by Mary Nichols
‘You should not have attempted the stairs,’ her grandson said. ‘If you had sent a message, I could have come down to you. I will send for Stephen to take you home.’
‘Very well. But give Miss Bywater a trial. If she is as good as she says she is, it will not matter a jot that she is a female.’
‘Grandmother,’ he protested, ‘women cannot be expected to do such meticulous work. They do not have the constitution for it, nor the mental ability…’
‘Nonsense! You forget the country is ruled by a woman now.’
‘The new Queen will no doubt be guided at every step by her ministers and advisers. There is no comparison. And how can I put Miss Bywater in a room full of men? I will never get any work out of them.’
‘Then find her a corner to herself. I am sure she can deal with any unwarranted attention.’ She turned to Diana and scrutinised her carefully, her gaze ranging from her sensible boots, her simple black dress and three-quarter-length coat to her wide-brimmed bonnet, which hid most of her face. ‘Take that bonnet off, girl.’
Diana did as she was told, to reveal lustrous red-gold hair which she had attempted, not very successfully, to drag into a knot at the back of her head. The old lady gave a secretive little smile, which puzzled Diana. ‘You will hide that under a suitable cap when you are at work, my dear, and you will wear a plain gown, long-sleeved and buttoned to the neck, otherwise you’ll do. John, you may send for Stephen now.’
Mr Harecroft picked up a bell from his desk and gave it a vigorous shake. Almost at once the young man who had conducted Diana upstairs entered the room and was told to find Mr Stephen Harecroft and ask him to come. He looked at Diana as he turned to obey and gave her a smirk, which told her he had been listening on the other side of the door. Lady Harecroft had said she could deal with unwarranted attention and she must demonstrate that she could. She gave him a haughty look and replaced her bonnet.
She was wondering if she ought to leave, but she had not yet been appraised of her duties or told her hours of work and remuneration. She was not even sure that Mr Harecroft would give her a job after Lady Harecroft had gone. He had certainly said nothing that indicated he would, had said very little at all, leaving the talking to his grandmother. She sat with her hands in her lap and waited.
Stephen Harecroft was a younger version of John, in his early twenties, Diana guessed. He had similar clear blue eyes and a shock of pale gold hair with just a hint of red. ‘You sent for me, sir? I was busy checking that last consignment of silk. It’s not up to the same standard as the last batch. We shall have to have words with our suppliers.’ He turned to the old lady, his face lighting up with pleasure. ‘Great-Grandmama, you here? How are you?’ He bent to kiss her cheek.
‘Perfectly well, boy. I want you to escort me back to Harecroft House. I will stay with you tonight and go home tomorrow.’
‘A pleasure, but who brought you?’
‘Richard, but he’s gone to a meeting. He will join us for dinner.’
‘A meeting?’ Mr Harecroft queried. ‘With whom?’
The old lady shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say.’
‘Something to do with his book, I dare say,’ Stephen said. Suddenly seeing Diana, he stopped. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am.’ This with a bow. ‘I did not see you there.’
‘Miss Bywater is coming to work here,’ Lady Harecroft said.
‘In what capacity?’
‘Clerk,’ his father said.
The young man did not trouble to hide his astonishment. ‘But—’
‘No buts, Stephen,’ her ladyship said. ‘Miss Bywater is in every way suitable and she needs to work, so you will do all you can to help her.’
He looked from his great-grandmother to his father, one eyebrow raised in a query. His father shrugged. It seemed to Diana that the old lady’s word was law and, however much they might disapprove, they dare not go against her. She watched as the young man escorted his venerable relative from the room, then turned to face Mr Harecroft.
‘Ahem…’ he began, twiddling a pen between his fingers. ‘I assume it is no good asking you for references?’
‘No good at all, sir, but I am willing to demonstrate my ability.’
He reached into a drawer and drew out a ledger, opening it at random. ‘Add that column of figures, if you please.’ She did so. After he had checked her accuracy, he asked her to work out seven and a half per cent of the total. This done, she was required to copy a column of figures. If he had hoped to catch her out, he was disappointed. The speed with which she came back with the correct answers startled him. ‘My father set me practising on the bills of lading on the ships he commanded,’ she told him. ‘I also worked out the percentages of the prize money for each member of the crew. It was Papa’s way of teaching me mathematics.’
‘It seems to have worked,’ he murmured. ‘What else did he teach you?’
She was relaxed enough to laugh. ‘Oh, so many things. How to steer by the stars, the tides and ocean currents, the geography of the ports where we called, what they imported and exported, what it cost and what it fetched when it arrived in England, some of the culture. He is a very knowledgeable man.’
‘But now unable to work himself?’
‘That is correct.’ She shut her mouth firmly on expanding on that. She did not want him to know about her father’s drinking. It was something of which she was ashamed, ashamed most particularly because she could not coax him away from it. And bullying him only made him angry. He was her father, he would tell her, she had no right to question what he did.
‘I will give you a month’s trial. Your pay will be thirty-five pounds per annum and you will work from eight in the morning to seven at night from Monday to Friday and from eight until two on Saturdays. The men are given an allowance for a suit of clothes, so you shall have enough for two gowns. Grey, I think. Is that agreeable?’
