Poor Little Rich Girl (5 page)

Mumble, mumble, mumble, went Mrs Jackson’s voice. Hester could not hear what the woman was saying, but in any case her protest was soon cut off by Miss Hetherington-Smith.

‘So you will kindly pack your bags, Jackson, and leave at once. I dare say you won’t be surprised to
learn that I do not intend to give you a reference.’ Miss Hetherington-Smith’s voice took on a note of deep sarcasm. ‘Not that the absence of a recommendation will bother
you
, since I have no doubt that you personally wrote the excellent references which enabled you to get your position here.’

For the first time, Mrs Jackson’s voice rose from a mutter to a squawk. ‘I never. Oh, miss, I’ve been ill, norrable to do me wairk like what I normally would! Oh, miss, gimme another chance and I’ll show you wharr I can do. Honest to God, miss …’

‘No, Jackson.’ Miss Hetherington-Smith’s voice was now full of sweet reason. ‘You have had four whole weeks in which to show me your skills, and according to your fellow servants all you’ve shown is a remarkable ability to pass work on to others’ – here Miss Hetherington-Smith’s voice dropped and Hester had to strain to hear the next words – ‘and a great liking for the contents of the bottles which my dear father always kept in his cellars and are now only brought out when we have male company.’

There was another squawk from the cook but even to Hester’s ears this protest lacked conviction. She could hear Mrs Jackson protesting that her mistress’s words were a terrible libel on one who had never touched a drop and signed the pledge at the age of ten, but at this point the sound of footsteps came from the direction of the servants’ quarters and Hester shooed her charge towards the stairs, saying nothing till they reached the security of the nursery. Then Hester blew out her cheeks and flopped into a chair, smiling at Leonora as she did so. ‘Phew! I suppose you heard as much as I did, Lonnie, and I hope you realise that we were eavesdropping and of course eavesdropping is wrong. The truth is, I was
so stunned to hear Miss Hetherington-Smith almost shouting that – that I forgot my duty was to ignore it and come straight up here. So we must forget we listened. Is that clear?’

‘I don’t see why it matters,’ Lonnie observed. She knelt down on the rug before the nursery fire and took the kitten out of the paper bag. Settling herself comfortably on a cushion with the small animal on her lap, she glanced up at the older girl. ‘I’ve never met the cook but I’ve eaten her awful food – or tried to, that is – and I can tell you, Miss Elliott, that if she had served food like that to my father in India, he would have ordered her to be torn to pieces by tigers.’

Despite herself, Hester laughed. Not knowing anything about English domestic habits, Hester had assumed that the cold tapioca puddings which had to be carved rather than spooned from their dish, the stews which lurked, almost meatless, below a thick icing of fat, and the inedible boiled potatoes, raw in the middle and falling to pieces on the outside, were considered unsuitable for the ladies of the house but good enough for children and governesses. Hester had taken to buying biscuits and milk and a bag of apples or oranges every time she ventured out, and she and Leonora existed mainly on such fare.

‘Don’t forget I’ve lived in India even longer than yourself, young lady,’ she said. ‘However, I agree that your father would not have tolerated such dreadful food for a week, let alone a month. If Miss Hetherington-Smith engages another cook, at least we may expect nicer meals in future.’

‘I like the milk and biscuits,’ Lonnie observed. Abruptly, she scrambled to her feet, putting the kitten carefully down upon the nearest chair. ‘Should
I run down to the kitchen at once, Elliott, before the cook leaves, and ask her for some bread and milk for Kitty?’

‘If you call me Elliott I shall confiscate the kitten and you will find yourself eating bread and water for a week,’ Hester said, only half jokingly. ‘You really must begin to treat adults with a little more respect.’

‘But you’re only a servant …’ Lonnie began, then stopped short. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said humbly. ‘My
ayah
was a servant but you’re English, and I suppose that makes a difference, doesn’t it?’

