Langdown Manor (15 page)

I patted my hair and surveyed myself in the mirror. I had put aside my housemaid's apron and cap along with my housemaid's duties. Now that I was Miss P's official lady's maid I was attired in a neat blouse and skirt. Ivy said I looked like a proper lady's maid. But I still didn't feel like one. I couldn't think what I'd have done without Ivy. She was my only friend here. I didn't seem to fit in anywhere. I didn't feel comfortable with the upper servants, but I couldn't relax with the lower ones either. They didn't trust us. I knew just how they felt because it was how I'd felt, too. I knew they waited till we'd left the room to chatter and gossip. I longed to be round the big table sharing my sweet with them, instead of perched on a high-backed chair in Mrs Barlow's parlour, making polite conversation. They talked about things I didn't know about. I felt a fraud – I didn't know what to say to them. Mrs Barlow tried to draw me out, but I still felt that the other upper servants looked down on me.

I looked at my watch. Where
was
Ivy? In about an hour the carriage would be back and then I'd need to dress Miss P again. When I was little I used to wish I was a young lady but I'd hate all the times I had to change my clothes. And that was another thing I didn't like about being a personal maid – all the gowns I had to look after. Then there was the hair to attend to. Miss P's hair needed a lot more attention than the daily one hundred brushes now that she was ‘out'. I'd learned how to roll it up and dress it with flowers or jewels at Langdown. Her ladyship's maid had given me a few lessons.

I walked up and down the room impatiently.

Ivy had said she'd be here at three and now it was quarter past. I couldn't wait any longer. My free time was precious. I pulled on my coat and gloves. Ivy hadn't come to me, so I'd have to go to her. I made my way to the room Ivy shared with the kitchen maid. I knocked but there was no reply. So I popped into the kitchen. It was empty. Then I made my way along the corridor to the servants' hall. Robert was in there and Ivy's wasn't a name to be mentioned in front of him – hadn't been since the servants' ball. Next I nipped into the scullery. Ivy wasn't there either. I was beginning to feel upset. Ivy had let me down, and now my afternoon was spoilt. We'd planned to go out for tea together. Ivy had suggested a tea room, a Lyons corner house, but I couldn't go there on my own. It didn't seem a respectable thing to do. I was walking up and down, wondering what to do, when I saw Mrs Barlow emerge from her parlour, in hat and coat. She gave me a smile. ‘Why, Miss Baxter,' she said, ‘are you going out?'

That was another thing that took some getting used to – being called Miss Baxter. Here, only Ivy called me Jess. It felt peculiar.

‘I thought I'd take the opportunity,' I said. ‘I don't get much time off.' I didn't mention that I'd planned to have tea with Ivy. I didn't think the other upper servants would approve of us going about together.

She gave me a sympathetic look. ‘It's a busy time for you, isn't it, the London season. If you haven't made any plans, why don't you have tea with me?'

Me – Jess Baxter – take tea with the housekeeper! What would they say at home when I wrote and told them!

‘If it's convenient,' I said – as if I did this all the time.

‘You'd be doing me a favour, Miss Baxter,' she said. ‘I'd enjoy some company.' We made our way to the door.

‘How well do you know the city?' Mrs Barlow asked me.

‘Not at all. I've never been to London before,' I said shyly.

‘Then you have a treat in store. I've lived in London all my life,' Mrs Barlow said. ‘I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. Would you like to see the sights? I'll call a cab and we can have a proper drive round before tea.'

We walked outside and Mrs B hailed a cab. It pulled up straight away. The cabbie helped us in, treated us like we were proper ladies. It made a nice change.

‘London is so busy,' I said, as the cab turned into a wide thoroughfare and joined a line of motors, cabs and wagons. Our pace dropped to a crawl. I'd never seen so many vehicles in one place before.

‘I expect it is, after the country,' Mrs Barlow said. ‘But I like it. There's always so much going on. Take a look out of the window, Miss Baxter, or you'll miss the sights. Don't let my chatter distract you.'

I did. And I saw a sight all right. But it wasn't the kind of sight Mrs Barlow had in mind. Parked just ahead of us was a pink motor. For all I knew there were hundreds of pink motor cars in the city, but I'd have known this one even if Mr George hadn't been sitting behind the wheel. He wasn't alone either. There was a girl in the seat next to him. He was leaning close to her. I saw the girl's head nod. Then she turned away to climb out. As she did, she looked up and straight into my eyes. She looked away at once, but I could tell from the shock spread across her face that she knew who I was and I knew who she was, of course. Ivy!

