Langdown Manor (13 page)

The train hissed to a stop. Doors banged. Voices shouted. Somewhere a whistle blew. I'd forgotten how noisy London was. As the cloud of steam outside the window began to fade I saw porters cluster round the carriages like flies. I'd only been in London once – the day I'd arrived in England. It had been winter then, and its glories had lain hidden from me under a foggy grey blanket that refused to lift.

A footman opened the door for us to descend and I stepped down carefully on to the platform. At once porters swarmed up to us, fighting for the right to take our luggage. Most of it had gone ahead of us. I heard Aunt's voice gently raised telling us to keep close by her. She had nothing to worry about. The crowd soon parted for us, first-class passengers, like the sea had for Moses.

We'd left Langdown soon after breakfast. I'd sat at one side of the carriage, Clemmie next to me, a bulwark against Arabella. As the carriage had bounced down the drive I'd tried not to think about Fred. Each clop of the horses' hooves was taking me further away from him. None of the stable hands were coming to London. Most of those servants who were coming had already left, to prepare the house for us. I was relieved that Sarah wouldn't be among them. I felt awkward whenever I saw her now. The housemaids always stayed behind to do the spring-cleaning.

I was thankful that the carriage only took us as far as the station. It always made me feel sick. I couldn't understand why Aunt didn't prefer the motor car – the motion was so much smoother. George's pink motor had departed with him to university. He'd said he'd see us in London. And in London too there'd be Flo – and David, who'd talked about things I'd never thought of before. Of learning to fly, and girls who went on marches, girls who refused to obey the rules of young ladydom. If they could, so could I.

We got back into a carriage for the last part of our journey – to Uncle's townhouse in Mayfair. I'd never heard of Mayfair before. The name conjured up something very different to the broad streets of imposing mansions I could see through the carriage window. We stopped in a street full of trees of waving blossom. A boy ran to open the courtyard gate and the carriage rolled into a gravelled forecourt. Above us towered several storeys of red brick.

Barrett stood on the step to greet us. I remembered the day I'd arrived at Langdown. I walked past him with more confidence now. Inside, I found myself in a large entrance hall. A wide staircase swept upwards. It was almost like a miniature version of Langdown, I thought. The servants had lined up to greet us. Most of the faces were unfamiliar.

I was shown to my chamber, a room at the front of the house. It felt strange to look out on to a street. To glimpse cars and carriages through the blossom. Baxter helped me change out of my travelling gown and into one of my new gowns. I'd had several new gowns made for me before we left Langdown. Even Aunt didn't expect me to appear in London society in Arabella's cast-offs.

While Baxter unpacked I put my photographs of Mother and Father on the dressing table. I remembered the one Aunt had shown me, of Mother when she was my age. It must have been taken just before she came out. How had she felt? I wondered. It hadn't been long after that that she had met my father. But where and how they had met, no one had ever told me. I knew so little of their past. I wished now that I had asked more questions, I wished she was here to advise me. A gong boomed from the floor below. I descended the staircase for tea. While one of the footmen served us with tea and cakes Barrett brought in a silver salver, stacked with calling cards.

‘Ah, I see that many of our acquaintances are already in town,' Aunt smiled. Amongst the cards was a letter for me. Arabella of course was rudely surprised that anyone should want to write to me. I turned it over. It had a London postmark. I took a silver paper knife and slit open the envelope.

‘Why, it's from Flo!' I exclaimed. ‘She's in town.' I was delighted that she'd remembered me. ‘She has invited me to tea. May I go, Aunt?' I asked eagerly.

‘Well,' said Aunt, pursing up her lips. ‘I need to know a little more about this … Flo, you say?'

I sighed impatiently.

‘You may sigh, Penelope, but I must be sure that she is a suitable acquaintance for you,' Aunt said firmly.

What would she say if she knew about Fred?

Reluctantly I appealed to Arabella.

‘Arabella, you remember Flo,' I said. ‘She was a guest at Whichcombe Park when we went there for tea.'

Arabella shrugged. ‘There were so many girls there, I hardly know.' A smile flickered across her face – a mean little smile. I yearned to say something to wipe it off. But I forced myself to keep my temper. I badly wanted to go to tea with Flo.

‘Flo Waterlow,' I said.

‘Waterlow?' enquired my aunt. ‘Do you mean Countess Waterlow's daughter? Why didn't you say so before?'

Because I'm not a snob like you.

Aunt turned beaming to Arabella. ‘Arabella, I didn't know you were friends with Lady Florence Waterlow? Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I expect Arabella forgot, Aunt,' I put in. ‘She was
surrounded
by friends.' I smiled sweetly at her. Arabella glowered.

‘Well, we must call of course and leave our card,' Aunt said. ‘Lady Florence's elder brother is the most eligible bachelor this season.'

