by Carol Rivers
‘Just like you do today.’
Hilda touched her hat lightly. ‘Do you think green is right for such an occasion? And is my feather a bit overdone?’
Flora knew Hilda was flying into her imagination as usual, forgetting the practical arrangements. ‘How are you going to travel there?’ she asked.
Hilda looked startled. ‘I hadn’t thought. Why?’
‘Can you afford the train?’
Hilda shook her head and her ringlets danced on her shoulders. ‘Don’t know. How much will it be?’
‘It’s expensive to travel by train.’
‘I’ve never been on a train before.’ Hilda looked nervous.
Flora hadn’t either, but she knew it wouldn’t be cheap. ‘What day are you going on?’
‘I’ve to write back and confirm a Sunday. Mrs Burns hasn’t got time in the week. Oh, Flora, would you come with me?’
Just then there were yells and shouts behind them. They turned to see a commotion at the bric-a-brac stall. Several people were yelling at the owner, an older man wearing a black felt hat and glasses. He was hurriedly trying to clear his stock away as the crowd pushed and pulled at the stall. Flora saw one man reach out and take hold of the stallholder’s jacket. He began to shake him, and as they struggled, another man swept the shelves clean with his arm. Pieces of china and cutlery, books, trinkets and other items scattered over the cobbles. Flora gasped as everyone rushed forward to help themselves.
‘You dirty German!’ a woman shrieked. ‘Get out of England, back to your own country.’
Before very long, the stall was demolished. The owner fell to his knees, cowering, trying to ward off the blows until a policeman arrived and the poor man was removed from harm’s way.
‘Fancy a German trying to sell in an English market!’ a lady exclaimed as she walked by, talking to another woman. ‘The blighters sink our boats and murder the passengers, and still expect Britain will give them a living.’
‘How do you know he was German?’ Flora asked, causing the woman to stop abruptly.
‘He’s called Old Fritz, ain’t he?’ the woman snapped back. ‘And his accent is enough to give him away.’
‘But he’s run that stall for years,’ Flora said in a shocked voice.
‘He won’t no more,’ the woman replied angrily. ‘Haven’t you heard? The coppers are interning all wot they call “suspect aliens”. After the Lusitania, you won’t see no foreigners selling their ill-gotten gains round ’ere.’
‘If you ask me,’ said the other woman, poking a finger towards Flora, ‘the bluebottles are late off the mark as usual. They should have rounded the buggers up after that Zeppelin flew over at the end of May. It’s said people were killed by it and others injured. You’d soon change your tune, dearie, if one of them flew over here.’
As the two women walked on, Flora looked back at the broken stall. Two young boys were kicking the remains and shouting out curses. She felt very upset and was surprised when Hilda said beside her, ‘She’s right, you know. That big airship was terrifying. Not that I saw it meself, but Mrs Bell said a friend of hers did and she ain’t felt safe since.’
Flora hadn’t witnessed the arrival of the German Zeppelin but she had seen the searchlights in the sky and heard the crackle of British guns. Combined with the sinking of the Lusitania and the heavy losses of troops in France, the public’s anti-German feeling was strengthening. ‘But Fritz is a nice old man,’ Flora protested, ‘always courteous and wouldn’t do anyone harm.’
‘Don’t change the fact he’s German.’
‘He still didn’t deserve to be beaten up.’
‘Oh, forget him,’ advised Hilda, dismissively. ‘He only had a few bumps and bruises.’
Flora looked back as they walked on. She saw one of the boys trying to light the tarpaulin with a match. Another stallholder rushed up and cuffed him round the ear, shouting that they didn’t want a fire at the market. Flora noticed that none of the other traders had come to Fritz’s aid. It was very sad to see people turn on one another like that.
‘So will you come with me to Adelphi?’ Hilda pleaded again. She took Flora by the arms, her face very serious. ‘I’ll pay you back, every penny.’
‘We’ll see,’ Flora answered. Somehow Hilda made it impossible to refuse.
‘Oh, thank you!’ said Hilda joyfully. She threw her arms around Flora.
Flora smiled. Hilda could always get round her. One way or another.
Chapter Five
It was early on Sunday morning, August 1st, and Flora’s sixteenth birthday. She didn’t expect to be celebrating it in the back of a cart. But Dr Tapper had made the suggestion of hiring Albert the farrier when she told him about Hilda’s invitation.
