I realised I hadn’t responded, only stared at her like a wide-eyed goldfish.
‘Oh, yes. Thank you, Mrs Wiggs. The journey was… bearable, thank you. I’m not too tired, but thank you for asking. Thomas assures me we will be great friends. I very much hope so. He tells me you are indispensable.’
What can I say? I panicked. I went for flattery in the absence of authority. I could cringe at my babbling.
‘Of course, madam, if that’s what you wish.’
‘Are there any other servants I should meet?’ I asked. I was sure there had to be other members of staff – weren’t they meant to trot out and greet me in a line?
Thomas smiled a close-lipped smile I didn’t recognise and looked to Mrs Wiggs.
‘We have a cook and a scullery maid, Sarah,’ she said. ‘Also a gardener, and the odd charlady as and when. But, Mrs Lancaster, please, if you need anything, just come to me and I’ll take care of everything.’
‘See, Chapman, no need for you to think of a thing,’ said Thomas.
By this time he had unpeeled my fingers from his arm and found his place beside her, smiling like a portrait and looking about the house as if reorienting himself with its contents. It was as if the conversation we’d had in the cab had not happened and he was oblivious to my need for reassurance. Mrs Wiggs didn’t take her eyes off me.
I would learn that Mrs Wiggs had, like a nun, spent her life in servitude to the Lancasters and that she took her devotion quite as seriously. She had amber eyes with glints of orange and dull hair that bore remnants of when it had been fair, always scraped back into a bun. I could not tell how old she was – no grey around her temples, and her skin was smooth – but she must have been in her forties. Not that I dared ask. I was terrified of her. I was certain she could see right down into the pit of my stomach and would uncover everything I had kept secret. She had this petrifying stare, like an owl, big round eyes with heavy lids, and I was a mouse watched by this bird tethered only by loyalty to her master. Mrs Wiggs was always observing, taking notes and already forming hard opinions.
*
Those first days were polite but passionate. We danced around each other, and Mrs Wiggs watched from a comfortable distance. We played mummies and daddies in our own house, giggling at the grown-up absurdity of it all, lacking a blueprint for how to be a real man and wife. Then, as if the whole thing had been made of thin glass that was always destined to shatter, we had our first disagreement, if you can call it that. It all unravelled from there, I think. By this one misunderstanding, which I can only describe as an embarrassing encounter in the dark, we poisoned the bones of our marriage, and after that the whole beast had to be abandoned. Or that’s how it felt. It was probably poisoned before that point, but that was the starter pistol for its undoing.
We had been in the house less than a week. I was waiting for him to come home, staring at the clock, and rushed to greet him at the door. Mrs Wiggs followed close behind. We had dinner, as had already become usual, and moved upstairs. Our little habit of brandy and drops had continued away from Mrs Wiggs’ prying eyes. Thomas liked to relax after work and I joined him. Things developed as you might have expected them to between newlyweds, but then he tried to take them in a bizarre direction and I protested. I was confused, nothing more. I really wasn’t sure what he was after, but I hadn’t been trying to humiliate him. When I understood what he was asking me to do, I was horrified and said I didn’t want to. I told him it wasn’t natural, and this offended him. He asked me what I meant by that, and I said I hadn’t intended anything and was sorry, but he pushed me down on the bed, stood up, got dressed, and told me I was demanding and selfish and spoiled.
He stormed out of the bedroom and I paced around it, confused, embarrassed and worrying. I waited for him to come back. I was sure once his embarrassment had worn off he would return. Then I heard the slamming of the front door; it bounced on its hinges and shook the whole house.
He didn’t come back until the early hours. I know because I waited up and eventually gave up and went to bed around one. The front of the house creaked like old knees whenever the front door opened, and our bedroom was above it. It must have been around four: the sky was still inky, the streets quiet save for the odd cartman or flowergirl on their way to work. I lay waiting for him to come, but he never did. His footsteps passed the bedroom and he must have seen the candlelight from under the door and known I was awake, but he continued along the landing and up the small staircase to the attic. For a man who professed to crave me, he did a good job of not yielding to his addiction. It was my first week in our home.