‘Yes, thank you, but I would like to be paid at the end of each week, considering I am to live at home.’
‘Very well.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You can no doubt compute how much that will be yourself.’
‘When shall I start?’
‘Tomorrow.’ He opened a cash box and extracted three guineas which he offered to her. ‘For your dresses. They will remain the property of the company.’
She rose to take the coins and put them in her purse, then thanked him again and left. He did not ask anyone to escort her off the premises, assuming she would find her own way down to the shop floor. Only when she was safely out into the arcade did she let out a huge breath of relief and allow herself to smile. She had done it! Sheer effrontery had paid off. At least for a month. She had no doubt Mr Harecroft expected to be able to say at the end of that time that the experiment had not worked and he must part with her. She had to disappoint those expectations, which meant not only being as good as the men he employed, but better. At the end of the month she must have made herself almost indispensable.
And she did. At the end of the trial, he was obliged to admit she had earned her pay and told her she could stay. She was still there a year later.
So that she would not distract the men she worked in solitary splendour in a little cubby hole on the second floor. Luckily it had a window which looked out onto the street at the back the shop, which she could open to let in a little air. She was doing that one hot day in June 1838, when she spotted the Harecroft carriage drawing up outside. She leaned out to see who had arrived and saw Lady Harecroft being escorted into the building.
Diana had not seen her ladyship since she joined the company the year before, and assumed her great age had precluded any more uncomfortable coach journeys from her home in Berkshire. But here she was. What had prompted her make the trip, especially in the heat of summer? There was no need for her to come shopping; anything she needed could be sent to her.
In the time she had been working at Harecroft’s she had discovered a great deal about the business and the hierarchy of the family who ran i
t. At its apex was the redoubtable dowager Lady Harecroft. Her husband, plain George Harecroft then, had made his fortune in India where he worked for the British East India Company. Returning with his pockets jingling, he had not only married Lady Caroline Carson, the seventeen-year-old daughter of the Earl of St Albans, but, when Britain’s textile manufacturers forced the end of the East India Company’s monopoly of trade with the subcontinent, had set up Harecroft Importing and Warehousing from premises on the docks, which still belonged to the company and still figured largely in its affairs. Two years later his uncle died without issue and he became the second Baron Harecroft and inherited Borstead Hall near Ascot in Berkshire.
‘Everyone expected him to give up the business and live the life of an aristocrat, but he chose to continue building it up,’ Stephen had told her soon after her arrival. He had overcome his initial shock at her being employed and had assiduously obeyed his great-grandmother’s injunction to help her all he could. ‘I am told it caused no end of gossip, but he was never one to listen to tattle and he was encouraged by my great-grandmother who was, and is, a very unusual woman. Now we have a thriving import-and-export business and several shops besides this one. Great-Grandfather died some years ago and my grandfather took the title. He left the business then to concentrate on the estate where he breeds and trains race horses. My father took over here. One day, the warehouse and shops will be in my hands. Richard, of course, will eventually inherit the title and the estate in Berkshire.’
‘Richard is your brother?’
‘Yes. He is older than me by three years, but he disdains working in the business. He and Papa fell out over it years ago. He was in the army for a time, but now he says he is writing a book, though what it is about I do not know.’
‘Is he married?’
‘No. I do not think he is the marrying kind.’ And then he had abruptly changed the subject, talking about the estate and his grandfather’s love of horses and his great-grandmother, who would be ninety the following month.
That same almost ninety-year-old was even now being helped into the building by a young man Diana supposed was Mr Richard Harecroft. She hurried along the corridor and knocked on her employer’s door. ‘Mr Harecroft,’ she said, when he bade her enter. ‘The Dowager Lady Harecroft has just entered the building. I saw her from my window.’
‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed, looking up from the paperwork on his desk. ‘How did she get here?’
‘By carriage, sir. There is a young man with her.’
‘Richard, I’ll be bound. Go down and make sure she is comfortable in the staff dining room. We cannot have her wandering all over the shop. Do not let her attempt to climb the stairs; the last time she did that, it nearly finished her. I will be down directly.’
Diana turned to go downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs was a full-length mirror and she paused long enough to check her appearance. Her grey dress was plain except for a few tucks down the bodice. It had tight sleeves and a high neck as her ladyship had dictated. Her hair had been drawn back under a white cap. She smiled at herself; she had obeyed Lady Harecroft’s instruction to cover her head, but it made her look almost matronly. What she did not realise was that her flawless complexion and neat figure gave the lie to that and her wide intelligent grey eyes made everyone, young and old, want to smile at her in a kind of conspiratorial way as if they knew she was playing a part.
‘Peaches and cream,’ her father had said, when he was in one of his more affable moods. ‘Just like your mother.’ Her mother had been slightly taller and her hair had been dark, but Diana was like her in other ways, intelligent, doggedly determined not to be beaten and sympathetic to other people’s problems without being soft. She had fitted into Harecroft’s well and though her male colleagues had been wary at first, most had come to accept her and sometimes brought their troubles to her sympathetic ear. Even Mr Stephen Harecroft.