I am planning for Arabella to marry him.

‘And then may I go to tea?'

‘As soon as we have observed the social niceties,' Aunt said. ‘I will send round my card tomorrow.'

‘But it's for
tea.
I'm not out yet. Surely—'

‘Penelope!' Aunt raised her eyebrows.

I want Arabella to meet Lord Waterlow, too. And you, niece, will make sure that she does.

I drummed my fingers impatiently on the table. ‘If you have finished tea, Penelope, perhaps you would like to retire to your chamber to rest. It has been a long and tiring day for you.'

Which must be why you seem to have forgotten all Madame's careful tutoring.

I had spent the day moving from one seat to another and was not tired at all. I longed to stretch my legs, and I was eager to explore the city. But I felt sure the nearest I would get to seeing anything
I
wanted to see would be from the interior of the carriage, and under the watchful eye of a chaperone.

I retired to my chamber, my letter in my hand. I held it as if it was a talisman. However awful the next few weeks would be, at least I had an ally now. Aunt had shown rare enthusiasm when she had learned that I knew the sister of one of the season's most eligible bachelors. And I knew why. Marriage to an eligible young man was the proper destination of all young ladies. It was the only reason we were here. But it was
not
the destination for me.

I lifted one of the heavy irons off the stove and pressed it down carefully. Steam billowed up. I lifted it up and then pressed down again, taking care to raise it before the delicate fabric scorched. I'd yards and yards to iron still and already my eyes were drooping with tiredness. It was my first day in London. Miss P was downstairs having tea. I'd got over the hurdle of having to eat dessert in the housekeeper's room. I told myself I'd get used to it, but I didn't really want to.

The others had chattered away like old friends, but I'd felt too shy to speak much. I knew that Barrett's eye was on me, judging me. And I was sure that the other ladies' maids looked down on me. But Mrs Barlow, the housekeeper in charge of the London house, spoke to me just as she did to all the other upper servants. I wondered how much Mrs Smithson had told her about me. Did she know that only a few months ago I'd been a lowly housemaid? Well, she'd find out soon enough. Miss Arabella's snooty maid would be bound to tell her.

My bedroom doubled as workroom. Here I'd tend to Miss P's gowns – brushing, washing, drying, ironing and mending them. I'd arrived ahead of the family, so that I'd have time to unpack and prepare myself before I was needed.

Mrs Barlow had shown me to my room. ‘It is quite small,' she had said apologetically, opening the door, ‘but you should find it adequate for your needs.' I'd looked round. To me it was a palace. It was furnished with a bed, a comfortable chair and cupboards. There was even a dressing table. I'd never had a dressing table before. I'd never even had a room of my own before. At Langdown I'd shared a room with the other housemaids and at home I'd had to share a bed with two of my sisters. ‘It will do nicely,' I'd said, as if I was used to such grandeur. I felt as if I was acting a part. I still didn't feel like a proper lady's maid. It felt like wearing shoes that didn't fit. Mrs Barlow had smiled. ‘I'll leave you to unpack,' she'd said. I'd made haste to put away my clothes and hang up my gowns. I'd written to Mam telling her about the job, and how much I was dreading it. But she'd written back saying what a lucky girl I was.
It's a real opportunity, Jess. So do your best.

As I'd put my things away, I'd tried to tell myself she was right. There were privileges, too. I'd have a cup of tea brought to me in the mornings, a maid would clean my room, and I could have a proper bath when I wanted it. I'd laid out my brush and comb and my few toiletries on the dressing table, but it had still looked very bare. I had put on the gold chain Mam had sent me that had belonged to her mother, but the other ladies' maids were so much smarter than me.

After I'd unpacked I had to find out where everything was kept. I needed to get familiar with it before the carriage fetching the family arrived back from the station. It felt strange not to know my way around.

‘Ah, there you are,' her ladyship's maid had said, as I wended my way along the corridor. ‘Are you lost?'

I had taken a wrong turning!

‘It's all new to me,' I'd said, making myself smile and trying to appear more confident than I felt.

‘You'll soon get used to it,' she'd said, more kindly than I'd expected. ‘I'll show you where the irons and sewing machine are kept.'

Ah, the ironing and mending. I told myself it was a change from being on my knees sweeping and polishing. I thought of them all at Langdown. Maddie was a good cook; she'd make them some nice sweet each day for their dinner – and they'd have much more time off. They'd have a lot of fun, too. But I wasn't sorry to be away. I felt sore remembering how cold Sarah had been. She hadn't even said goodbye! I wondered if Fred would make it up with her. I still found it hard to believe he'd broken with her. They'd been together for so long.

