The Housekeeper's Daughter

by Rose Meddon

  * * *

  Kate rubbed her arms. After the warmth of the day, the light breeze felt fresh, the skin on her arms rippling with gooseflesh.

  Finding herself at something of a loose end, she had wandered as far as the beginning of the path down to the cove, where she was now sitting on the stump of a tree, long since felled by a January gale. She could just about remember it – a lofty pine, whose crown had shushed and swayed in the merciless winter winds that blew straight off the Atlantic. In its time, it had been home to a poorly-sited rookery, whose nests, as often as not, were upended before the eggs could hatch, and to the drey of an oddly-coloured squirrel.

  Unsurprisingly, she had been thinking about Ned and the matter of whether or not to try to enlist his help with her plan. Unable to say for certain why, she nevertheless felt that he would have some valuable observations. Well, coming from him, of course they would be valuable. And anyway, without a helping hand from someone, she was stuck to know where to start.

  Sensing then that there was someone behind her, she turned sharply looking over her shoulder.

  ‘Well, good evening to you.’

  With no care to avoid catching her skirt upon the roughly-hewn stump, she leapt to her feet, her heart skipping what felt to be several beats. Ned!

  ‘Good even’ to you, sir,’ she muttered, embarrassed by the fact that she had been thinking about him and confining her eyes to a line well below his own.

  ‘Out taking the air?’ he asked.

  She risked meeting his look. ‘I am.’ By rights, she should really continue to address him as ‘sir’ but, having taken tea with him, and having had him refer to her as a breath of fresh air, it no longer felt strictly necessary. That, and the fact that she didn’t want to remind him that she was a servant.

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘The other fellows are on the terrace with their cigars, and the ladies have gone to powder their noses.’

  She smiled. ‘You don’t like cigars?’

  ‘I can take them or leave them. On an evening such as this, I prefer to take the air. And, having enjoyed a couple of glasses of claret, I find I have no need of a cognac.’

  ‘I’ve never had claret,’ she said. ‘Nor cognac.’

  ‘No, I imagine not. Some clarets can be quite nice, others not so much. There’s an awful lot of nonsense spoken about wines, nonsense about the types of grapes and so on – about the different types of cognac, too.’

  ‘Oh.’

  For a while after that, neither of them spoke, but then, he said, ‘You know, I had a feeling I might find you out here.’

  Aware that she had been lacing and unlacing her fingers, she drew her hands behind her back. He had been thinking about her? Again? This was better than she had dared hope – not that she could let it show. ‘Oh?’

  ‘From the dining room, I saw a form slipping through the shadows. I had an inkling it might be you.’

  ‘Guilty, your honour,’ she said, regretting it almost before the words had left her mouth. ‘Guilty for sneaking away, that is.’

  ‘It occurred to me you might be slipping away to see someone – a sweetheart, perhaps.’

  A sweetheart? Was he trying to establish whether she was promised to someone? Was this his round-and-about way of enquiring whether she would welcome his advances? Because she would. She most definitely would!

  ‘No,’ she said, grateful to be able to answer him without lying but ruing how much she was suddenly trembling. ‘No, I wasn’t slipping away to see anyone—’

  ‘But how foolish of me! There’s bound to be a long line of young men on your doorstep!’

  ‘No,’ she said, aghast at how fast her heart was beating but somehow managing to affect a light laugh, ‘I assure you there is no line of suitors on my doorstep – trust me, I think I’d have noticed such an unlikely thing as that! My mother and my sister certainly would have.’ Oh, dear Lord, now she was babbling!

  What she wanted to do was examine his expression – gauge his reaction to her answer. But she couldn’t bring herself to look.

  ‘You do surprise me.’

  Instinctively, she scoffed. At the same time, however, she spotted an unlikely opportunity. And so, slowly unfurling her fingers from where she had been pressing her fingernails into her palms, she asked, ‘What about you? Do you have… someone special?’ She was being woefully forward, although no more so than he had just been.