‘The trains are expensive,’ he warned. ‘Our farrier runs a carrying service for the Kent hopping season. I’m sure you’d have a comfortable enough ride at a reasonable cost.’
Later that day, Flora had gone to Albert’s yard, where the doctor’s pony was stabled. She had shown Albert the address that Hilda had given her. Flora was delighted when she managed to persuade him to be hired for just a shilling. She paid him in advance so he couldn’t change his mind.
Flora glanced at Hilda, who was wearing her green hat and feather. She looked very smart with her dark hair drawn up under its rim and the tailored grey suit moulded perfectly to her generous curves. Flora had decided to wear a tan-coloured ankle-length skirt and cream buttoned blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves. She had pinned her hair back in a knot, suitable for a formal occasion such as this.
Albert had provided them with cushioned benches to sit on. The ride was bumpy, and with plenty of fresh air. He had offered to pull the canvas top over the cart to shield them from the elements, but as there was very little breeze, they had decided to use their parasols instead. Flora tilted hers as they passed over Tower Bridge. She could see ferries and tugs of all shapes and sizes moored along the river. Bigger craft, too, though they were not as colourful as the old ships. Here in the city, the waterborne traffic seemed to glide along. The wake of each vessel barely caused a ripple. Flora was pleased that it was Sunday. They didn’t have to breathe in the smoke of the chemical-belching factories.
‘We’ll tell Albert to leave us at the gates of Adelphi,’ Hilda decided as they left the bridge and began their journey through the streets of the South Bank. ‘Imagine us, walking up the grand driveway. Just like I saw in the library book.’
‘But we’re not grand visitors, Hilda.’
‘I ain’t being caught in a farrier’s cart!’ Hilda exclaimed and sat quietly, frowning. Then, adjusting her parasol, she gasped. ‘Look over there, by the omnibus. It’s one of them new-fangled motorized vehicles without a roof. Oh, Flora, I wish I was riding in one of them!’
Flora stared at the gleaming black motor car. The lady passenger was dressed in cream lace and a wide-brimmed hat. The man drove in a stately manner and Flora and Hilda watched admiringly, although, when a small explosion came from the vehicle’s rear, they burst into laughter.
‘At least a cart don’t make bangs to blow out your eardrums,’ Flora said ruefully. ‘And we hired Albert at a bargain price.’
‘I’ll pay you back, I promise,’ Hilda answered, latching her gloved hand over Flora’s arm. ‘Soon as I get my wages. I’ll take you out somewhere special. Promise.’
Flora smiled. She would be rich if she had a penny for all of Hilda’s broken promises.
By twelve o’clock, the sun was still shining and their journey was almost over. Flora had never imagined that birds could sing so sweetly; the green, leafy trees were full of wings and warbles and she’d seen squirrels and a fox too. Albert had rarely used the long, curling whip over the horse’s back. Instead, they had jogged slowly along the winding lanes and narrow roads, through the hills and dales of the countryside. Hilda had fallen asleep, but Flora was wide awake. There was so much to see. She hadn’t been outside of London before. Here the animals roamed freely in the fie
lds and the little villages looked like the ones in picture books. Thatch-roofed cottages dotted the roadside. Flowers and shrubs grew everywhere. The gardens were full of colour, light and shade. The country air made her head reel.
‘I hope Albert knows the way,’ Hilda mumbled sleepily, waking after the cart went over a bump.
‘Of course he does. This countryside is very beautiful.’
‘Yes, but there’s no people. It must be very lonely.’
Flora looked at her friend. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’
Hilda tossed her head. ‘No, course not.’
The cart rattled along and into a wood. The path was full of overhanging bushes and the smell changed to a musty, damp odour. Flora tried to peer through the undergrowth, but she couldn’t: it was too thick.
‘Are you sure we’re going the right way?’ Hilda shouted up to Albert.
‘It’s what it says on this ’ere bit of paper,’ Albert yelled back.
For the next ten minutes, they were both very quiet until Albert stopped the cart at a crossroads. Flora and Hilda stood up to look over his shoulders. On the far side of the road was a pair of very imposing iron gates. To the right was a small cottage. It wasn’t as pretty as those in the villages, but it had a certain charm.
