The Housekeeper's Daughter

by Rose Meddon

  She returned her attention to Mrs Russell. She was cajoling the remaining men, urging them up from their comfy positions on the sofas to fetch Mrs Latimer’s ladder-back chairs from the corners of the room and arrange them in the centre. Pointing towards the rugs, she twirled about, inscribing an imaginary circle with her hand as she went. The chairs duly arranged, Mrs Russell made minute adjustments to their positions. At last, evidently satisfied, she stood back and surveyed the scene, giving Kate the opportunity to study her appearance. Dressed in a satiny fabric that wrapped across her front and then fell in soft folds to gather about her ankles, she looked like one of the fashion plates from Miss Naomi’s latest magazine – one from the section entitled In the Oriental Style. Earlier, a furtive flick through its pages had revealed such unorthodox outfits to be the “audacious designs” of a French couturier called Paul Poiret; his daring garments hailed by the publication as being “the latest thing”.

  Held in place by a wide sash at her waist, Mrs Russell’s outfit looked more suited to her bedroom than the drawing room; indeed, were any other woman to don such a simple gown, she would look as though preparing to retire for the night. Somehow, though, with her jaw-length wavy hair partly concealed under a bandeau of the same fabric, Pamela Russell carried it off. To be fair, she did more than carry it off; she wore it with style. With her languid movements and devil-may-care attitude, not only did she make it seem perfectly acceptable, she made the gown of every other woman in the room look stuffy and prim – as though designed for approval by the late Queen Victoria herself. Even the colour of the material was eye-catching: dark enough to appear black, when it moved beneath the lamplight, it shimmered the deepest of blues. Indigo. No, midnight.

  ‘Now, everyone. Do hurry up and take a seat. No, not back there, Ralph, here, in the circle, you ninny. You too, Cicely, come on. That’s it, Naomi, good girl. Now, I just need something with which to blindfold Aubrey.’ From around her neck, she unwound her silk scarf. ‘This will do. Aubrey, be a dear and stand still.’

  In the half-light of the hallway, Kate shook her head in disbelief. With Aubrey now blindfolded, Pamela Russell placed the cushion in his hands and then whispered something into his ear. Pressing on his shoulders, she spun him first in one direction and then back in the other.

  Unsteadily, Aubrey Colborne edged his way out from the centre of the circle, quickly colliding with the legs of his brother, Lawrence. For certain he was aiming for Miss Naomi, Kate thought, watching him bend to place the cushion where he evidently imagined her lap to be. From the other participants came guffaws and titters of amusement.

  ‘Shush!’ someone urged.

  Sitting squarely on his brother’s lap, Aubrey gave the command, ‘Squeak, piggy, squeak.’

  With a perfectly straight face, Lawrence drew a short breath and offered a plaintive, ‘Squeeek?’

  From her vantage point, Kate saw a frown crease Aubrey’s forehead. Clearly, that wasn’t the response he had been expecting. ‘Squeak, piggy, squeak,’ he once again instructed.

  ‘Squeeek.’

  By now the room was in uproar and, with no desire to be discovered, Kate quickly pressed a hand to her mouth.

  ‘I say, what’s going on?’

  Startled, she turned sharply about. Oh, dear Lord, Mr Edwin! Now she was for it. Quickly, she straightened up and directed her gaze over his shoulder. By chance, it landed on the clock-face. Ten minutes before eleven. Not that it mattered.

  There being little point trying to disguise what she had been doing, she cleared her throat and, at half her usual volume, said, ‘A parlour game, sir.’

  ‘Can you see which one? I shouldn’t mind knowing which particular humiliation I’m about to let myself in for.’

  Not the sort of response she had been expecting, she froze. ‘Um…’

  Deciding to look for himself, Ned Russell leant across to peer through Kate’s spy-hole. ‘Aha! Squeak, piggy, squeak, one of Mother’s favourites. Breaks the ice, or so she’d have it.’

  ‘Breaks the ice, sir?’ In the circumstances, it seemed only polite to respond, especially since it was he who had addressed her.