Ivy had stood me up for Mr George?
My mind was in a tumble. What was the stupid girl doing out with Mr George? Hadn't I warned her about him? Mrs Barlow wasn't looking out of the window so she couldn't have seen Ivy, but it would have served Ivy right if she had. All those plans Ivy had told me about. All those dreams. Had she thrown them all away – for him?

It was that fatal dance, I thought; she amused him, but he was just enjoying himself – Ivy the latest in a long string of idle fancies, easily picked up and just as easily tossed aside. I glanced out of the window again. I couldn't see either Ivy or the car now. I turned back to Mrs Barlow, and tried to compose myself while she pointed out the sights on our way to tea.
There is Rotten Row, where fine ladies and gentlemen ride. And that is the avenue that leads to some palace or other. Buckingham Palace.
I nodded and smiled, pretending interest, but I wasn't enjoying myself any more. I was too worried about Ivy. The stupid girl, the stupid stupid girl.

I didn't see her again until we sat down for supper. You'd never have known what she'd been up to – she looked as cool as the Langdown cat. I was still fuming, but I had to wait till the meal was over to confront her. As soon as we'd finished dessert I made my way back down to the servants' hall.

‘Ivy,' I said, putting my head round the door. ‘I'd like a word.'

I thought she might object but she got up at once – though she had the nerve to ask me what I wanted! ‘You'll find out soon enough,' I said. The other servants glanced at each other. Robert smirked. Even if Ivy didn't realize she was in for a wigging, they did. I remembered how I used to feel when I was summoned by one of the upper servants. It felt odd to be at the other end of it for once. But Ivy was acting as if she hadn't a care in the world. I walked ahead of her down the passage. Once we were far enough away from the servants' hall, I turned and faced her.

‘Well,' I said, folding my arms. ‘You've got some explaining to do, Ivy.'

She looked puzzled. Then she clapped her hand to her head. ‘We were meant to go out. I'm sorry, Jess. No wonder you're angry. I forgot.'

What a performance!

‘I'll pass over that. As it happened Mrs Barlow invited me to join her, but I can't pass over what I saw from the cab. What were you doing in Mr George's car, Ivy? It's no good your pretending. I saw you. You know I did. And I know you saw me.' She couldn't wriggle out of this one.

She looked sullen. ‘None of your business.'

‘It's not respectable for a young girl to be out alone with a young man,' I said.

‘Times are changing, Jess. How many times do I 'ave to tell you!'

‘They're not changing that fast,' I retorted. ‘Besides, he's wild, Mr George. You can't trust him.'

‘You think I'm an idiot,' she flashed back. ‘He says he can help me. He says I got real talent.'

‘I believe you, Ivy, but I don't believe him. He doesn't care about us. We're just servants to him. He's using you, Ivy. He's having fun, and when he's bored he'll drop you.'

‘You sound as if you think I can't take care of myself. But I can. What did I say to you, Jess? Look out for yourself and don't worry about everyone else.'

‘If that's what you want.' I shrugged.

‘You won't tell, will you?' She looked scared. Did she really think I would? Surely she knew me better than that?

‘What do you think I am?' I said angrily. ‘You know I won't say a word. But it's lucky for you Mrs Barlow didn't see you, or you'd have lost your place.'

‘I'll be more careful,' she said. ‘I promise.' She hesitated. ‘Jess, I'm sorry about this afternoon. Really I am. I did forget. Please believe me. I just…' She smiled. ‘Got a bit carried away, I suppose.'

I wanted to believe her. ‘So what's he doing in town? I thought he wasn't expected back here yet.' Mr George seemed to spend precious little time at university. He'd come down for the young ladies' coming-out ball but had immediately left again.

‘He's staying with friends,' Ivy said. She smiled. ‘Friends he says he'll introduce me to. Friends who can help me.'

‘No, Ivy.' I shook my head.

