of the role she had thrown herself into. She had to converse with people, convince them of her background in domestic service. The best she could do was mimic her friend Josie McCullen, who worked as a daily girl in a house in Pimlico. She had shown Edie how to black-lead a grate and polish silver, but how to be another person … that was a rarer skill.

‘Why did you not write?’ asked Mrs Munn. ‘I’d have sent Wilkins to meet you with the trap.’

‘Oh, did you not receive my letter?’ muttered Edie, finding the barefaced lying more difficult than she had expected.

‘No, I did not. You were interviewed by Mrs Quinlan from the London residence?’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose you were hoping for a job in Belgrave Square.’

‘I am perfectly happy to work here.’ As an afterthought, she added, ‘ma’am’, finding the word so odd that she had to suppress an embarrassed smile.

Mrs Munn was right, though – Edie had assumed that her application to work for the Deverell family would result in a place in their London residence. The fact that the only opening was at Deverell Hall had been the first snag in the plan. It was only thirty miles from London, but it seemed that a huge ocean stood between Edie and her familiar urban world.

Mrs Munn picked up a piece of paper and sneered at it.

Edie, recognising the character her friend’s mother had written for her, felt her heart skip.

‘Your last place seems to be a respectable house, if not one of the best in society. You will find the scale of things here somewhat different. It may alarm you at first, but if you keep a cool head and attend to your duties first and foremost, you will soon settle.’

A timid knock at the door interrupted Mrs Munn’s flow.

‘One last thing,’ she said, before bidding the knocker enter. ‘There must be no communication beyond that which is strictly necessary between you and the gentlemen of the house. Do you understand me? None whatsoever.’

‘Of course, ma’am. By “gentlemen of the house”, do you mean …?’

‘His Lordship’s sons. The elder in particular.’

‘I see.’

Mrs Munn raised her eyebrow. ‘I hope you do.’ She looked past Edie at the door. ‘Come in, Jenny.’

Jenny was a mouse in human form and parlourmaid’s black-and-whites. She hid in a corner while Mrs Munn instructed her to show Edie her room and help her with her uniform prior to a grand tour of the house.

The servants’ staircase seemed to go up and up for ever. Conversation – a desultory affair – died out after the first flight and, from then on, nothing was heard but puffing and the echo of boots on stone.

‘You’re a London girl, then?’ said Jenny, once they were at the very top of the building, in a low-ceilinged, dark room containing four beds and little else.

‘Yes,’ said Edie, moving instinctively towards the window, against which the rain beat so dismally that little could be seen outside.

‘Most of us here are from Kingsreach and hereabouts. We’ve grown up on Deverell land. You don’t know anything about us.’

Edie turned to the plain little creature, surprised at the edge of resentment in her voice.

‘We’re all of us in the same boat, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘Service. What does it matter where we learned to wax a floor, so long as we wax it well?’

Jenny shrugged and pointed to some folded clothes on the bed furthest from the door. ‘Uniform,’ she said. ‘Hope it fits. You’ve got a lovely figure.’

‘Thanks,’ said Edie. She tried a smile, but the wistful look on the girl’s face caused it to misfire.

‘He’ll have an eye for you,’ said Jenny.

‘An eye for me? Who will?’

‘Charlie Deverell. He tries it on with all the pretty maids.’

‘Well, he won’t try it on with me,’ said Edie stoutly, moving behind a screen and unbuttoning her blouse.

‘Yes, he will. You’re ever so pretty. Even prettier than Susie Leonard, and she had to leave in disgrace when he got her into trouble.’

‘Heavens!’ Edie’s fingers paused on the faux-pearl buttons. This must be what Mrs Munn was driving at before.

‘He denies it was him, but everyone knows it was. Susie didn’t even have a sweetheart. And I’ve seen her with the baby – got his eyes, she has, and his dark hair.’

Dark hair. The man driving the car.

