‘He should be looking out for us,’ Granny snapped.
The door swung open and she stalked inside even before Mary saw the butler. Please don’t let Granny make a show of them. Some hope. Then she heard Emma’s gasp of delight and smiled to see her sister gazing at the grand staircase that boasted more carpet than the whole of their house. To one side of the hall was a vast fireplace, and in the middle stood a gleaming table, upon which was a bowl filled with yellow roses, their fragrance mingling with the honey-spicy scent of beeswax. Mary felt a moment’s pride: her own home smelt of beeswax. It made them the same as the Kimbers. Or did it make them the same as their servants?
She tried hard not to see Granny running her finger along the underside of the table.
‘Would you come this way,’ the butler invited them as though conferring a great favour, ‘if madam has finished inspecting the cleaning?’
After a lunch of succulent roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, served on elegant white china with a dainty maroon-and-gold pattern round the rim, Lady Kimber proposed a walk in the gardens. Granny insisted on stopping indoors, claiming her old bones weren’t up to exercise in this heat. It was a blatant lie and Mary could see from the Kimbers’ faces that they knew it, but they could hardly challenge her, so she was left behind.
The flower gardens glowed with colour, their generous borders spilling over and blurring the edges of the paths. Sir Edward took the lead, walking with Dadda, their heads bent together in conversation. Lady Kimber followed with Lilian.
‘Look, Aunt Miriam is on her own,’ said Emma. ‘Coming here can’t be easy for her. The rest of us are proper Kimber relations, but she isn’t.’
‘How grown up you sound.’
‘I am grown up – nearly. You forget how old I am.’
Mary smiled at the note of telling-off. They caught up with Miriam. How pale she looked. Not that she ever had much colour, but her skin looked faded, her eyes strained.
‘Perhaps you should have stopped indoors with Granny,’ said Emma.
‘She only wants to have a nose round and I’m not being a party to that, thank you.’
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Mary suggested. ‘That rose arbour has a seat. You can join us when we go back in.’
Miriam allowed herself to be settled. Leaves rustled, accommodating her. Velvet petals drifted to the ground. Mary and Emma hurried to catch up with the others.
As teatime approached, they went indoors, Lady Kimber leading the way to the morning room, where Granny had been left. With the men letting the ladies precede them, and Lilian pausing to help Emma remove her boater and gloves, Mary found herself behind Lady Kimber. Her Ladyship froze in the doorway. Mary managed not to cannon into her, at the same moment catching the tail-end of a movement – she gasped in horror as Granny sprang clear of the sideboard.
For a bone-chilling moment, she was sure Lady Kimber would utter a remark that would carry to the whole party, but Her Ladyship merely shifted her elegant shoulders the tiniest amount inside her apple-green silk dress and glided into the room. Mary slunk in after her.
‘Please sit down,’ said Lady Kimber. ‘I’ll ring for tea.’
Lady Kimber positioned herself on a sofa long enough to accommodate the entire Maitland family, smiling an invitation at Eleanor to join her. Mary’s gaze travelled from mother to daughter. Was this how Lady Kimber looked years ago? Had her eyes, now hardened to flint, once been that wonderful misty blue?
Then there was Sir Edward. With his dark eyes, broad forehead and thick dark hair shot through with iron-grey, he was a Kimber through and through. You only had to look at the family portraits to know that. Even though Dadda had the same amount of Kimber blood in his veins, he wasn’t a Kimber to look at. He was a big sandy bear of a man. Mam had said that Dadda was the image of Granny’s pa, who had been an ironmonger in Withington.
‘What’s your opinion of this Old Age Pensions Act?’ Sir Edward asked him.
‘It’s sure to improve the lot of a great many old folk and their families. It’ll ease hardship and confer some dignity and, goodness knows, if you live to seventy, you’ve earned those considerations.’
‘Assuming you meet the criteria.’
Granny drew herself up: Mary went cold.
‘Of course,’ said Granny, ‘having married into the Kimber family, such things are beneath me.’
There was a moment of silence, then Lilian said, ‘It was kind of you to include Emma in the invitation.’