3
At breakfast the next morning we ignored each other. I was waiting for him to ask me what the matter was, which of course he didn’t, which of course drove me insane.
All I could hear was the sound of his teeth grinding on his breakfast. I, on the other hand, could only take measly bites. The gentle clatter of cutlery against china supplied a monotonous rhythm; that and Mrs Wiggs, who kept on swinging in and out like a hurricane with more food. I fought the urge to make conversation because I was still firmly of the mind that it was he who had stormed out on me and therefore I was not the guilty party. I had apologised for my reaction at the time. He wouldn’t even look at me and I began to feel quite anxious as this was very unlike him. He adored me. I would have been quite happy to disregard the whole awful event and put it down to a misunderstanding, but he was still carrying a lot of anger, which he appeared to be taking out on his toast. If he was upset, it hadn’t disturbed his appetite as it had mine.
It didn’t take long for Mrs Wiggs to notice the atmosphere. She kept looking at me, then at Thomas, then back at me. I could feel her eyes, though I refused to meet them. She hovered over Thomas as she poured his tea. She was obviously working herself up to say something.
‘What time would you prefer dinner served tonight, Dr Lancaster?’ she began. ‘Mrs Lancaster, would you like me to have Sarah pick up anything in particular? I wonder if you have any family recipes you would like to introduce to the household. It would make it more familiar for you and it would broaden our horizons. Lord knows we’ve plundered Cook’s finite reservoir of ideas several times over.’
‘Oh no, Mrs Wiggs, nothing springs to mind.’ I had nothing in the bank on this one. I had always been lazy and unconcerned about food. I felt like a disappointment and imagined a good wife would have memorised a thousand recipes already. ‘I’ll have to think,’ I said.
‘Very well,’ said Mrs Wiggs. ‘We look forward to your contribution.’
‘I have no idea what time I’ll be home tonight,’ said Thomas.
‘Oh, are you going somewhere?’ I asked.
‘Not sure what time I’ll be finished,’ he said, still looking at his damn plate.
‘We will wait for you, Dr Lancaster,’ said Mrs Wiggs. ‘We won’t have you starve after a day of work.’
‘No, you carry on. No need to wait for me.’
I was about to take a breath and ask him where he was planning to be, but Mrs Wiggs got there first.
‘You were out very late last night, Dr Lancaster,’ she said.
Thomas shot her a filthy look and she recoiled. Even I winced, and she quickly corrected herself.
‘I’m sorry, sir. Forgive me. I am only concerned that you might tire yourself.’ She scooped up the tea and made her way towards me.
‘Thank you for your interest, Mrs Wiggs, but in case you hadn’t realised, I’m a doctor, therefore I’m quite capable of looking after my own health. I’ll be out. Why don’t you and Mrs Lancaster study the recipe books and see if you can come up with something.’
Mrs Wiggs skulked out of the room.
I couldn’t leave it any longer. I couldn’t have him going to work and not coming back without having resolved the atmosphere between us.
‘It isn’t because of last night, is it?’ I said.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine for the first time that morning, eyes dead, col
d, flat. ‘Last night? What about last night?’
I was confused. It was quite obvious what I was referring to, but I wasn’t going to say it, it had been embarrassing enough the first time. I wasn’t going to describe the event in words, over breakfast.
‘I thought perhaps you were still angry with me,’ I said.
‘Angry? I do have things on my mind other than you, Chapman. I’m not always obsessing over what you might be thinking. I’ll leave that to you.’
He stood up, threw his napkin down, walked over and pecked me on the cheek. I smiled at him and half laughed, thankful he was speaking to me, but to be honest I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to make light of it for both our sakes or insinuating I was stupid.
Moments later, I heard him and Mrs Wiggs whispering by the front door, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then the front door closed.
Mrs Wiggs came back to start clearing away and I went to leave.
