The Housekeeper's Daughter

by Rose Meddon

  ‘Well, next time Miss Naomi wants to whisk you off with her, have the common decency to mention it to me before you go, or so help me God, I’ll put you to work in the scullery. Don’t think just because you’re my daughter I wouldn’t do it, either. I knew no good would come of this arrangement – giving you ideas, that’s what she’s doing. Well, I won’t tolerate such flagrant disregard. Take one more step out of line and you’ll wish you hadn’t, that much I promise you.’

  Unable to help it, Kate shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘As I wish? I’ll tell you this, young lady, if it wasn’t for leaving Miss Naomi in the lurch and for upsetting her mother, I’d march you down to that scullery right this very minute and set you to the dishes so fast, your feet wouldn’t touch the ground. You’re that close to it. Heed my warning and do not wear my patience this thin again.’

  Feeling as though biting her tongue was completely beyond her, it was only the memory of sitting next to Ned and watching as he devoured his cream tea that made her realize how Ma had the power to destroy her chances of seeing him again. On nothing more than a vindictive whim, Ma could confine her to the kitchens – or worse still, the scullery – so that she would never catch so much as a glimpse of him again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, the upright bearing of her head betraying that she was anything but. ‘From now on, I will check before obeying any unusual instructions from Miss Naomi. But now, if you will excuse me, I must go on up or risk making her late for dinner.’

  Breathing heavily, Kate skirted her mother’s rigid form and went along the corridor to her room. On the other side of her closed door, she sank onto her bed, her teeth gritted and her head shaking slowly from side to side. She had done nothing wrong – nothing at all. But, unless she wanted to spend the rest of her summer stuck in the scullery, showing a little remorse, and keeping out of her mother’s sight, might not be a bad idea. And, while she had absolutely no desire to show contrition, if it meant having the chance to see Ned again, it would be more than worth it.

  Chapter Four

  This Business of War

  It was too early to take Miss Naomi her breakfast: she hated to be disturbed before nine o’clock – had made that quite plain at the outset. On any other morning, Kate wouldn’t have found that irksome. But, this morning, she was forced to wait around, kicking her heels, all the while desperate to discover whether, yesterday evening, Ned had made any mention of her. He wouldn’t have, of course. But she could always hope.

  From where she was standing in the corridor, she glanced through to the kitchen clock. Ages yet. Plenty of time if she wanted to wander past the morning room and see whether he was still at breakfast. It would mean taking a risk but all she needed was a passing glimpse. Trying to weigh whether or not it was worth it, she yawned. Sleep hadn’t come easily to her last night, her mind bent on replaying snippets of the conversations from afternoon tea. Unable to settle, she had made matters worse by fretting over the question of whether Ned had just been acting politely or whether, as he had intimated, he had found her genuinely interesting. If she was to avoid another sleepless night, it was something she owed herself to find out – and that could only be achieved by putting herself in his sights and waiting to see how he acted towards her. Well, for that, she would have to wait until later in the day – perhaps as late as the middle of the afternoon, when nothing much was required of her and when most of the guests chose to take it easy after luncheon.

  Taking a step backwards, she craned for another look at the kitchen clock: still too early for Miss Naomi’s tray. But, on the other hand, just enough time to casually stroll through the hallway and past the morning room.

  ‘If you ask me,’ she heard a man’s voice saying as she neared the open doorway, ‘the lull in activity over the weekend has served to dampen the fervour for war.’ Trying to place the speaker, she stopped where she was. Despite the accents of most of the men sounding much alike, she had learnt to tell the voice of Ralph Colborne from that of his sons by the way he always sounded as though he needed to clear his throat. Perhaps, then, it was Dr Fillingham speaking, his voice being one with which she was less familiar.

  ‘To my mind, any dampening of fervour, as you put it, is merely an illusion,’ another voice observed. ‘An illusion brought about by the fact that it was indeed the weekend.’ Ralph Colborne, Kate surmised – definitely. ‘It says here that in Downing Street, and likewise at the Foreign Office, all the government officials were either on their country estates or else playing golf, a solitary clerk being the only one left to receive the telegrams from our diplomats all over Europe.’