‘She’s leaving school soon, unless I’m mistaken.’ Sir Edward looked at Emma. ‘Have you a job?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Emma whispered. Lilian gave her a gentle nudge and she said, ‘I’m going to work in a shop.’
‘Emma isn’t the sort for exams,’ said Dadda, ‘not like our Mary. We thought shop work would suit. In the right kind of shop, of course.’
Mary squirmed. Was he apologising?
‘Perhaps you’ve heard of it,’ said Lilian. ‘Constance and Clara.’
Lady Kimber’s fine brows arched. ‘They’re dressmakers. Rather good ones.’
‘They’re opening their own drapery and haberdashery next door,’ Lilian explained. ‘That’s where Emma will be. We’re proud of her.’
‘The shops in that row are Kimber properties,’ Sir Edward remarked, ‘so you’ll be answerable to me, young lady, as well as Miss Constance and Miss Clara.’
He gave Emma a mock-stern glance and she looked ready to sink through the floor. Dadda and Lilian chuckled dutifully, but Mary didn’t. She was relieved when Emma’s embarrassment was broken by the arrival of plates of dainty sandwiches and cake-stands arrayed with brandy snaps and petticoat tails alongside plump slices of cherry cake.
‘You’re still at the town hall with your father, I take it?’ Sir Edward asked her.
‘As a matter of fact—’ Dadda began.
Before Mary was obliged to spew out a stream of barefaced lies, Granny demanded, ‘Where’s our Miriam?’
Mary caught her breath. Poor Miriam, trapped in the arbour. Was she too overawed to return? ‘She was tired and headachy, so she sat on a bench.’
‘I’ll send a footman,’ said Lady Kimber.
‘I’ll go – if I may,’ Mary offered. It would be a hundred times worse for Miriam, being fetched by a servant, not to mention her own desire to escape the conversation about her work.
‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Quite right, too,’ Granny declared. ‘That’s what servants are for, our Mary.’
Another of those frightful pauses; then the door opened and Miriam crept in, her face grey with embarrassment.
‘I apologise. I fell asleep. The gardener found me.’
‘One of the gardeners, you mean,’ Granny corrected her. ‘You don’t think the Kimbers keep just one, do you?’
‘Thank you. That’ll be all,’ said Lady Kimber and Mary noticed a young maid hovering in the doorway, no doubt memorising every juicy detail for the delight of the servants’ hall.
‘Please sit down, Miss Maitland,’ said Sir Edward.
‘I’m sure tea will revive you,’ said Lady Kimber.
Their good manners were impeccable, but Mary fizzed with the certainty of what they would say when their visitors had gone.
Miriam sank onto a chair, pressing her fingers to her temple.
‘Is your head still bad?’ Lilian asked.
‘You have a headache?’ Sir Edward sounded concerned. ‘And we dragged you out for a walk.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Granny declared. ‘She’s fine.’
‘No, she’s not,’ said Dadda. ‘I think, if you don’t mind, Your Ladyship, we’d best leave straight after tea.’
‘There’s no need for us all to go,’ said Granny.
‘We arrived together and we’ll leave together.’
‘Well, thank you very much, our Miriam.’
Chapter Six
Lady Kimber stood on the front steps at Jackson’s House. Never mind the heat of midsumme
r, she wore a long stole with foxtails, because their reddish hue complemented the light brown of her costume, as did the pheasant feathers adorning her wide-brimmed hat. The ensemble was new and she looked her dignified, bosomy best. She had dressed to dazzle. What woman wouldn’t, when meeting the love of her life, even if it had all been over and done with years ago? She didn’t pretend otherwise. She had long since given over lying to herself. Years ago, she had told herself she could be content with Henry Davenport and that had been the most monumental lie in the history of the world.
She hadn’t told herself the same lie when she married Sir Edward. The time for lies was long past. She had set her cap at him to gain his title, his land, everything that made him a Kimber, not for her own advancement, but to secure the best background she could aspire to for Eleanor. Her heart had been broken for the second time by then – again by Greg; no one else had the power – and it was her daughter who gave her a reason to wake up in the morning. For Eleanor she would do anything – even, for the second time in her life, marry a man she couldn’t love.