‘Mrs Lancaster, has something happened between you and the doctor?’ she asked.
I was taken aback that she would be so intrusive. It had been my assumption it was not for housekeepers to broach personal matters with their mistresses, but she had me on the back foot, doubting myself, and for a moment I considered I might have an ally. Then I thought better of it. I would take Thomas’s lead on this and forget the whole incident.
‘No, Mrs Wiggs, everything is as it should be,’ I said.
‘Is it?’ I think her eyebrows lifted a little as she smiled sweetly. ‘Well then, that’s good. Only the doctor didn’t seem himself this morning and I wondered if something had happened.’
‘No, Mrs Wiggs. I don’t…’ I wanted to tell her to mind her own affairs and get her pointy beak back in the kitchen where it belonged. My friend Aisling would have told her where to stick it in a heartbeat, but I was so unsure of how things should be. ‘Everything is fine.’
‘Forgive me, Mrs Lancaster. I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable. I only wish to help. Perhaps I have overstepped a little. How clumsy of me. Please accept my apologies.’
‘No need to apologise, thank you, Mrs Wiggs. I’ll start thinking about those recipes.’
I had almost made the door when she said, ‘I’d always assumed a newlywed husband would want to come home. Perhaps we should be thinking about more than recipes for dinner, to make sure the doctor looks forward to returning each night.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ My head nearly snapped off. Had I understood the insinuation correctly?
‘Flowers!’ she exclaimed. ‘The doctor has always loved fresh flowers, bright colours, strong scents. He has a discerning nose. I’ll arrange to have fresh flowers delivered every day and we can rotate the arrangements around the house. It will brighten every room, and he’ll never know what to expect. It can get a little gloomy at the front of the house, can’t it? We need to put some effort into keeping it inviting.’
She carried a tray of plates past me, beaming. I felt even more unsettled, and confused about every conversation I’d had that morning. Had we really been discussing flowers?
It was my nerves, reading too much into things. It was ridiculous of me to think anything else. If only I could have told Aisling. She would have been bursting with opinions on how I should deal with it all.
*
I decided to pull myself together. The best way to banish this feeling of inferiority would be to find a useful purpose for myself. I would throw myself into learning the ropes. I spotted Mrs Wiggs walking down the hallway as I was coming down the stairs. A narrow corridor led through the pantry and into the kitchen and I saw her bun disappearing down it.
‘Mrs Wiggs!’ I called out.
The woman was no more than a few feet away, but she didn’t stop or turn back, just kept walking. I assumed she hadn’t heard me and scurried after her down the passageway. She opened the door to the kitchen and I was immediately behind her. She turned around, locked eyes with me, her hand still on the door. I smiled at her and she held my gaze.
‘Mrs Wiggs, I’m glad I caught you. I was only wondering if—’
She closed the door on me.
I was stood there, quite the fool, feeling confused and conversing with a door. I knocked on it and waited. There was no answer. I put my hand on the handle. I faltered, regained my courage, thrust the door open and closed it behind me.
Mrs Wiggs was addressing Cook and Sarah and stopped talking as soon as I entered. Neither Sarah nor Cook raised their eyes, and Mrs Wiggs seemed bemused that I was there.
‘Mrs Lancaster, I was in the middle of instructing the staff on the requirements for today.’
‘Right, well, carry on,’ I said, sounding more sergeant major than I intended.
Both servants kept their eyes firmly on the floor, and Mrs Wiggs looked about the room as if a bird had flown in.
‘Carry on with what, Mrs Lancaster?’ she asked.
‘Well, if there are instructions to be given, I should be aware of them so I might contribute to the running of the household. I have been thinking that I would very much like to learn the way things are done here. After all, I am… I have run my own ward and assisted in surgery, so I’m confident that with the right guidance I can lend a hand here.’ I finished on a flourish, thinking of Matron’s motivating speeches where she would rally us as if we were in the army.