‘Well, I’m no fool and no flash Harry is going to seduce me,’ said Edie briskly. She allowed room for a little pause, removing her skirt in the silence, before changing the subject. ‘What do you think of Lady Deverell? She’s new to the house, isn’t she?’

‘Not so new. Been here a year now.’

‘Is she nice?’

‘My ma always says if you can’t speak well of someone, don’t speak of them at all.’

Edie laughed uncomfortably, her face flushing hot.

‘She’s awfully glamorous, though, isn’t she?’ she said, putting the black dress on. It was a little tight under the bust but, apart from that, a snug fit. ‘I saw her on the stage in London, in one of Mr Bernard Shaw’s plays. She was quite magnetic.’

Jenny sat down on the side of one of the beds.

‘London,’ she said, as if intoning a magic spell. ‘I’d so love to visit the theatre one day. I mean, I’ve seen the Kingsreach Players, everyone has, but the proper theatre. All red and gold, with balconies and plaster cherubs. That’d be smashing.’

‘Well, I suppose you will one day,’ said Edie, trying to steer the conversation back to her preferred subject. ‘But Ruby Redford won’t be treading the boards.’

‘Hush, you’re not to call her that! It’s Your Ladyship and Lady Deverell now. She hates anyone mentioning her past. She’s a bit sensitive about it. Well, more than a bit. You’re best off forgetting it, if you’ve seen her on stage. Not that you’ll get to speak to her much. She don’t have much to say to the servants.’

‘Really? I thought she might be a good mistress to have – since she’s closer to, to our class than most of the gentry.’

‘The opposite. Everyone says the first Lady Deverell was a real smasher, kind and sweet. She gave extra half-holidays when the weather was nice sometimes, and she always asked after your family. This one don’t even acknowledge you. Like I say, she’s funny about her past. She thinks talking to us like we’re people shows her up, I reckon. But we all know that that’s the mark of a someone who ain’t a real lady. But I mustn’t talk like this.’

A flicker of fear had crossed Jenny’s pale face.

‘Not when I don’t know you. You won’t repeat any of this, will you? Do you promise? Not to a soul?’

‘Of course not. What has passed between us is in strict confidence. You may be sure I will observe it.’

‘Gaw, you London girls talk proper, don’t you?’ Jenny’s momentary anxiety had turned to a curious admiration.

‘Oh, not really, I studied my mistress and her daughters at my last place and tried to imitate them. It’s a habit. I expect I shall grow out of it here.’

Jenny stood again, seeing that Edie had tied her apron and pinned on her cap.

‘Well, might be for the best,’ she said. ‘You’ll get teased for it downstairs. Come on. I’m to help you find your feet today. What would you like to see first?’

‘Well, I hardly know. Should we do a wing at a time?’

‘Good idea. Let’s start with the West Wing.’

They sallied forth, black-and-white neatness in duplicate, to the servants’ staircase.

‘The West Wing’s used for visitors and children. We spend less time on it, especially since there aren’t any Deverell children just at the moment. The ground-floor rooms aren’t used at all.’

The West Wing was indeed, though splendid, a little neglected; its carpets threadbare and its wainscots dusty in places. The unused downstairs apartments were empty of furniture – huge, high-ceilinged bunkers with ornate plaster mouldings and pictures behind dust sheets.

Edie found it quite sinister and was glad to cross the courtyard to the East Wing, which contained the family rooms.

On the upper floor, the younger son and daughter of the house kept their suites.

‘This is Sir Thomas’s rooms,’ said Jenny, briefly opening a door into a neat and unusually plain chamber. ‘We needn’t go in.’

‘Who is Sir Thomas?’

‘Lord, you really don’t know nothing, do you? He’s the younger son. He joined the Army and did very well for himself at first, but after getting shot in the war, he wanted out. Lord Deverell had to buy him out, even though he was injured. Walks with a limp now, always will.’

‘Does he have another occupation now?’

‘No, nothing.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘He can’t settle. They say Lord Deverell’s at his wits’ end with him.’