‘What do you mean, “No, Ivy”?' she said truculently. ‘Do you want to keep me down? So I always know my place? Always be in service? I'm not like you; it's not enough for me. His friends have contacts in the theatre. Jess, I can't go back to Langdown, I really can't. It's bad enough Robert glowering at me without Maddie making my life miserable, too.'

‘Then look for another job in London,' I said.

‘You mean a job in service? I've just told you what I think about that.'

‘But you'll need a place to live, won't you? And in London at least you're in the right place, for when you're ready to launch yourself.'

It made sense to me.

‘I'm ready now, Jess.'

‘But where will you live?' I exclaimed.

‘As I said, George has got friends…'

I noticed then that she'd dropped the ‘Mr'. She really believed in him, but I felt like shaking her, to make her wake up and see Mr George for the scoundrel I knew he was.

‘What, him – a young gentleman – know people in musical theatre?' I was sceptical.

‘That's what he says. And I believe him.'

‘What, you're giving in notice, are you?'

‘Not yet, but soon.'

I prayed that she'd see sense before she took that step. But there didn't seem to be a lot more I could say.

‘I wish you luck, Ivy,' I said.

‘My life's about to change, Jess. I can't wait!' She flashed me a smile. ‘I'll invite you to my first night.'

I smiled at her, but it was a wistful smile. I envied Ivy her self-belief even while I was afraid for her. But, I told myself, Ivy was a survivor. She'd come through whatever life threw at her. Beside hers, my ambitions seemed puny. All I asked for was a comfortable home and someone to share it with. But I was no nearer that now than I'd ever been.

‘You look a picture.' Baxter sounded almost as if she was in tears. ‘Come and see.' I walked cautiously in my new slippers over to the long mirror and stared at myself. Three ostrich feathers had been wired into my veil. They bobbed up and down every time I moved my head. I didn't look a picture. I looked ridiculous. The sooner this pointless charade was over the better.

Baxter gathered up my train and I slowly descended the stairs. In the hall the servants had assembled to have a peep at Arabella and me decked out in our finery. I saw one or two of the older servants wipe their eyes with a hanky. Arabella looked as if she would faint with excitement.

A footman came to announce that our carriage was ready. As I climbed in, bending my head so that the ostrich feathers would not catch on the hood, I wished that the girl sitting facing me was a friend I could confide in; we could have chatted and giggled and given each other's hands a sympathetic squeeze before we alighted from the carriage.

At the palace we joined the line of carriages crawling up to the entrance. After we'd been helped down from ours, we made our way along the long, lit passages into an anteroom, where hundreds of girls in white were waiting, like us, to be presented, ostrich feathers waving from every head, like a flock of caged birds. If I could have run I would. Arabella had already abandoned me and plunged into a group of her friends. And then I saw Flo and squeezed over to her side.

‘Nervous?' she whispered. I nodded, seeing the terror I felt reflected in her face.

Courtiers ran around us pushing us into an orderly line, and slowly we shuffled towards the throne room where we would make our curtsies one by one. As I advanced up the line of waiting girls I felt my hands inside my white kid gloves grow sticky. Once I crossed the threshold of that room I'd be a fully fledged young lady, and my life would never be the same again. A gentleman-in-waiting bent to spread out my train. There was no escape for me. My heart hammered as I moved forward to the edge of the throne room itself. I stood there swaying slightly, waiting for the command to proceed. The Lord Chamberlain held out his hand for my card. I fumbled for it. ‘Miss Penelope Fitzsimmons,' he announced loudly. My gown whispered over the carpet as I glided slowly forward. I couldn't see anyone or anything clearly. I kept my eyes fixed on my destination – a raised dais at the far end of the room, where a portly bearded man sat on a throne under a crimson canopy, his breast covered with gold braid and medals. The King. By his side, in a gold dress, sparkling with jewels – his queen. Somehow I had to get from here to there. It seemed to take me for ever. Everyone's eyes were on me. Would I trip over my gown, drop my fan, or wobble as I bent my knees in my curtsy?