I could almost hear the drilling of the servants’ eyes as they bored their way through the kitchen floor, trying to find a place they didn’t have to witness this, whatever this was. Mrs Wiggs fixed me with a glacial smile, looked towards the servants, looked at the floor as if she were accessing her reserves of patience, and turned to me.
‘Mrs Lancaster, this is a wonderful idea and I think it would be best if we began by discussing how to approach it. Perhaps we could do so in the front dining room. There is a fire in there, you’ll be warm. I shall be with you as soon as I can.’
I nodded obediently, damn near curtseyed, and closed the door behind me like a meek little girl.
I waited for Mrs Wiggs for well over an hour and she never did come. When I found her, my blood boiling, she apologised and made some excuse about Sarah not having the hot ashes collected, and then discovered that the potatoes for dinner all had eyes, and how by the time she got to the front dining room I had left. I’m sure she found this little farce hilarious.
I had heard I was to be mistress of the house; however, it seemed it already had one. I felt utterly useless, but I would simply have to try harder. Things were always difficult in the beginning. The hospital had been a lonely and unfamiliar business before I’d met Aisling, and I hadn’t won this place in the world to give in so easily. This time I would have to work it out for myself. I was sure I could make my marriage a success, and I was still optimistic that even Mrs Wiggs would come to appreciate my efforts eventually.
4
The conversation about flowers haunted me more than it should have. I couldn’t help but think that Mrs Wiggs had been referring to my appearance. I had never been good with fashion and paid little attention to my grooming beyond looking clean and presentable. It held no interest for me until I met Aisling at the hospital. She used to help me with my hair and advise which colours I should wear to suit my complexion and which to avoid. Before her, well, they were simply colours. I picked them because I liked them, even if they didn’t like me, as she used to tell me.
Aisling said that if you were feeling small, then the trick was to go out and buy a daring dress, a bigger hat; to take a lesson from the animal kingdom and frighten your opponents with exotic plumage until your courage caught up. I needed only to acquire some exotic plumage. Now that the incident with Thomas seemed to have passed, I wanted to make more of an impression and get things back to the way they’d been when I’d had to constantly slap his hands away. Maybe the front of the house did look a little tired. I would spruce it up.
There was also another conversation I needed to have with Thomas, one I hadn’t banked o
n having so quickly. I thought I might be expecting. I was unsure whether to discuss this with him yet, but I was disquieted at being in this new house and displeasing him, and I sensed his attention waning, so I thought… Well, I thought it might help me win back some favour.
I had the idea that if I asked Mrs Wiggs for her assistance, it would make her feel important and might earn me some approval. I felt a little unctuous, but I was willing to do what was necessary, so I let her style my hair. She had been offering to do this since my first day, but I had brushed her away. I hadn’t felt the need for it and I wasn’t comfortable with her touching me. It gave me the shivers, echoes of the times my grandmother used to brush my hair, hitting me on the head with the brush and near scratching my eyelashes out with each stroke.
When I asked Mrs Wiggs if she would consider helping me with my hair that night, an evening when Thomas had condescended to confirm that he would be home for dinner, she became the most animated I’d ever seen her.
‘Really, Mrs Lancaster? Are you sure? You didn’t seem keen when I offered before,’ she said.
‘It was only that I was overwhelmed at being in a new place, surrounded by new things and new people, but it is a weakness of mine and I thought—’
‘I have always helped dress the ladies of the house. I have vast experience. I’m so glad you’ve finally asked me.’
My hair has a natural curl, which makes it stubborn and difficult to work with. Instead of over-preening, I tend to roll it away from my head, allowing any wayward curls to fall around my face. When it came to Mrs Wiggs touching it, she made faces, which I could see in the mirror. This irritated me, of course, and I had to stop my own eyes from rolling because she could see me in the mirror too. She continually commented on how coarse my hair was and how stubborn the curl. Being the owner of the hair, I was well aware of this.
‘Where did you say your family were from?’ she asked, brushing and yanking my hair so forcefully I could feel my eyebrows being pulled.
People of Abandoned Character Page 2
