The Housekeeper's Daughter

by Rose Meddon

  Arriving among the boulders at the head of the cove, she bent low and, pulling off her shoes, began to pick her way carefully down over the rocks to the beach. There, under her bare feet, the sand felt surprisingly cool, the tide having only recently receded and the sun having not yet climbed high enough to warm it up. Setting her shoes on top of a nearby boulder, she continued on to where the waves were gently breaking.

  Idly, she traced a line in the damp sand with her big toe. Then she stopped and stared out to sea again. There was not a feature to be seen: no land; no fishing boats; no discernible clouds – just a faint line of deeper blue where the water stopped and the heavens began. With her toe, she once again started to draw, this time inscribing an arc, next to which she drew its mirror image before joining them at the top to form the outline of a heart. Ridiculously lop-sided, the shape of it made her laugh. Anyone with such a limp organ in their chest would surely be at death’s door!

  ‘Hie, Kate!’ Startled, she quickly dragged the ball of her foot across the sand to leave nothing but a long smudge. ‘Kate, up here!’

  Fanning her face with her hand, she cast over her shoulder. Ned was wending his way down between the boulders, his sleeves rolled back to his elbows, his trousers turned up to the middle of his shins.

  ‘Hello,’ she called lightly back, still fanning at her face as he jogged, barefoot, towards her.

  ‘You’re about early,’ he observed, coming to a halt a couple of yards away from her.

  ‘Same could be said of you, sir.’ Sir? Why on earth had she called him that? Not that he seemed to notice.

  ‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t sleep all that well.’

  She gave a wry smile. ‘Me neither.’ Somehow, though, she doubted that his sleeplessness had been rooted in the same cause as her own. She doubted that he had lain awake, troubled by the drunken rantings of his mother.

  ‘In the end, I gave up trying and got up,’ he said. ‘But it’s only now the mist has lifted that I’ve thought to come down here.’ When she dared to look back at him, it was to see that he was stood with his face turned to the sky and his arms held wide. ‘Glorious, isn’t it?’

  Despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at her, she nodded. ‘It is now.’ But then, lest he misconstrue her meaning, she hastened to add, ‘Although, as you say, it wasn’t earlier.’

  ‘Hard to believe we’re on the brink of war.’

  When he looked back down, she nodded again. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I say, have I disturbed you? Were you hoping to be alone? If you were, I can leave. I don’t mind.’

  Struck by the irony of his observation, she pressed her lips together against laughter. The only thing from which he was disturbing her was attempting to plot how best to get to know him. ‘No, truly, no there’s no need,’ she said, at pains to sound unconcerned. ‘As it happens, I shouldn’t mind company.’

  ‘You do not fear being seen talking to me?’

  Amused by the topsy-turvy nature of his observation, she laughed. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking whether you fear being seen talking to me?’

  ‘Goodness, no,’ he was quick to reply. ‘And in which case, shall we walk a little? It would seem a waste not to enjoy a stroll while we have the place to ourselves.’

  He wanted to walk with her? Alone with her? It was as much as she could do to stop herself grinning with delight. ‘It would seem a waste, yes.’

  As he turned to face in the same direction and they started walking, Kate felt certain she saw his hand twitch – flick briefly towards her before being snapped back to his side. Had he been minded to reach for her hand? He had, she would swear to it! So, why had he thought better of it? Had he thought she would be startled – or that she would think it improper? Because on that front, he was as wrong as could be. How, now, to assure him otherwise? Could she reach for his? Or would that be too forward? It might be. Perhaps such a confident move would delight him. No, she knew what it was: they were out in the open and he didn’t want to risk the damage to her reputation if they were spotted behaving improperly.

  As it happened, while she had been dithering, the distance between them had widened. Under her breath, she cursed: through her dallying, she had cost herself the best chance she might ever have.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, the tone of his voice giving nothing away, ‘this morning, in the bright light of day, do you still believe that our prophetess had the ability to see the future?’

  She tried to drag her thoughts away from the matter of his hand. Did she, in response to his question, admit to having briefly agreed with his view that Sybil was a fraud or did she stick to her guns and say that this morning, much of what the woman had said now made sense?

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she settled for saying, groaning, inwardly, at the woolliness of her response. So much for vowing to be decisive and determined!

  ‘No?’

  Unless she wanted him to think her dull, she had to do better. ‘At first,’ she said, ‘I thought her very… vague… but on the other hand…’ Hand. Forget about hands! Quell your turmoil, she told herself, or he’ll think you’re crazed.

  ‘Her vagueness disappointed you?’

  ‘It did, yes.’

  ‘You were hoping to hear something specific – something you might interpret as guidance?’ When she didn’t immediately answer, he went on to say, ‘It would be quite natural.’

  Briefly, she looked up ahead; they were following the curve of the cove, no more than a yard or so from where each little ripple of the tide was abandoning a line of bubbles to the sand. Unexpectedly, he had hit the nail on the head; it was precisely what she had been hoping for. In the event, her guidance had come in the unlikely form of his Aunt Diana.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, you just want to be sure of a thing, don’t you – before you commit to it, I mean?’