I reached the dais at last and swept downwards into my curtsy. I was hardly aware what I was doing but I had done this so often now. I lowered my eyes. Now it was time to raise myself. This was the moment we all dreaded – rising without wobbling. Slow. Slow. Slow. I was up. I took a deep breath, stepped to the side, three steps. Now I had to do it all over again, in front of the Queen. She smiled slightly, showing a row of bad teeth. I swept into another curtsy. Down, down, down. I felt as if I could hear Madame's voice in my head. ‘Hold the pose. Now, rise.' I rose – the merest wobble – so slight, she couldn't have noticed, could she? – and I was up. I stepped back, my left arm outstretched to catch my train.
Please hurry!
I felt the train's weight bow my arm as it was flung over it. I walked backwards, curtsying until I was out of the room. I let out my breath in a deep sigh. The ordeal I'd dreaded for so long was over. I made my way into the green dining room where supper awaited us.

A gloved hand touched my arm. I swung round to see Flo. A huge smile of relief broke on both our faces.

‘That's all over, thank goodness,' she said.

‘I wobbled when I curtsied to the Queen.'

‘I was watching, but I didn't notice,' Flo said loyally.

I'd been too far back in the line to see Flo's presentation. ‘And you?'

‘I didn't wobble.' Flo looked proud. ‘How do you feel now it is all over?' she asked.

‘Relieved,' I said with feeling. ‘I'd been dreading it.'

‘Do you feel any different though?'

‘Not really,' I said. ‘Do you?'

‘I do. I feel that I really am a young lady now. I didn't feel like this at my coming-out ball. It's hard to explain…' Her voice tailed off. She smiled to herself. She seemed very far away.

It hadn't changed anything in me. I felt very lonely suddenly. Was there no one among this huge crowd of girls who hated this absurd charade as much as me? A girl came up to Flo and I listened as they talked – they were chattering happily, sharing their memories of their special day. I gave a deep sigh.

‘It's all rather silly, don't you think?' Who was
that
! I turned round hastily. A sharp-featured pretty girl was smiling at me. ‘I heard what your friend said, and I saw your face. And I thought, aha, a girl who feels like me – I hope you don't mind my saying so.'

Did I mind? In the hundreds of girls surrounding me I'd been lucky enough to find one who felt like me.

‘Marjorie Lightfoot,' the girl said, holding out her hand.

‘Penelope Fitzsimmons,' I said, taking it. ‘But my friends call me Polly.'

‘Then I'll call you Polly,' Marjorie said smiling. ‘I didn't want to do this,' she went on, ‘but Mother insisted.' She heaved a deep sigh. ‘I can't think why,' she said. ‘She wasn't presented.'

‘She wasn't? Then…' I stopped. It was none of my business.

‘No, my godmother sponsored me – she is very determined. She says it will improve my chances of making a good marriage. I fear they won't be happy until they've married me off to a duke and I end my days mouldering in some great damp castle. And then of course the King wished it. He winked at me, you know. I don't know how I kept a straight face.'

The King of England winked at the girl I, Polly, was talking to!

‘Don't look so surprised!' Marjorie said. ‘Even a king has friends. He dined at our house several times when Father was still alive. The first time he came I remember hanging over the banister to see him arrive. I was supposed to be in bed. But I wanted to see what he looked like. What child wouldn't? He winked at me then, too! If he hadn't been so amused I'd have been smacked for being disobedient.' A dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘I was very disappointed that he wasn't wearing his crown.'

‘Was he as fat then as he is now?' I asked.

Marjorie nodded. ‘I think so. He likes a good table. Have you never seen the King before today?' she said carelessly, as if there was nothing unusual in it.

‘Never,' I said.

‘Who brought you here today? Your mother I suppose.'

‘My aunt,' I told her.

‘Your aunt?' She gave me a curious look.

‘Mother's dead,' I said flatly.

‘I'm sorry,' Marjorie murmured.

‘Mother was presented at Court, too, I think,' I said, remembering the three ostrich feathers I'd found in the trunk, ‘but she never talked to me about it. I think she probably hated it, too. I don't know if I'd have been presented if she were still alive. We lived in India, you see. I was born there. I'd never even visited England before I came to live here a few months ago. Father's still there.'

‘How exciting!' Marjorie exclaimed. ‘I'd love to visit India. I'm told the maharajahs are gorgeous! Will you go back there to live?'

I shrugged. ‘Not before Aunt's succeeded in making a young lady out of me. So it will probably be a very long time – if ever,' I added.