On the day she married Sir Edward, she had ceased to be Christina. She had become Lady Kimber, embracing the identity wholeheartedly. For Eleanor’s sake.
Now she was back at Jackson’s House. It was impossible not to be swamped by memories. She was here to see Greg, her Greg. Always her Greg. Always and for ever, in spite of everything.
The front door opened and her heart pounded as she set foot in the house that had seen her great love affair – and her heartbreak.
‘Mr Rawley, please.’
‘I’m sorry, m’lady, he’s not here.’
‘What Edith means is, he’s away,’ said a new voice and her bones froze as Aunt Helen descended the stairs.
‘When will he return?’
‘I couldn’t say. Please stay. The morning room catches the sun at this time of day … as you may recall.’
Vexation warred with good breeding, though what she predominantly felt was outrage at being manoeuvred into socialising with this infernal creature who had brought her young life crashing about her ears. Oh, the temptation to turn on her elegant Louis heel and march out, but she had greater dignity than that. Besides, she needed to know when Greg would return. He wasn’t here: a fist squeezed her heart.
She entered the morning room, her gaze flying across a blur of velvet and walnut to where Greg had once seduced her on the hearthrug. More than once, actually.
Sunshine streamed through the windows that overlooked the back garden. In the corner of the thick privet hedge was the old wooden door through which she and Greg had crept the night they eloped. He had carried a lantern, holding her elbow as they hastened down the years-worn path to the bridge. Jackson’s Boat, it was called, Lancashire this side, Cheshire the other. Their footsteps had made a soft clatter on the wooden planks as they raced to freedom. Her heart had clattered too, just as it was clattering now.
But freedom had been short-lived. She had been dragged back by Helen, all the pleading and fury in the world counting for nothing. Helen had handed her back to her distraught parents. They had laid the blame squarely at Greg’s door. But even more than him, they blamed Helen, who hadn’t seen the love affair blossoming under her nose. They never forgave her. And they weren’t the only ones.
Oh, the misery of the months that followed. Her parents had produced Henry Davenport and pushed and pushed until, hearing Greg had gone abroad, she had given in and married him, a bride at eighteen, the same age her beloved Eleanor was now, joined to a man her father’s age – but that had held a certain appeal at the time, offering a suggestion of being protected and looked after. And after all, Greg had vanished.
Now he was master of Jackson’s House. What did Helen make of that? That had been cruel of Uncle Robert. Or maybe he hadn’t known. Certainly, Helen had bent over backwards to keep the failed elopement secret.
She looked at the old lady. She had been scrawny, badly dressed and energetic in those days. She was still scrawny and badly dressed, but Lady Kimber had no intention of underestimating her by imagining her too old to have energy.
Helen returned her gaze, eyes wary. Had she too been overtaken by a storm of memories?
‘Won’t you sit down?’ said Helen. ‘I was so pleased to see Eleanor at the funeral. Such a lovely girl, so pretty. I wish you’d brought her today.’
‘I’m surprised you even suggest it.’
‘Wasn’t she curious about me?’
‘It doesn’t signify if she was. She’s going to be kept busy from now on.’
‘Ah yes, she’s at that age, isn’t she?’
‘I’ll be keeping a close eye on her.’
‘Like I failed to keep on you?’ Helen asked tartly. ‘Perhaps I’ll get in touch with her once she’s married, then she can make up her own mind.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But it won’t happen.’
‘How can you be sure? Once she’s married—’
‘She’ll still have me at her side to guide and prepare her.’
‘Prepare her?’
‘Eleanor will be the next Lady Kimber. She’s going to marry the heir. I’m in the enviable position of knowing my daughter will succeed to my title. How many women can say that?’
‘And what do the young people think?’
‘Eleanor has always looked up to Charlie. She used to follow him around when they were children and he made a pet of her.’
‘It’s a big step from that to marriage.’