‘What is he like?’

‘Well, I don’t know him, really. He keeps himself to himself. Spends a lot of time at the races, or out with the dogs.’

They reached the next door.

‘Whose rooms are these?’

‘Lady Mary’s, but I wouldn’t be opening them if I didn’t know she’d gone out. She gets wild if anyone disturbs her in her room.’

Jenny opened them with a furtive, mysterious air then stepped a little way into the light, airy chamber. Everything seemed to sparkle in there. Edie thought, with a sickening pang, of her room at home in London. She had the same cut-glass scent bottle on her dresser. The silver-backed hairbrush looked familiar too, even if Edie’s was not monogrammed like Lady Mary’s. Fresh cut flowers stood on the bedside table and the chest of drawers, and a tangle of stockings and scarves were strewn all over the bed.

‘I suppose she was trying to decide what to wear tonight,’ said Jenny with a laugh. ‘She’s fearful fussy. Ask Louise, her maid. She leads her a merry dance, she does.’

‘A hard taskmistress?’

Jenny whispered, ‘A spoiled little madam,’ and then put a hand to her mouth, giggling guiltily.

‘What is happening tonight?’

‘Didn’t Mrs Munn say? A big dinner, some visitors from London. I don’t know who they are but I think they’re supposed to be important.’

Another surge of panic rose through Edie’s stomach.

‘Will I have to serve them?’

‘I shouldn’t think so, not your first day.’

She exhaled gratefully.

‘I wonder if Lady Mary will announce an engagement soon,’ Jenny prattled on. ‘They say she’s got ever so many admirers in London. But, like I said, she’s fussy.’

‘Neither of the sons are married?’

Jenny sighed. ‘No, and it don’t look likely neither. One’s a womaniser and the other’s a recluse. Come on, shall we go downstairs?’

The windows were bigger on the floor below and the fittings notably more elaborate.

‘Sir Charles’s rooms,’ whispered Jenny, her hand on an antique gold door handle.

‘Should we?’ Edie was suddenly nervous. ‘What if he’s in there?’

‘He went to town,’ she said. ‘With Lady Mary. Come on.’

‘There could be a woman in there.’

Jenny let out a peal of merry laughter. ‘You ain’t met him yet and you’ve got the measure of him already. Come on.’

She opened the door.

No woman was hidden behind it. The rooms were magnificent, crimson and gold, but the style was decidedly masculine and his valet had not yet cleared away his shaving things from the basin in the little bathroom. Edie felt possessed by a sense of the man who used these rooms; the scent of his cologne, mixed with a faint aroma of smoke, crept into her and took up residence in the corners of her consciousness. A dressing gown hung carelessly on a bedpost and his slippers were in the middle of the floor.

‘Who is his valet?’ Edie wondered aloud. ‘Should he not have tidied these things?’ She was proud of herself for remembering that aristocratic men all had valets. Although the social circles she moved in at home were mixed, they rarely involved lords and ladies.

‘He is between valets at the moment,’ said Jenny. ‘His last one resigned a few days ago. He is sharing with Sir Thomas until they can hire a replacement.’

‘Why did the last one resign?’

Jenny pinched her lips and shook her head.

‘I don’t know.’

But Edie thought that Jenny was concealing some further knowledge.

Moving towards the other side of the room, Edie saw a book on Sir Charles’s bedside table and was consumed with curiosity to know what kind of thing this man enjoyed reading.

‘Oh!’ she said, picking it up. ‘
The Moon and Sixpence
. I have read this.’

‘Put that down,’ exclaimed Jenny, rushing over. ‘Don’t touch a thing.’

‘We shouldn’t be in here, should we?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Come on.’

She dragged Edie out by her elbow, but Edie was already wondering to what extent Sir Charles might identify with the book’s hero, his namesake, a man who abandons his established life to pursue an impossible dream.

‘His Lordship,’ she said, flapping her hand at another door without opening it, following up a moment later with ‘Her Ladyship’.