  In response to this, one of the other men guffawed. ‘Heaven forbid the threat of war in the Balkans should spoil their weekends.’ That, she knew without a doubt, was Mr Aubrey.

  ‘Is it not possible that our Government has simply decided to let everyone east of Berlin handle their own affairs? As, in my opinion, they should.’

  Aunt Diana? She was up already? When Miss Naomi mentioned that her aunt wasn’t one for lying in bed and having breakfast brought to her on a tray, she hadn’t pictured her breakfasting alone among the male guests. But then Miss Naomi had also said that her aunt was quite likely to be seen walking barefoot across the dewy lawns well before anyone else was about, only to return and eat a breakfast that would overwhelm the appetite of most men. Well, good for her.

  ‘You’ll join your grandfather’s regiment, of course.’ Ralph Colborne again –presumably to one or both of his sons.

  In the hallway, she shifted her weight. She couldn’t really dally much longer: getting caught would be a disaster on all fronts, but especially given that she didn’t know whether Ned was even in the room. In fact, he could come up behind her at any moment. As could her mother.

  ‘Nothing less than my duty, sir.’ That was Mr Lawrence, although to what or to whom he was replying, she could no longer remember.

  ‘That’s because you’re expendable, little brother, whereas I bear the weight of the great legacy resting upon me – the continuation of our family line.’ And clearly that was Aubrey speaking, betrayed, again, by the very pompousness for which Miss Naomi detested him.

  Miss Naomi! Remembering with a start that she still had her breakfast to prepare, she pivoted on one foot and stole away. One day, she would be the architect of her own misfortune – one of the few things her mother ever foretold that stood a reasonable chance of coming true.

  * * *

  With Miss Naomi’s breakfast tray almost ready, Kate watched the big hand on the clock edging closer to the hour. It took almost three minutes to walk from the kitchen to her room, and four minutes of boiling to produce the perfectly runny yolks to her eggs; a further moment or two to go before she needed to lower them into the water.

  Across the room, the door from the scullery creaked open and, imagining it to be her mother, she stopped lolling against the table and readied a defence as to why she appeared to be idle. The person who in fact appeared was Edith, wiping her hands on a cloth. Nevertheless, in precise imitation of their mother, she looked Kate up and down and shook her head. But, instead of questioning her, she continued on to the pantry. ‘Luke’s outside,’ she called back, seemingly as an afterthought. ‘Wants you to go out and see him a minute.’

  Containing a sigh, Kate pressed her hands hard onto the surface of the kitchen table. He could want all he liked. ‘I’m just about to boil Miss Naomi’s eggs.’

  ‘I’ll see to those. Go out and see what he wants. Go on.’

  She could dig in her heels – refuse to go – but that would just make her look like a five-year-old. And, since Edith was only truly happy when she was meddling, it might be better not to give her grounds for thinking that something was properly amiss between her and Luke. Allow her to believe that, and she’d poke and pry and poke some more until she had found out what it was.

  ‘Fair enough. Nice runny yolks, mind.’

  ‘Go on with you. I think I can manage a c
ouple of soft-boiled eggs.’

  Out in the yard, Kate found Luke pacing about, his look nevertheless one of surprise when she opened back the door.

  ‘Didn’t think you’d come out ‘n see me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have, but for Edith offering to see to Miss Naomi’s breakfast,’ she replied to his observation. ‘Fine time you’ve picked. What do you want?’ This morning, it was hard to miss that his face wasn’t set with his usual grin.

  ‘To ask you to forgive me for speaking out of turn yesterday afternoon.’

  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Indeed, with her fingers curled tightly into the palms of her hands, she’d been steeling herself for more of his displeasure. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just that when no-one knew where you was, I fretted. Tedn’t like you to go off like that, without so much as a word to anyone.’

  She drew her gaze away from his eyes. Looking at them made her feel all hot and twisted inside – wretched. Instead, she confined herself to looking at his boots; today, rather than being caked in mud, they were merely coated with dust.