  ‘I do not, no. Although I daresay it won’t be long before Mamma does with me as she’s lately started doing with Naomi.’

  Her spirits tumbled. Had she, in her state of hopefulness, read too much into his question: was the matter of sweethearts and marriage on his mind only because his mother had set her sights on Aubrey as a suitable husband for his sister? She was minded to think not; his enquiry could barely have been plainer.

  ‘I do want to be wed,’ she said, lest her earlier answers had led him to thinking her set against the idea. It was also safer than blurting the thought in her mind, which was yes, please, I should welcome your attentions with open arms.

  ‘Me too,’ he seemed quick to agree. ‘Eventually, that is. To the right person.’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, ‘to the right person.’

  ‘I say, I hope my sister appreciated the sweet-peas.’

  She blinked several times. Was he satisfied with her answers then? Or was he regretting speaking of the matter in the first place? Indeed, had she misunderstood the whole thing? It was more than possible. But why ask her about sweethearts unless it was his intention to establish her situation? All she could do, it seemed, was confine herself to answering his questions.

  ‘She didn’t mention them.’ Now she just sounded miserable.

  ‘How very remiss of her.’

  ‘But I expect she liked them,’ she said, making an effort to brighten her tone. ‘They filled the room with their lovely smell.’ At least, they had done until his mother had come bowling in, overpowering everything with a scent that while different to the other evening, had still put her in mind of the depths of a dark and sultry night.

  ‘No doubt they did.’

  ‘Was there anything at tea that was in need of clotted cream?’ she asked, desperate that he shouldn’t think their conversation at an end and take his leave. There might still be a chance for her to reassure herself as to his motives.

  Having moved a pace or two further away from her, he was now taking off his jacket and loosening his bow tie. That done, he stepped further away still to lean against the trunk of a birch tree. ‘Alas, no. But there was a cream sponge with strawberries on top.’

  ‘Bit late in the year for strawberries,’ she observed, immediately wishing she hadn’t. What was the matter with her? Daft question. Among other things, the thudding of her heart was making her feel light-headed and, every time her mind returned to his possible reasons for raising the matter of sweethearts and marriage, she came over all panicky.

  ‘Is it? They were quite small.’

  ‘We’re more into summer raspberries now.’ Oh, but this was hopeless. Here she was, alone with him, the matter of marriage clearly on his mind, a plan in hers that could do with his help, and yet she was droning on about soft fruit. ‘After we spoke this afternoon,’ she said, this time forcing herself to meet his look, ‘I thought more about the war, and what you said about it being your duty to go and fight – whether you were really for it or not.’ There. That was better. For the moment, she would set aside the matter of his advances – or otherwise – and see whether he might have any advice to offer regarding her plan to volunteer. After all, if she was clever, the one might bring about the other. Yes, now there was a thought!

  ‘Oh, you shouldn’t pay too much heed to my ramblings,’ he said. ‘Just because I have doubts, doesn’t make the underlying need for it flawed.’

  Unsure what he meant, she frowned. But, with the subject now out in the open, she determined to press on. ‘And so, I came to wondering, why does the duty of doing the right t
hing, you know, for king and empire, fall only upon the menfolk? What about the women? Shouldn’t they do something, too?’

  ‘I do hope you’re not thinking of taking up a rifle!’

  Blushing, she shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Forgive me, I meant that as a joke but it was in poor taste. Tell me what bothers you and I will listen sincerely. What did you have in mind to do?’

  In response to his question, she shrugged. ‘That’s just it, I don’t rightly know. How do women like me, with no training at anything, become of any use?’

  For a moment, he seemed to think. ‘Well, do you mean to pursue this as an occupation, or just in your spare time?’

  ‘Since I don’t have no spare time – not to speak of – I was thinking perhaps there was something I could do on a proper footing. Although heaven only knows what.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea how useless that makes me feel.’ There, she’d said it. All of it. Curiously, she now felt less jumpy.