She could not make up her mind about him. It had not taken her long to realise that Stephen idolised his father and would do anything to please him. At first he had talked to her about her work, but then they had gone on to speak of other things: what was happening in the world outside the business; the coming coronation of Queen Victoria, which had the whole country in a ferment of excitement; the recent publication of a People’s Charter, which had the nation split down the middle; the great technological advances being made; music, literature, the things they liked and disliked. Their little talks led to strolls in the park on a Saturday afternoon after work had finished for the day, and the occasional visit to a concert or a lecture. Only the day before he had asked her to accompany him to a Grand Ball to be held at Almack’s the evening following the coronation.
Was he just being kind or was he seriously courting her? Flattered as she was, she could not think of marriage while her father needed her. He had been much better of late and she was hopeful he was over the worst, but she was still careful not to give him any cause to relapse. One day she hoped they might move out of the shabby rooms they now occupied into something better; in the meantime, her address and her father’s affliction were secrets she guarded carefully. If Mr Harecroft were to learn about either, she was quite sure his attitude towards her would change; he might even find the excuse he needed to dismiss her. She must find a way to discourage young Mr Harecroft, meanwhile, there was his great-grandmother to deal with.
She found the old lady sitting in a gilded chair in the front of the shop, surrounded by fabrics, talking to Stephen. There was no sign of Richard. It appeared he had done as he had the year before: brought the old lady and left her.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Harecroft,’ Diana said.
The old lady turned to survey her, a wry smile lighting her features. ‘Good afternoon, young lady. Have you come to keep me in order?’
‘Oh, no, my lady. Mr Harecroft senior bade me greet you and make you comfortable in the staff dining room. He will join you directly.’
Her ladyship chuckled. ‘And I am to be prevented from wandering all over the shop, is that not so?’
‘My lady?’
‘Oh, you do not need to answer me. I know my grandson. But tell me, what do you think of this silk?’ She plucked at a length of the material to show Diana.
‘It is very fine.’
‘That may be so, but is it worth the exorbitant price I believe was paid for it?’
Diana was in a quandary. The desire to give an honest opinion did battle with her need to be diplomatic and she strove to find an answer that would satisfy both. ‘I think it might be a little overpriced, my lady, but in today’s market, with everyone vying to be seen to advantage for the coronation, it is selling well.’
‘Exactly what I said,’ Stephen put in.
The old lady smiled and pulled herself to her feet. ‘Escort me, Miss Bywater. We can have a little chat before my grandson joins us.’ She took Diana’s arm and together they made their way to a small room at the back of the ground floor that had been set aside for the staff to eat the mid-day meal they brought with them. It also had a fireplace and facilities for making tea. Once her ladyship had been seated, Diana set the kettle on the fire and stirred the embers to make it blaze.
‘How do you like working for Harecroft’s, Miss Bywater?’
‘Very much. I am grateful to you for affording me the opportunity to do something interesting.’
‘My grandson tells me you are quick to learn.’
‘I try to be.’
‘And Stephen sings your praises constantly.’
‘Does he?’ The kettle boiled and Diana used the distraction of making tea to cover her confusion. What had Stephen been saying? ‘My lady, I hope you do not think I have set out to…’ She stumbled over what she wanted to say.
‘No, of course not. Ah, here is John.’ She turned to her grandson. ‘John, you are paying far too much for your silk these days.’
‘It is the going rate, for the best quality, Grandmother. I cannot afford to drop standards. Beside
s, people are prepared to pay good money to appear in the latest fabrics for the festivities.’ He sat down next to her. ‘But you did not come here to talk about the price of silk, did you?’
‘No, I did not. I decided I had mouldered long enough in the country. I came to attend the coronation and to give you notice that I intend to have a house party.’
‘Oh?’ One bushy eyebrow lifted.
‘I am to reach the grand age of ninety next month, as you know…’
‘You won’t if you insist on racketing about town.’
His grandmother ignored him and continued as if he had not spoken. ‘And I wish to mark the occasion with a party.’ She accepted a cup of tea from Diana, who also put one in front of John and turned to leave them. ‘Stay,’ the old lady commanded, waving an ebony walking stick at her. ‘Pour a cup for yourself.’
‘Grandmother, what are you talking about?’ John asked, answering Diana’s questioning look with a nod. ‘You cannot possibly have a party. It will be too much for you.’
‘I decide what is too much for me. Besides, we have a houseful of servants at Borstead Hall, idle half the time—it won’t hurt them to stir themselves. Alicia will arrange it. I want all the family to stay the weekend. Friends and acquaintances will be invited for the Saturday only.’
‘Why?’ he asked, mystified.
‘Why? How often does a woman reach the age of ninety and still be in possession of all her faculties? I fully intend to be a hundred, but just in case I do not achieve it, I will have my celebration on Saturday, July the twenty-first.’
‘What does my father say about this?’
‘Nothing.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘He knows he will lead a much more peaceful life if he humours me. And William does like a peaceful life, looking after the estate and his beloved horses.’
‘And Aunt Alicia?’
‘Alicia too. I mean to have a really big day, with my family and friends around me, plenty to eat and drink and fireworks to round it off.’