  Still unable to look at his face, when she lifted her head she made a point of staring across the yard. On the farthest side, under the eaves of the old coach house, the eggs in the swallows’ nest must have hatched because both birds were darting back and forth with insects and grubs in their bills. Not much longer and, without so much as a backwards glance, the young would fly the nest. Did the parent birds remain together afterwards, she wondered, or did they, their job done, go their separate ways, and come back next year to start afresh with a different mate? A different mate. Hmm.

  ‘I didn’t have time to tell anyone,’ she said, the continued need to lie only adding to her discomfort. ‘Trust me, no one was more surprised than me when Miss Naomi said I was to go with her.’ At least that last part was true.

  ‘Well, anyway, I don’t like it when things betwixt us aren’t… well, you know… right.’ Inadvertently meeting his eyes, all she could think to do was shrug. ‘But I say again, Kate, I want us to be wed. And with this war comin’, I don’t want us to tarry over the doing of it, neither. When the call comes for men to go and fight, I want to be ready. I shall want to go off, knowing things between us are sorted and settled.’

  When the call comes for men to go and fight? Would he really go a-soldiering? How could he speak of wanting things settled between them and then, in the very same breath, talk of going away to fight? Would he really leave her? Just like that? Her face screwed up in puzzlement, she risked a glance to his expression. From the ordinariness of it, he appeared to be serious.

  With her thoughts spinning, and not a little hurt by the realization that he would leave, she drew a breath. ‘You’d go and fight?’ she said, her tone barely concealing her alarm. ‘In a war?’

  When he looked back at her, his eyebrows were raised in surprise. ‘‘Course I would. ‘Tis every man’s duty. For king and empire.’

  ‘You’d kill people? Other soldiers, all of them men just like you?’

  ‘To protect the folk I love? In an instant. Kill or be killed, that’s how I see it.’

  As though caught in a draft of cold air, Kate shivered. Suddenly, the prospect of Luke – and young men like him – marching off to war was alarming, while people like Aunt Diana, who apparently held that the country should have nothing to do with it, seemed to make a sensible point. Luke would leave her to go and join the army? ‘Some folk say it won’t come to that,’ she said, grateful to recall one of the more comforting opinions she’d overheard. ‘And others say they’ll have nothing to do with it if it does.’

  ‘Aye, I’ve heard folk say the same. But those who think war won’t come be a-burying their heads. And those who won’t fight if it does, are cowards. Me, I won’t be found wanting. I’ll do my duty. Happen I think some things are worth fighting for. Happen I think you’re worth fighting for.’

  Feeling tears welling, she spun away from him and started back towards the door. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Miss Naomi don’t like her eggs hard-boiled.’

  ‘Well, just think on it,’ he added as she fumbled with the latch.

  With the door closed between them, she leant back against it. He was prepared to go to war. And seemingly, for her. Whatever did she do now? Let him go off to fight – if need arose – thinking that when he got back, she would marry him? Or did she simply do what everyone else would be expecting her to and marry him regardless? What if that was his plan? What if, tired of pleading with her, he was trying to frighten her up the aisle?

  Back in the kitchen she stood, shaking her head, willing her thoughts to settle; she had Miss Naomi to face and couldn’t do that all a-fluster. But, even were she to succeed in calming her mind, she knew that the sickly feeling in her stomach would not be so easily settled. Nor would her conscience; in the flurry of excitement over Ned, Luke had slipped from her thoughts. And now, this morning, she had learned that not only was he prepared to put himself in harm’s way and go and fight, but that he was prepared to do so for her. Her: the woman whose thoughts had turned to another.

  Well, curse Luke Channer and his patriotism. And curse this blessed business of war for putting such thoughts into his head to start with.

  * * *

  It was taking a risk, she knew that. By trying to catch even a glimpse of Mr Edwin, she was risking all sorts of trouble. But she felt drawn to see him. And if there was one time of the day when the risk of getting caught was about as low as it could possibly be, it was now, immediately after dinner, when the family and their guests would be withdrawing from the dining room to make merry. It was something that, since Pamela Russell had issued an edict to that effect, had become their nightly habit.