  ‘Yes, you know, gets people to relax and let down their guard – stops everyone standing about like stuffed shirts.’

  ‘Stuffed shirts?’ Fearing she was beginning to sound like a parrot, Kate hurried on. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry – it was a favourite expression of one of my professors at college. It’s used to describe someone who’s stiff and starchy and entirely lacking in… well, in character or interest.’

  With a polite smile, Kate nodded. ‘Oh, I see.’ Although Mr Edwin sounded reassuringly ordinary, she nevertheless felt it expedient to excuse herself and slip away. No sense in letting a harmless encounter end in trouble. ‘Well, begging your pardon, sir, but I’d best be getting back along. I only came to—’

  ‘—to see what all the commotion was?’

  Was he sparing her embarrassment? Was he presenting her with an excuse for having been there when, clearly, there could have been none? If so, what a gentleman he was. ‘Yes, sir,’ she opted to agree. ‘That I was.’

  ‘Then please be assured that all is well. It is only Mamma trying to ensure that everyone enjoys themselves. Despite the shrieking, there is no cause for alarm.’

  Carefully, she exhaled with relief. ‘Thank you, sir.’ But, just to be sure there was no chance of this misfortune catching up with her later on, she decided to risk making doubly certain of how things stood. To her mind, trouble was always best nipped in the bud, especially where her mother was concerned. ‘That being the case, sir, might you be inclined to… overlook… that I was even here?’

  Despite the murkiness of the hallway, she could see a row of white teeth showing between parted lips.

  ‘In this light, it would be hard to be certain that anyone was here – let alone speak as to their identity, even were it to be at the insistence of the local constabulary.’

  He had a sense of humour, too. What luck! ‘Then I bid you goodnight, sir.’

  ‘And I you, faint apparition.’

  Having scarcely dared to breathe throughout their entire exchange, when Kate turned to slip away along the corridor, she gulped with relief. What a perfectly polite and reasonable young man he seemed. And what a lovely soft voice he had – not in the least shrill, like his mother’s.

  Faint apparition. What a lovely thing to be called!

  * * *

  ‘Did you enjoy yourself last evening, miss?’ It was the morning following Kate’s encounter with Ned and, gripping Miss Naomi’s breakfast tray tightly, she was negotiating her way between the pieces of furniture in the still-darkened room.

  ‘It was certainly a long one,’ Naomi Russell replied, raising herself up from beneath the bedcovers and stretching two pale arms above her head. ‘Goodness, we were late to bed.’

  With Naomi settled, Kate placed the tray across her lap, thinking rather belatedly to make a quick check of its contents. Cup, saucer, teaspoon. Milk jug, sugar bowl, strainer. Tea in the pot. Butter dish, marmalade, spoon, knife. Two lightly-boiled eggs. And, in the rack, toast with the crusts removed – the latter striking her as pitiful given that Miss Naomi was neither an infant nor an invalid.

  ‘But you enjoyed yourself, miss?’

  ‘It was mildly diverting, I suppose. Mamma’s very good at getting people to join in, even when they don’t really want to. Incidentally, I learned yesterday that in a couple of days, Aunt Diana will be down to stay. If you think Mamma is lively, wait until you meet her sister. She’s incorrigible. When we were growing up, Ned and I always used to think she was the perfect aunt. She would show up at our schools and take us out for tea. And she would buy us lots of tuck to take back with us. Ned used to love her for that. I used to give a lot of mine away, but Ned, well, I remember him saying that despite trying every trick he could think of to stop himself eating it all at once, by the end of the next day h
e had always finished every last ounce of it. And then, of course, for ages afterwards, he would feel horribly sick.’

  Watching Miss Naomi adjust her napkin, Kate smiled. And then, in the name of conversation, she asked, ‘Was your school far from home, miss?’

  ‘Not very far, no. We boarded in Kent.’