Marjorie gave me a searching look, and I felt that there was something she wanted to tell me, but she merely smiled. ‘All this business of being a young lady,' she agreed. ‘All these balls, and parties.
So
wearisome. But,' she went on, ‘as we have to go to them, I'd like to feel I had at least one friend to talk to. So tell me, will you be at Lady Gear-Warrington's ball next week?'

‘I expect so – Aunt is determined I will find an eligible husband as soon as may be.'

I felt a pang as I thought of Fred and the tender words he'd written to me. I had written back to him, but the letter still lay locked in my case. I had to find a way to post it without anyone seeing whom it was addressed to. I couldn't very well give it to Baxter or Barrett. Nor would it be easy to post it myself – I was never on my own when we went out.

‘But you don't want to marry, or perhaps you'd rather he wasn't eligible?' Marjorie said. Her eyes danced wickedly.

I felt a blush spread over my face. Marjorie pounced. ‘Ha! I thought so. Well, let me give you a word of advice. Make sure never to dance with a partner more than once in an evening – unless you mean to marry him, of course. Otherwise, dance as often as you like with whomever you like – it doesn't matter how many admirers you have. There is safety in numbers.'

She assumed I had a fancy for a boy I'd met in society. I said nothing. It was safer to let her think so.

I felt sure that a girl as lively as Marjorie would have many admirers. ‘I can see what you're thinking,' she said. ‘Last week I turned down a prince. He was becoming a bore. It was fun at first, but then he started following me about – or rather, he got his minions to watch over me.' She laughed. ‘I'd see these strange men pop out wherever I went. He wrote poems to me, too. But I knew I wouldn't marry him. Who'd want to live in some barren desert, hidden away for ever in a silken tent among a prince's harem! But I kept the jewels,' she said. ‘I'm wearing one of them now. Look!' She held out her hand. An enormous sapphire sparkled on the fourth finger of her left hand.

‘You wear it on your fourth finger!' I gasped.

Marjorie smiled. ‘It helps keep unwelcome suitors at bay. You should try it.'

I tried to imagine Aunt's face if she saw a ring on my fourth finger!

‘I wish we could meet before the ball,' Marjorie said. ‘Perhaps it could be arranged?' She looked at me questioningly.

‘Aunt will never let me meet anyone without a formal introduction. She is very particular. Your mother will need to send round her card.'

‘Who is your aunt?' Marjorie asked.

‘Lady Langdown,' I told her.

‘Oh, not the Awful Arabella's mother?' Marjorie exclaimed. ‘Oh sorry,' she said, ‘have I offended you?' A dimple came and went in her cheek.

‘Not in the least. So you've met Arabella?'

‘I have had that misfortune – yes. She looks down her nose at me. My family is not grand enough.'

‘Even though you've had the King to dine?' I exclaimed.

‘Well, perhaps we're not grand enough for your cousin. We are rich, but not titled. It is an issue for some. But I will ask Mother to send round her card all the same. I promise.'

‘Make it soon,' I said with feeling.

I'd have liked to have gone on talking to Marjorie, but I could see Flo searching for me among the crowd of girls pressed around us in the supper room. She caught my eye and raised her hand. Flo would never do anything so indecorous as wave.

‘I'll have to go,' I said.

‘Well now I know who you are, we will see each other. I'll make sure of that.' She gave a quick nod and I made my way towards Flo.

‘I thought I'd lost you,' she said. ‘I was searching for you everywhere. Who were you talking to?'

‘Her name is Marjorie Lightfoot,' I told her.

‘I don't think I know her,' Flo said.

‘She knows my cousin Arabella,' I said. ‘But she shares our opinion of her.'

‘Then I'm sure I'd like her, too.'

I wonder, I thought, glancing into Flo's gentle face. Marjorie was a rebel, like me. No one could say that of sweet Flo.

As the carriage rolled back to the house, I lay back against the cushions and closed my eyes. Aunt and Arabella were busily picking over the evening. ‘Did you see Lady Horley, what did she think she was wearing? And Lady Richenda nearly fell over, oh the shame of it! I could see what Her Majesty was thinking. And then her jewels…' I let their remarks wash over me. I'd made a new friend and I was determined to see her again soon. I could already feel my popularity soaring to new heights. If Aunt was impressed by an earl's daughter, what would she say when she learned that my new friend's family had had the King to dine! Surely that would satisfy Aunt, even if it wasn't enough for my cousin.