  ‘Very much so.’ Surprising her by then dropping to his haunches, he said, ‘I say, look.’ Watching him poke about in the sand with his forefinger, she smiled. ‘How pretty this is – the blue of this shell. Or would one more properly call it purple?’

  Unable to bring herself to tell him that it was merely one half of a mussel shell, when he held it towards her, she took it, turning it this way and that, ostensibly to examine it in more detail.

  ‘It’s a mussel,’ she finally felt compelled to say.

  ‘Yes, but just look at the underside of it,’ he urged, turning it the other way up on her palm. ‘See how the light reflects the different colours?’

  ‘It’s nacre,’ she observed, pleased to be able to tell him something he appeared not to know. ‘More often called mother-of-pearl.’

  ‘Yes, Min has it on some jewellery. But I don’t recall having seen it on a shell before – you know, where nature intended it.’

  His admission made her laugh. Here was a man who, having been to study at a university, was marvelling over the remains of a dead sea creature. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t suppose you see many shells in London.’

  ‘To be fair, there aren’t that many here.’ Casting about, he gestured with his arm. ‘Not for a beach, there aren’t!’

  ‘That’s because this cove is mainly sandy,’ she explained. ‘But go to one of the bays either side of here and you’ll see plenty – hundreds and thousands, most of them dashed to pieces on the rocks.’

  The matter of mussel shells seemingly exhausted, they walked on. The sun was beginning to feel warm now and, for what had to be the first time ever, she wished she’d thought to bring a hat. Still, better that he could see her hair, which, with any luck, in this bright light would look quite eye-catching.

  Ahead of them, apparently marooned on the sand, sat two large and perfectly smooth boulders. As a child, she had always imagined them to have been dragged from higher up the beach by a giant, who, having grown tired of their weight, had abandoned them to their fates at the hands of the returning tides.

  ‘Shall we perch a while,’ he said, turning to her for an answer. She nodde
d. There was nothing she would like more. ‘You take the lower one and I’ll try and…’ With that, he proceeded to try to haul himself up onto the larger of the two rocks, its perfectly smooth and featureless form defeating his attempts to catch hold.

  ‘You can share mine, if you’d like,’ she said, trying to conceal her laughter by shuffling further to one side. ‘There’s room enough.’ She knew it was wrong to encourage him into such close proximity. But, by most reckoning, it was wrong to be alone there with him in the first place. Certainly, if Mrs Russell – or indeed, Ma – were to see them, there would be hell to pay. In a flash of guilt, she glanced in both directions along the beach. Thankfully, to be caught this early in the morning, they would have to be very unfortunate indeed.

  When he settled beside her, she was unprepared for how it felt to be so close to him. Even the touch of his sleeve as it brushed against the back of her hand set something tingling inside her. She was even convinced she could feel the heat from his thigh through her skirt, which, given that there was at least two inches of space between them, had to be entirely down to her imagination.

  ‘Won’t you miss this, if you leave here?’ he asked, his own manner perfectly unconcerned.

  It wasn’t something she had considered. All she had ever thought was that she couldn’t wait to get away to somewhere more exciting – to somewhere with some colour and life.

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘No? Not all this fresh air? Not the glorious blue of the sea nor the dazzling emerald of these hillsides?’

  She shook her head. What was it with men and fresh air? Was the air in London really so filthy?

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you were stuck here in November… or February, when everything is the self-same shade of grey. Or when to go a-traipsing up the lane towards the crossroads means to see just the one shade of mud brown and to get thoroughly begrimed by it.’

  ‘I suppose there is that,’ he said. ‘Although I should imagine that here, the air is clean year-round. In London, the winter months are evil, the air thick with smoke, coal-smuts dirtying everything—’

  She laughed. ‘We have those too, you know. Although, here we call them smitches—’

  ‘Smitches?’

  ‘Smitches. Though of course mainly we burn wood.’

  ‘Which doesn’t give off smitches?’

  ‘Which doesn’t give off so many smitches.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Was your mother pleased with her party?’ she asked after a moment’s silence, desperate that their conversation shouldn’t fizzle out.

  ‘I haven’t seen her yet this morning to ask. I doubt she’ll be about until at least midday. But some of it seemed to go well, don’t you think?’

  Not knowing how much he knew of what had happened after they had parted company, she felt it safest to agree with him. No sense sending him scurrying away for fear of courting his mother’s wrath. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The music sounded lovely – from what I could hear of it.’

  From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was staring out towards the horizon.

  ‘Yes. And Mamma’s idea of picnic-baskets was inspired.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘And the costumes most striking.’ Then, summoning further courage, she added, ‘Especially you in your blue. You really stood out.’

  ‘Did I? It was rather odd to be in uniform. Made one feel obliged to stand tall and erect. Even though it was a very old one, it felt like a taste of what might be to come – you know, joining up and belonging to a regiment.’

  ‘I did wonder whether you would all feel like real soldiers,’ she ventured, reminded, with a sharp stab, of the unease she’d felt at seeing him in military apparel.

  ‘Good job it wasn’t for real – not with Aubrey and Lawrence getting into that scrap. This morning, as well as having bruised ribs and sore heads, they’d be waking up in gaol. Conduct unbecoming of an officer and all that.’