  ‘There’s no shame in being stuck to know how to help. After all, if everyone who wanted to help but didn’t know how to go about it gave up because they felt useless, we’d be in a real fix. No, the reason I ask what you had in mind, is because Min and I have a cousin, Elizabeth, who is an organizer for something called the Voluntary Aid Detachment. Every time we see her, she presses Min to go and help out. From the little I remember of it, it’s run by the Red Cross and comprises young women volunteers, whom they train in things like cooking, and caring and nursing. I also recall that before we left London, she was saying how, with the threat of war looming, she was hoping to try and recruit more volunteers. If you like, I could write to her and see what it’s all about. I can’t promise it will suit what you want to do – you know, with it not carrying any remuneration – but she’s certainly in the right place to know of other organizations, much more so than I.’

  ‘You’d do that for me?’ Oh, but how gushy and breathless she sounded! ‘I should be truly grateful,’ she said more levelly. ‘But only if it’s not too much trouble.’ There: that was better. It was true that she’d been hoping for something more than just being a volunteer but, whatever it turned out to be, she would join up anyway. As he himself had intimated, one thing had a habit of leading to another. It would also show people that she was serious in her ambition to do something with her life.

  ‘I shall write to her tomorrow. I would offer to telephone her but I don’t know that I’d succeed in getting through to her – she’s frightfully busy.’

  ‘Of course. I understand.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I had better return to the fray – only so long I can be away without mother noticing. I saw her with a great box of props earlier, so I imagine we’re in for another spell of parlour games.’

  Watching him start to walk away, she beamed with delight. This evening, she had done an astonishing thing: she had taken the first step to bringing about the changes she so badly craved. At the very least, she had let it be known that she wanted to do something different – something valuable and fulfilling. Even if she did have to start somewhere close to home – to be trained and what-not – it would still be a step in the right direction. And anyway, if she came recommended by the Russells, this Elizabeth woman might get to hear of her and want her for something in London. More importantly even than that, she had let it be known to Ned that she was free to respond to any advances he might care to make. Now, it was just down to him to make them.

  She sighed heavily. How fortunate that she had ventured out. How equally fortunate that he had seen her! She looked up. Already he was halfway back across the lawn and turning towards the terrace, from where he no doubt hoped to blend, unnoticed by his mother, back among their guests.

  Still scarcely able to believe what had come about, she glanced to the sky; she should go in, too. Although not expected to be anywhere at that precise moment, after the trouble following her trip to Westward Quay, it would be better not to give Ma reason to come looking for her or to suspect that anything was afoot; no point dashing her chances before they had even amounted to anything.

  Letting herself in at the back door and still elated at how things had turned out, rather than head straight upstairs, she went along the corridor and peered into the servants’ parlour. Only Edith and her mother were there: Edith bent low over something she was darning; her mother reading a letter, probably from one of her cousins further down the county and with whom she kept up a regular correspondence.

  ‘There you are, love. I wondered whether you’d come down and make yourself a Horlicks.’

  ‘It’s much too hot for that,’ Kate replied to her mother’s observation. ‘I’ll just take up a glass of water.’

  ‘It’s from Fanny,’ her mother said, motioning with her head to the single sheet of paper in her hand, ‘Frederick’s been poorly, but he’s on the mend now.’

  Struggling to remember which one was Frederick, Kate nonetheless nodded. ‘That’s all right then.’

  ‘But now she’s worried about her other two – what with this war business.’

  ‘Mmm. Seems more people think it’ll happen now.’

  In response to her observation, Edith looked up. ‘People? What people? What people do you talk to?’

  Puzzled by the uncalled-for sharpness of Edith’s tone, Kate frowned. Was this a trap? Had she been seen talking to Ned? Trying unsuccessfully to will away a flash of panic, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t talk to anyone, as well you’d know. But, like it or not, I do get to overhear other people talking. And to my mind, some of them seem quite well informed.’