And then I found myself thinking of Miss P. I didn't like the way my mind jumped to Miss P whenever I thought of Sarah and Fred. If only Sarah hadn't been so jealous of Miss P. I couldn't understand why she had taken against her. It was absurd to think that there could ever be anything between them. She, a young lady. Fred, a mere stable hand. But Sarah was suspicious of anyone who even talked to Fred. It had made things awkward. I was bound to get to know Miss P better now, since I'd be with her so much more in London. I just had to pray that when we returned to Langdown I'd be returning to my old duties, and Sarah and I would get a chance to rebuild our friendship.

I put down the iron, and lifted up the gown. Miss P would be up from tea soon and I'd need to run her a bath. I'd unpacked for her already. The trunk had been closed when I'd gone to unpack it, but I'd seen from the disarray when I'd lifted up the lid that she'd taken care to remove certain precious possessions. I remembered how protective of her things she'd been the day she'd arrived at Langdown, how she had refused to let me touch anything before she'd removed what she wanted. I'd shown no interest in her possessions then, and I still didn't. She'd had several new gowns made. We were both relieved we could leave behind Arabella's pink gown. Neither of us had liked her in it.

Miss P was already in her room when I returned with the gown, pressed and ready. I laid it on the bed and went to close the curtains. ‘Oh, please don't,' she said.

‘It's getting dark!' I protested.

‘I like to look out,' she said. ‘And it's not dark yet. Everything comes out earlier here, doesn't it? The leaves and the blossom.' She sounded sad. I felt sure that she was thinking of Langdown.

‘What's it like at Langdown in the spring?' She was still gazing out of the window.

‘Well, miss, you saw it only this morning,' I said.

‘I could see blossom just starting in the hedgerows,' she said, more to herself than to me. ‘What's it like when it's fully out?'

I was sorry she had asked. I hadn't wanted to talk about it, for it was the time of year I liked best at Langdown and I was sad to be missing it.

‘In a few weeks' time the may will be out,' I said. ‘The hedgerows will look as if they're covered in white lace. You've never seen anything so pretty. The tiny buds on the trees will unfurl into leaves. And the birds will be building their nests…' I smiled
.
Langdown was at its most beautiful in the spring.

‘I wish I could see it.' She sounded mournful, not at all like a young lady looking forward to her coming out.

‘Then you'd miss your coming out.'

‘I'd rather be at Langdown,' she said.

‘But you'll be back there soon enough,' I said as cheerily as I could manage. I was surprised that she minded. She hadn't seemed to care much for Langdown when she was there.

‘You see I've never seen an English spring,' she said.

She was toying with her necklace. She seemed to have something on her mind.

‘Baxter,' she said, turning from the window back to me. ‘I wish you'd call me Polly.'

‘Polly?' I said. ‘Is it a nickname, miss?' She nodded, sitting down on a corner of the bed but then jumping up and going back to the window as if she couldn't make up her mind where she wanted to be. Her restlessness made her seem like a wild bird that had found its way in and now couldn't find its way out again. There was something of the wild about her, I thought. She wasn't like any of the other young ladies I'd seen at Langdown.

‘Yes, that's what I was always called in India.'

‘It's unusual,' I said. ‘I mean Penelope is usually shortened to Penny, isn't it?' Was I being nosy? But she didn't seem to mind.

‘Father gave me the name. He said it suited me better than Penelope. I only tell people I like – and Starshine, of course. Starshine is the horse I ride at Langdown,' she explained. ‘Starshine was the first to know!' She smiled, wistfully I thought.

So – I came after a horse! But then I thought how imperiously she'd talked to me when she first came to Langdown. It seemed we'd come a long way since then.

‘And I wish you'd stop calling me “miss”, but I suppose I must put up with that.'

Yes, you had!
I felt thoroughly confused. What had brought on this sudden burst of friendship? I hoped that Sarah would never find out.

‘You see, if you're officially my maid now, I suppose I'll see you a lot more and it seems odd that you should call me anything else,' she explained.

She looked so in earnest that I nodded. ‘Very good, miss – Polly, I'll try and remember.'

‘Thank you – Baxter. And – could you not, could I not – call you Jess?'

I looked at her nonplussed. How had she found out my first name? I had never told her.

But I felt I knew where this was leading. Miss P felt alone and friendless here. She'd barely got used to one place when she was uprooted again, and planted somewhere else. But I shook my head. ‘It wouldn't be proper, miss. Now,' I said quickly, in case she tried to argue, ‘shall I run you a bath?'

‘Yes, please,' she said, returning to her perch on the bed.

I wouldn't have minded one myself, I thought, as I went to run it for her. It had been a long day and I'd have felt better for a good soak. And even though tonight the family were at home for dinner, they seldom got to bed early. The long hours stretched ahead like a dark tunnel I had to struggle through. How would I ever manage to stay awake! And tomorrow the season began in earnest. This was just the dress rehearsal before the main performance. How was I ever going to cope?