Hester sighed. Not for the first time, she felt considerable annoyance over the way Mr Hetherington-Smith had reared his daughter, though it was no different, she knew, from the way most English children were treated on the sub-continent. He had allowed her to consider the servants as inferior beings; in fact it seemed he had encouraged the little girl to believe herself superior to just about everyone. I am going to have to start from scratch, Hester told herself, picking up the kitten and holding it under her chin so that she could feel its purr vibrating through her throat. It really isn’t the child’s fault that she’s so detestable; it’s her upbringing. Aloud, she said: ‘Lonnie, you have a great deal to learn and you may start by remembering that you are a small girl and therefore less important than anyone older than yourself. Can you understand that?’

‘No, not really,’ Lonnie said thoughtfully. ‘But you haven’t answered my question. What
am
I to call you?’

‘I think it might be easiest if you used my Christian name, which is Hester,’ Hester said. ‘Since I call you Lonnie and not Miss Leonora, it seems fair enough that you should drop the “Miss” as well. But don’t
go calling other adults by their first names or they will think you very pert and disagreeable. And now that we’re on the subject, it is not “done” in England to call people by their surnames only; my father used to say all names had a handle and the handle is Mr, Mrs, or Miss.’

‘But Aunt Emmeline called the cook Jackson,’ Lonnie objected. ‘And you called the gardener Mimms yesterday morning, when you were asking him to cut some flowers for the nursery.’

‘There’s another saying which you would do well to remember:
don’t do as I do, do as I tell you
,’ Hester said, with all the patience she could muster. ‘There are lots of sayings which you would do well to learn and abide by. I shall have to write them out for you so that you can learn them by heart.’

Lonnie was halfway to the door, but she paused and looked back. ‘What sort of sayings?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘Perhaps I already know them – my
ayah
was very fond of sayings.’

‘Oh, things like:
little pitchers have long ears; out of sight, out of mind; do as you would be done by; children should be seen and not heard
,’ Hester said glibly, reeling off the well remembered phrases. ‘Now you go off and fetch some milk and I’ll go down to the garden and get Mimms to make up an earth box for Kitty here.’

The two of them left the room and began to descend the stairs. ‘Can I carry the kitten?’ Lonnie said hopefully, but Hester shook her head.

‘Better not take her into the kitchens until you’ve found out how they feel about cats,’ she advised. ‘If Kitty were to puddle on the kitchen floor, it might set the servants against her and we wouldn’t like that, would we?’

‘What about Mimms? I dare say he may not like cats scratching up his garden,’ Lonnie remarked, with quite astonishing shrewdness, considering that she had never owned a cat. ‘And what’s an earth box, anyway?’

‘When kittens are very small and live at the top of the house, they can’t get into the garden to – to attend to their business,’ Hester said guardedly. ‘Kittens are clean little creatures, however, and if we provide a box full of earth the kitten will use it as its WC. Of course, you will have to empty and refill it every day, but you won’t mind that, will you?’

Lonnie, who had been trotting happily down the stairs by Hester’s side, stopped short, eyes and mouth rounding in dismay. ‘You want
me
to empty kitten poo?’ she enquired incredulously. ‘But Ell … I mean Hester … only an untouchable would do such a thing!’

‘If you want a pet, then you must keep it clean,’ Hester said firmly. ‘Besides, who else could do it? There are no untouchables in England, Lonnie.’

‘Mimms could; or – or the girl with the ginger hair and a tooth missing. Or you could,’ Lonnie said promptly. ‘I don’t see why I should. I’m not even a bit like a servant!’

Hester bit her lip; the child was impossible! But if she did not deal promptly with Lonnie’s queries, the girl would never learn. ‘Don’t argue all the time, Lonnie! Remember,
children should be seen and not heard
. There is no question of anyone else feeding, grooming or clearing up after Kitty. If you mean to keep her, then you must do all those things yourself. But it isn’t too late; I’m sure the man in the pet shop will take her back if you’ve changed your mind.’

‘Oh, I haven’t, I haven’t!’ Lonnie squeaked, clearly
horrified at the mere suggestion. ‘I’ll clean the earth tray, honestly I will, Hester. But no one else may play with Kitty either, because if I have to do the dirty things, then I may have the fun as well, mayn’t I?’