  ‘Ooh. Some of them seem quite well informed. As if you’d know.’

  Feeling herself tensing, Kate stared at her sister, whose head was once again bent over her sewing. ‘Look, I don’t know who’s got you all sour-sapped, but I do know it wasn’t me. So just have a care to be a bit less crabby.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Enough, you two,’ Mabel Bratton directed. ‘I don’t know what’s got into the pair of you.’

  Standing stiffly, Kate shook her head. ‘Nothing’s got into me, Ma. It’s her.’

  ‘Kate, I said enough. Your sister’s probably tired. Leave her be.’

  ‘Yes, Ma.’

  ‘And Edith, have a civil tongue in your head.’

  ‘Yes, Ma.’

  ‘That’s more like it.’

  Even though, until that very moment, Kate had intended breathing nothing of her plans to anyone, Edith’s pettiness had given her an urge to put her in her place. Besides which, since a change to her circumstances could come about quite suddenly, it couldn’t harm to start paving the way for her eventual announcement. Not about Ned, of course. But, if anything, coming across Edith and her mother, grouchy and exhausted and passing their evening with only each other for company, she felt even more certain that getting herself out of Woodicombe was the right thing to do. If this was what awaited her as Luke’s wife – an evening spent mending rents in garments by the light of a single gas-lamp – while people like Naomi and Ned dressed up to eat fancy dinners and play parlour games, then she felt even more inclined to do everything in her power to get away. And, if that meant making her plan known in order to have to stick by it, then so be it.

  ‘I’ve been thinking…’

  ‘Yes, love?’

  ‘With this war comin’—’

  ‘Not that business again.’

  ‘Edith, have the grace to hear your sister out.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘With this war coming, and all the boys and men talking about joining up and doing their bit for king and empire, I thought I should like to do something too.’

  When her mother put down her letter, and Edith stopped pulling her darning needle through the cloth of her skirt, Kate swallowed.

  ‘What do you mean, do something too? You can’t join up.’

  ‘No, I know that, Ma. I didn’t mean join the army. I just meant do som
ething useful, maybe get trained so that I can be a volunteer, you know, should the need arise.’

  For all the comprehension it showed, Mabel Bratton’s face suggested that Kate might as well have been speaking in German.

  Edith on the other hand, had her mouth half-open with disbelief. ‘You? And what could you possibly be trained to do?’

  Stay calm, Kate urged herself. Don’t bite. It was a sentiment easier to think than to see through, though. ‘That’s the point of being trained. You start by knowing nothing about a thing and end up knowing how to do it well. Think, Edith, even you weren’t born already knowing how to make pastries and puddings.’

  ‘Stop it, you two,’ Mabel Bratton warned absently, her attention once again on her letter.

  ‘She started it,’ Kate said. ‘Again.’

  This time, her mother looked up at her. ‘Look, child, be sensible—’

  ‘Ma, I’m not a child. And I haven’t been in ages.’

  ‘Even so, dear, I have to agree with Edith – what could you possibly be trained to do?’

  ‘Pretty much anything I’m minded to, I should think. I’ve two hands, two eyes, two ears, and plenty of practise at using them. I should say that’s enough to learn to do almost anything, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘And what does Luke say about all of this?’

  Responding to her mother’s question, Edith didn’t even look up from her darning as she said, ‘Doubtless she hasn’t told him.’

  ‘As it happens, I haven’t – not that it makes any odds. This is about me. It’s about what I want to do. He’s already made it quite plain – without, I might add, a thought to talk to me – that when the war comes, he’s going soldiering. So, why shouldn’t I do something too?’

  ‘Look love, if this is because Luke will be going away—’

  ‘It isn’t about Luke. I told you, it’s about me.’

  ‘—and you’re worried he might not come back to you, well, that’s easily set to rights.’

  ‘Ma, for the final time, this isn’t about Luke. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll understand why I want to do something to help.’