  With no idea of where that was, Kate nodded. Moving across to the window to draw the curtains a little wider, and hearing Miss Naomi scraping butter across a piece of toast, she asked, ‘Was it odd being apart from him?’ She knew that by asking so many questions she was risking a reprimand but, ordinarily, guests of the Latimers were old people, usually well into their forties, not young and interesting like Miss Naomi and Mr Edwin. And that was another thing, having never met any twins before, she found herself intrigued. At least Miss Naomi seemed untroubled by her curiosity.

  ‘It was rather odd, yes. The hardest part was that he went away first – the autumn after we turned eight – whereas I had to remain at home with a governess until I was eleven. He always came back so full of tales of the fun he’d had that I couldn’t wait to be allowed to go away. It was horrible being left behind at the start of every new term.’

  Turning back into the room and looking about, Kate went to the dressing table and started to tease the hair from the bristles of Miss Naomi’s hairbrush. If she continued to tread carefully, there was no reason why she couldn’t find out even more about these Russell children. The world they inhabited was certainly an unfamiliar one. ‘And then Mr Edwin went to university,’ she said to that end.

  ‘He did, yes. Oxford. He didn’t think he’d be accepted, but I knew he would be. He’s terribly smart and dreadfully committed. Whatever he does, he gives it his all.’

  Carefully placing the brush back on the vanity tray, Kate decided it safe to ask one last question. ‘And what will he do now, miss?’

  Naomi Russell dipped the corner of a triangle of buttered toast into her egg. ‘He’s supposed to be joining Papa’s business. Naturally, it’s been the plan all along. But I have to say—’ Looking quickly to the door, Naomi Russell lowered her voice before going on to add, ‘Between you and me, he’s not that keen. On the other hand, neither does he wish to incur Papa’s wrath, which he surely would were he to announce that he wanted to do something else. Either way, I’ve begged him not to upset either of our parents with the matter whilst we’re down here. Mamma’s talked of nothing but this holiday for months. I think she sees this as her last chance for us all to be together.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘And she won’t thank him for causing ructions. Although, with the way things are going, it might not be Ned who causes those. If Mamma keeps foisting Aubrey Colborne upon me, I might just raise a few of my own.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ she agreed. The few snippets she had uncovered about the Russell children were fascinating but perhaps, before she could put her foot in it, she should withdraw. No sense overstepping the mark when, generally, things were going along quite nicely. ‘Well, if you will excuse me, miss,’ she ventured to that end, ‘I’ll leave you to finish your breakfast in peace.’

  ‘Very well. Incidentally, these eggs are delicious – just like those we used to have when I was finishing in Switzerland. They came from a little farm up the valley.’

  ‘Glad you like them, miss. I’ll tell Edith. And I’ll be back in a while to help you dress.’

  Slipping from the room, Kate closed the door behind her and stood for a moment in the corridor to reflect upon what she had just learned. For all of their apparent freedom, the Russell children seemed rather without purpose, neither of them having much idea of what they were going to do with their lives. Well, obviously, Miss Naomi would be getting married – and to Aubrey Colborne, if her mother had anything to do with it. Being pressed to marry was something they had in common. Beyond that single coincidence, though, two more different lives it was hard to imagine. Would she swap places with her? Not if, in doing so, she would be faced with having to marry Aubrey Colborne. No, thank you very much. If those were the terms, she would rather stay where she was. That aside, of course she would swap places. Offered the chance to become part of the Russell family, she would leave the drudgery of service in a heartbeat. And she doubted there was a maid in the land who wouldn’t say the same.

  * * *

  ‘So, what’re they like, then?’

  It was later that same day and, having washed out the little squares of muslin Miss Naomi used to remove the cosmetic preparations from her face, Kate was pegging them to the clothes-line in the yard.

  ‘Happen she’s not as bad as I’d feared,’ she replied to Luke’s question.

  ‘The daughter, you mean?’

  ‘Miss Naomi, yes.’

  Leaning against the wall of the laundry, he stared across at her. ‘And the rest o’ they?’

  She shrugged. ‘Very different folk from the Latimers, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Suppose they would be,’ he acknowledged, ‘the Latimers are gentry – this lot are just folk with money.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Any rate, reckon you’ll be free later to walk out with me?’