‘Not so big. They haven’t seen one another while he was at Cambridge, but he’s staying with us now and let’s just say that when Eleanor walked into the room, he looked twice.’
‘I hope she’s happy, that’s all.’
‘Really? That’s an improvement on what you wished for me. When do you expect Greg back?’
‘I-I couldn’t say.’ Helen stumbled over the change of subject. ‘He’s in London, I believe.’
‘Closing up his rooms before he moves here permanently?’
‘I couldn’t say. I’m not sure he’ll even come back.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. All this belongs to him now.’
‘Ah. You haven’t heard about the will?’
She listened in increasing astonishment as Helen explained.
‘I hope you aren’t contemplating anything foolish,’ said Helen. ‘Coming here, looking for Greg …’
‘Same old Aunt Helen. Never could leave well alone, could you?’
‘I’d have been only too pleased to leave things alone, had they been well.’
She came to her feet. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Don’t go – please. Please.’
She waited. Helen might have got in that veiled dig, but victory wasn’t hers. No one with those anxious, pleading eyes could gain victory.
‘Won’t you please stay? Edith’s fetching tea.’
Hope and fear grew in the old woman’s eyes. Lady Kimber turned and left.
I have an appointment regarding my new job. Well, it was half true. Mary finished the note, signed it, slid it into an envelope, addressed it to John Maitland Esq. and dropped it in the post-tray. Dadda would read it at his desk around the same time that Lilian received the postcard she had sneaked into the pillar box in Albert Square that morning, saying she would be late home for tea. Would she have good news for them later? That half-truth was going to generate a flood of questions and she needed to be able to talk confidently about fresh prospects.
As six o’clock struck, she hung back, to Spotty Ronnie’s evident frustration. She couldn’t afford to bump into Dadda as he left the building.
At last she was on the tram, willing it to go faster. Alighting at Wilbraham Road, she hurried to the agency, throwing a prayer heavenwards as she hurried upstairs.
‘Look who it is,’ Miss Lever said. ‘I say, are you all right? Have a seat.’
She poured out her troubles. ‘So I need another post before my notice is up.’ Catching a look passing between the tw
o, she stopped. Would they have nothing for her?
Miss Kennett indicated a door in the corner. ‘Be a duck and pop the kettle on, would you? I know it sounds a frightful cheek, but Lever and I need a private word.’
She found a minuscule kitchen with a sink, a gas ring and a couple of shelves bearing a surprising quantity of crockery. When she brought a tray through a few minutes later, she was greeted by smiles.
‘That letter you wrote us was jolly good,’ said Miss Kennett, ‘better than most we receive, and your experience sounds just what we’re after for a new post right here with us. We need an efficient body to run the office. Lever and I are fine at pointing women in the right direction, but we’re not so hot on record-keeping and so forth.’
‘We need someone to keep us in line.’ Miss Lever leant forward coaxingly. ‘Would you give it a go?’
‘So,’ Lilian sniffed, ‘they want a dogsbody.’
‘I’ll be responsible for the clerical side of things,’ Mary explained. ‘First I’ll get the office routines up to scratch—’
‘Like I said: dogsbody. Two upper-class ladies playing at working and needing a skivvy.’
‘It’s not skivvying. It’s responsible work – important, too, helping women find decent jobs.’ Something stiffened inside her: defiance. She smoothed her expression.
She had never seen Dadda angry, but he had a way of looking serious that spoke of displeasure.
‘I’m not happy about this: the job itself or the way you got it.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased I sorted out the problem myself.’ She wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t going to apologise.
‘It’s not up to you to do that,’ said Lilian. ‘You should turn to your father.’
‘I’m over twenty-one,’ Mary cried. Dear heaven, what was the point of being called sensible all your life if you couldn’t be trusted to cope in a sticky situation?
‘Aye, and a decent girl, properly fetched up,’ Lilian retorted, ‘which makes it all the more surprising and disappointing you went behind our backs.’
‘I would visit this agency and see what’s what,’ said Dadda, ‘but she’s already taken the job and can’t back out without looking bad. We can’t have a Maitland being unreliable.’
The Poor Relation Page 5