  ‘But Mr Lawrence wasn’t to blame,’ she said quickly, realizing that he had indeed found out what had transpired. For all Miss Naomi wanting it to remain a secret, an awful lot of people seemed to know. ‘He just came to Miss Naomi’s rescue.’ Into her mind came the thought that the same had been true of her own actions and yet she was still having to bear the consequences.

  ‘I’m not sure that would be of the least interest to their superior officers. Details like that seem unimportant where reputations are at stake.’

  Yes, Kate thought. How true that was turning out to be – her own superior equally unconcerned by the trifling matter of the actual facts. Still, if she was clever, having now got Ned onto the subject, she might manage to persuade him to divulge what had happened afterwards.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose so. Fortunate Miss Naomi called out when she did, though – when I just happened to be on my way back to the house.’

  ‘She mentioned that. It was good of you to go to her aid. Of course, Aubrey was an idiot to get so inebriated as to make a fool of himself in the first place. Terribly juvenile thing to do. As indeed it was for him to pick a fight with his brother, who, according to Min, was entirely sober and who, in any event, is far stronger and more athletic than Aubrey will ever be.’

  So far so good. ‘I trust neither of them was badly hurt.’

  ‘I doubt it. For Aubrey, I should think that this morning, it will be more a case of wounded pride.’

  ‘And a thundering headache, too, I shouldn’t wonder,’ she said. ‘Still, that’s preferable to any real harm having been done.’

  ‘Yes. The real harm, as you put it, will come when he has to suffer the wrath of his parents – especially Aunt Cicely. Although diminutive of stature, she can be every bit as fierce as Mamma. Added to that will be the embarrassment of having to apologize to Min for his behaviour.’

  ‘Poor Miss Naomi, I hope she’s all right this morning.’

  ‘I say, yes, you’re not doing whatever it is you normally do for her at this time of day. Did she ask to sleep in? It wouldn’t surprise me. I think she was kept up very late with Mamma – some sort of commotion by all accounts. Aunt Diana came and whispered to me that Mamma was going to retire for the night. When I then enquired whether she was all right, Aunt Diana told me she had become upset about something. I went to see whether I could be of assistance, but Min already had Aunt Cicely there and assured me that everything was all right.’

  Digesting this revelation, Kate gave a little murmur that she hoped he would take as being one of sympathy. Deep down, though, she was seething. She knew Cicely Colborne had been involved, and now Ned had confirmed it. Upset about something, indeed! Pamela Russell had been drunk and wailing pitifully, disgracing herself in front of her daughter.

  Willing that Ned would continue talking, she sat perfectly still, while beside her on the rock, he shifted his weight. That he seemed to have forgotten his question about why she wasn’t attending to his sister was a relief, since she didn’t feel inclined to try to explain how things had turned out. When he didn’t appear about to volunteer anything further, though, she said, ‘Tell me, if it wasn’t for the war, what would you be going to do once you return home?’

  ‘That is a very good question. And one for which by now, I ought really to have come up with an answer.’

  Drawing her bare feet up onto the rock and tucking her knees under her chin, she looked sideways at him. ‘Having to decide something so big is hard, isn’t it? When you’re a littl’un, grown up folk teach you how to walk and talk and read and write. But no one thinks to teach you how to decide things.’

  ‘I’m not sure they can. Every decision brings its own considerations, doesn’t it? Take my situation as an example, although I have an obvious path stretching ahead of me, I find myself wishing for others against which to compare it.’

  ‘Because otherwise, it don’t feel like making a choice at all?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s not a true decision but more a forfeiture of a decision. And therein lies my unease
.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘I do see your problem.’ With him having admitted that much, how, now, did she encourage him to elaborate, the direction of his future having become critical to her own. Lost to know, she gave a little sigh. All she could really do was rely on what little of his situation she already knew. ‘I suppose your father would like you to follow him into his business.’

  ‘It’s been his dream since the day I was born.’

  ‘But not yours?’ she observed, there being no need for him to know what Miss Naomi had already told her.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I could do a lot worse. And I should imagine that to some, I must appear ungrateful. But the matter is not as straightforward as it might appear.’

  ‘No?’ Rather than ask outright, she waited, hoping that he would explain.

  ‘You see, sometimes, I feel something of a fraud.’

  ‘A fraud?’

  ‘It’s not something Mamma would ever understand – although Father might – but, courtesy of their widely differing backgrounds, I sometimes find myself struggling to be certain who I am. I mix with the gentry and yet, by some of their number, I am viewed with suspicion. Tainted, is how some of them see me. Equally, I’m not truly trade, as Grandmamma Alice refers to Father.’ Astonished by the frankness of his admission, Kate confined herself to nodding. ‘Without realizing it, by clinging to such differing hopes for my future, Mother and Father are pulling me in different directions, both of them wishing only for the best for me, neither of them prepared to concede that their wish might be the unsuitable one. Even were I to decide to follow my father into his business, it wouldn’t be without its pitfalls; I have always rather feared that I would be setting myself up for a fall – you know, by not living up to his expectations of me, or by failing to fill his considerable shoes.’