  Without even stopping to think, Kate shook her head. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Even as the words left her mouth, though, she felt mean. She was almost certain to have a few odd minutes to herself at some point. At least, she would if she was crafty. Yesterday, she’d realized that being Miss Naomi’s lady’s maid had an unforeseen upside: it wasn’t always possible for Ma to know where she was or what she’d been asked to do. So, if she wanted to avoid being given more housekeeping duties, all she had to do was say that she was already engaged on a task for Miss Naomi. As long as she said it with conviction, Ma was unlikely to be any the wiser. But, where Luke was concerned, after their little spat the other day about getting wed, she didn’t feel inclined to risk her ruse for his benefit.

  Glancing up, she noticed that he was wearily shaking his head.

  ‘Truthfully?’ he said. ‘You’re that busy you can’t even spare ten minutes to step out with me?’

  Still feeling mean, she made her smile a deliberately warm one. ‘Sorry,’ she said, going across and slipping her arm about his waist. ‘But this lady’s maid business is never ending. If I thought I never had a still moment as a housemaid, I hadn’t counted upon having to one day work for the likes of madam.’

  He pulled her closer. ‘Running you ragged, is she?’

  Carefully, she disentangled herself. ‘And then some.’

  ‘All right. Well, happen you’ll have some time tomorrow.’

  Starting to move away from him, she nodded. ‘With a fair wind, aye, who knows? But, right this moment, I’d best be getting back indoors – caught her heel in the hem of her skirt, didn’t she? Wants it stitching, don’t she?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, the shake of his head a rueful one. ‘And I’d best get back to pinching out the side-shoots on them tomatoes. Again.’

  Watching him go through into the main yard, Kate felt a prickle of unease. She hadn’t lied to him, not really. On the other hand, she hadn’t been entirely truthful, either. She probably would have some free time later, it was just that she didn’t really feel like spending it with him. If, later on – and at a loss as to know what else to do with herself – she had a change of heart, she could always seek him out. It wasn’t as though he would be hard to find.

  With a shake of her head, she turned towards the tradesman’s porch. Once inside though, she was brought to a halt by something of a commotion in the kitchen corridor. After the dazzling brightness of the yard, she strained her eyes to make out a young woman with a small child tugging at her skirt. In her arms appeared to be a swaddled infant and, tearing back and forth over the same few yards of corridor, his bare feet slapping upon the stone floor, was a small boy.

  She frowned. Gypsies, again?

  ‘Stop that, Frankie,’ a weary voice pleaded. ‘Unless you be a-wanting another clout.’

 
Liddy Beer? Was that really Liddy Beer – or, as she had more properly become, Liddy Tucker? What on earth was she doing back at Woodicombe?

  Squinting in disbelief, she went towards her. ‘Liddy?’ she ventured. ‘Is that you?’

  Swiftly, the young woman turned about. ‘Saints alive! Kate! You’re still here! I thought you’d be long since wed and gone.’

  Before she knew it, and with no care for the fact that her sleeping baby was being squashed between the two of them, Liddy Tucker was giving her a one-armed hug, filling her nostrils with earthy aromas, with perspiration and the scent of milk.

  Struggling to conceal her shock at Liddy’s bedraggled appearance, she carefully extricated herself from their embrace. ‘Whatever are you doing back here?’ she asked.

  In the days when she had been a housemaid, Liddy Beer had always been most particular about her looks, her light brown hair regularly washed, her complexion clear and her figure trim. Where was that fastidious girl now? What had happened to reduce her to this state of dishevelment? Her face was puffy, her eyes heavy, and her hair was in need of a good lathering with some Castile soap. To cap it all, the mean row of lace around the neckline of her greying blouse was coming unstitched. And if she was wearing a chemise beneath it, it had to be of the most thread-bare and worn-through fabric imaginable.

  ‘Frank Tucker, stop that this minute,’ Liddy raised her voice in the direction of the little boy still charging up and down the corridor. ‘Sorry about ‘im,’ she added with a hapless shrug. ‘Never stops, that one. On the go from morn till night. Even a good strapping from his father don’t slow ‘im down.’