  ‘No, no, no,’ Mrs Russell had commanded on that first evening, ‘we ladies shall not be withdrawing separately from you men. Ralph, Aubrey, and you too, Lawrence and Ned, you shall not desert us for the remainder of the evening. We have no desire to sit spouting dreary tittle-tattle, thank you very much. We wish to amuse and be amused. So, if it’s cigars and cognac you want, bring them through. Take them out on the terrace, if you must, but then return indoors and be sociable.’ And to Kate’s knowledge, not one of the men had protested – at least, not within earshot of Pamela Russell, they hadn’t.

  And so it was that the newly-expanded party was now decamping to the drawing room, the women gravitating to the sofas to sit fanning at their faces, the men drifting out onto the terrace to take some air before Pamela could coerce them into some or other parlour game.

  For her part – once again concealed in a dark corner of the hallway – Kate strained to catch their conversations. At that moment, she could see Diana Lloyd talking to Ralph Colborne, the expression on the face of the latter suggesting that he was put-out. Indeed, his remark, as the pair of them left the dining room and crossed the hallway, confirmed as much. ‘My dear Mrs Lloyd, I’m afraid you couldn’t possibly be more mistaken.’

  Diana Lloyd appeared unmoved. ‘Ralph, I disagree. Just because Britain has a mighty empire, doesn’t mean she need meddle in the affairs of others. And, since in this instance there would appear to be no immediate threat to king or empire, I say spare the effort and let the Balkans sort it out among themselves.’

  Good grief: all anyone talked about these days was this bloomin’ war.

  ‘Dangerous talk, madam. For, if we simply sit back and leave others to sort it out, as you would somewhat naïvely have it, how are we to ensure that the consequences don’t prove disastrous? Far better, surely, to play a part in shaping the outcome than to be bound by a deal fashioned by others, primarily to their own advantage.’

  ‘Were we under any real threat, then I might agree with you, but—’

  And then, there he was: Mr Edwin. Ned. Her wait had been rewarded. With his jacket slung over his shoulder and a finger loosening his bow tie, he emerged from the glow of the dining room as though appearing to her in a dream. Pressing herself even further into the narrow s
pace behind the jardinière, home to an immense aspidistra, she hardly dared to breathe. Ordinarily, she hated the monstrous plant with its dust-gathering leaves that snagged at her cleaning cloths. This evening, however, she was grateful for the cover provided by its hideously overgrown mass.

  From what she was able to see, Ned’s resemblance to the picture she had been holding onto in her mind was uncanny. That he was shorter than Luke didn’t matter; Luke was unnecessarily tall. That he was less muscular didn’t trouble her, either. That he had less colour from the sun only made him appear more refined and less… earthy. And yesterday she had noticed how, in comparison to Luke’s hands, Mr Edwin’s looked small and neat. To the touch, she supposed they would be soft and smooth and lacking in scars and roughness.

  All too soon, Edwin Russell had sauntered from her view to take his place among the throng in the drawing room. But at least she had seen him. At least she had a fresh picture in her mind – one that would serve her while she made up her mind what she was going to do about… well, about him.

  * * *

  ‘Hello, there.’

  Startled from her thoughts, Kate shot upright. It was after luncheon the following day and, having first checked that Luke was nowhere in sight, she had gone to the cutting-border to pick a small posy for Miss Naomi’s dressing table. Enclosed among the towering wigwams of sweet peas, their perfume, combined with the warmth from the sunshine, had been making her feel drowsy. Surprised by Mr Edwin’s voice, she now felt even hotter.

  Turning slowly, she smoothed a hand over her cap. ‘Forgive me,’ she said of her disarray. ‘I didn’t see you a-coming.’

  ‘Then it is I who should apologize for creeping up on you.’

  ‘No,’ she said, still recovering her breath. ‘I was miles away in my thoughts.’