They had reached the hall by this time and Hester agreed that if her charge looked after the kitten, then she might be the only one to play with it as well. After that, she made her way into the garden to beg a seed box filled with earth for Lonnie’s new possession while the younger girl trotted kitchenwards.

Ben followed the two girls and their kitten and was much impressed, when they reached Shaw Street, by the size and splendour of the house into which they disappeared. Joseph, he reflected, had certainly gone up in the world. The house was brick-built, slate-roofed and huge. The windows were tall and narrow, giving the house, Ben thought, rather a mean look, but the front door, large and imposing with a big brass knocker in its centre, an even bigger brass letter box and a huge bell-pull hanging beside it, looked so opulent that it offset the narrow windows.

‘I wonder what it looks like round the back?’ Ben muttered to himself. Ever curious, he walked down Everton Brow and turned left into Haig Street, realising that the house had a huge garden, bounded by a twelve-foot wall. When he stood on the opposite pavement and looked up at the house, he realised that the attic rooms would have a wonderful view and quite envied whoever lived up there; they would be able to see the docks and the River Mersey right across to Birkenhead, he thought enviously, and wondered if it was where the girl – Lonnie – slept. He also wondered what sort of a garden they possessed and whether it was any good for games. Although there
was a small wooden door in the wall leading on to Haig Street, it was firmly bolted and in excellent condition; he tried peeping around the edges but it fitted snugly and he could see nothing. Tilting his head back, he looked up at the great, sooty brick wall, but it was far too high to even think of scaling it, which meant he would not be able to get so much as a glimpse of what lay beyond. He knew that there were trees since he could see branches swaying in the breeze above the wall, but other than that the garden was a closed book.

Since he was on Haig Street, he decided it might be worth while to take a look at the other properties; maybe they would not all be so well protected. Accordingly, he strolled along the pavement, peering curiously at the backs of the great houses as he passed them, and very soon found premises into which he could peer with ease. There was a board attached to the gate in the wall here, which read
Catholic Women’s League Residential Club
. It appeared that the Catholic Women were not as fussy about the upkeep of their property as other residents, for the little door fitted very badly and in fact was hanging by one hinge. By standing on tiptoe, Ben was able to see into the garden. It was a pleasant sight on this sunny May morning. There was a terrace close to the house upon which a number of wrought-iron tables and chairs had been set out. Below the terrace was a wide lawn upon which Ben could see some small metal arches, and closer to Ben was a tarmacked area marked with white lines, with a net suspended about six feet from the ground, bisecting it. Not tennis, Ben mused, nor yet any of the other games he had seen being played in the city parks. He decided he would come back one evening to satisfy his curiosity, then moved on
a bit further until he came to a somewhat run down property whose door actually stood open. Above the door the legend
Father Branningan’s Orphan Asylum
made Ben start forward eagerly. Several members of the Branny attended his school; he might actually see someone he knew in the garden.

This, however, did not prove to be the case. There were half a dozen boys hunting a ball about on the rough ground within the walls, but though Ben took a good look at them they were mostly older than he and he knew none of them.

Retracing his steps, Ben decided that Miss Elliott and miserable little Lonnie were fortunate in their neighbours. The houses directly adjacent to their own were respectable and well kept and when Lonnie was a bit older she could, if she wished, go further along the road and get to know the Father Branny boys. Ben knew from his own experience that they were a friendly lot and guessed they would welcome a neighbour popping in for the odd game of football or cricket.

Walking past the house into which his kitten had disappeared, Ben glanced up at the attic windows and was gratified to see a small face pressed wistfully against the glass. So he had been right! The miserable little girl and her companion must occupy the attic rooms, for even at this distance he recognised Lonnie’s limp hair and pallored, unhealthy-looking complexion. What was more, the child in the window was holding up something small and furry, clearly letting the kitten see what a grand home it now possessed. Much heartened by this, Ben waved and shouted and after a moment Lonnie waved back, though no one could have called it an enthusiastic greeting and indeed, immediately
afterwards, she disappeared from behind the glass and did not re-appear again, though Ben waited for several moments more before turning his steps homeward.