‘That’s it,’ said Albert, nodding. ‘That’s your Adelphi Hall.’
Flora looked at Hilda. Her mouth was open. ‘It can’t be,’ Hilda objected. ‘The place in the books is much bigger.’
‘Don’t mean the gatehouse,’ said Albert with a laugh. ‘We have to drive through them big gates.’ He urged the horse across the road, and a stooping, elderly man came out from the cottage. He exchanged a few words with Albert, opened the gates at a very slow pace, and stood watching as they passed through.
‘Poor fellow,’ shouted Albert over his shoulder. ‘Told me he’s been brought out of retirement as some of the male staff have joined Kitchener.’
Hilda looked anxiously at Flora. ‘Do you think there will be any nice-looking young men left at Adelphi?’
‘Or any young men at all,’ said Flora with devilment.
‘They can’t all have gone to war,’ said Hilda unhappily.
‘You said yourself that the women were filling the men’s posts.’
Hilda looked annoyed. ‘Yes, but not all of them.’
Flora was still smiling as Albert brought the cart to a halt. He nodded to the wooden sign in the middle of the path. ‘Tradesmen, servants and haulage to the left,’ he called. ‘You two girls ain’t royalty, are you?’ He chuckled.
‘Maybe not, but I want to walk up to the house,’ Hilda insisted.
‘The drive is for gentry, not the likes of us,’ Albert replied. ‘Now I can see a few potholes in the road. You’d better hang on to the sides.’
Flora glanced quickly at Hilda as the cart bumped along. Hilda was chewing her lower lip and the look on her face told Flora that things weren’t quite as she had expected them to be. The cart bumped so violently that Flora could hear her own teeth rattling. The woods around them were full of dense thickets. The blue sky disappeared from view and Hilda’s face grew even darker.
It was not long before the sun shone again and the woods were behind them. Flora took a sharp breath at the landscape now revealed. Green fields and parkland curved into a graceful arc around a large mansion. The four marble columns that Hilda had described from the library book gleamed brightly. The winding pathway that Hilda had wanted to walk down curled out of the woods and down to the house. The gravel surface swept up to a large fountain in front of splendid doors. Four floors and gabled attics rose above them. Flora lost count of the chimneys. She was dazzled by the many tall windows.
‘Adelphi Hall is beautiful,’ Hilda said the moment she saw the house. ‘Better even than Buckingham Palace.’
Flora smiled. She had to agree that in its own way Adelphi Hall had a particular majesty. Her gaze settled on the lush hedges and manicured gardens surrounding the house; she thought how sweet the air smelled. In the distance, she could see white dots in the fields. These must be sheep, she decided, though they looked unmoving as large black crows soared above them.
A motorized vehicle chugged slowly up the drive and paused outside the house. ‘Look, a motor car, just like Lady Hailing’s,’ Hilda cried. ‘Oh, Albert, stop the cart, will you? I want to remember all this when I get back to London.’
Albert drew the cart to a halt. The two girls sprang to their feet, craning their necks to watch the visitor climb out.
‘It’s a gentleman,’ Flora said as she caught a brief glance of a tall, striking-looking figure being greeted by a servant. ‘But I can’t see very much more.’
‘I wonder if it’s Lord Guy,’ said Hilda excitedly.
‘Who’s Lord Guy?’
‘He’s the son of Lord William.’
Flora thought about what Mrs Bell had said about Lord Guy. She wondered if Hilda had taken much note.
‘The earl himself is rarely seen by anyone,’ Hilda continued, ‘but it’s Lord Guy and his aunt Bertha, Lord William’s sister, who run the house, together with Lady Bertha’s husband, James Forsythe.’
‘You seem to be well up on all this,’ Flora said in surprise.
Hilda grinned. ‘I told you, I’ve read books and magazines.’
‘I hope you’ve not got any daft ideas.’
‘I shall be rubbing shoulders with gentry,’ Hilda boasted.
‘As a servant, you won’t mix with the family.’
‘As Lady Bertha’s maid, I will.’ Hilda straightened her spine and proudly lifted her chin. ‘Just think, I’ll not have to wear a pinafore, nor will I share a room with any of the lower servants.’
‘Better get cracking, miss,’ Albert said impatiently.
Flora feared that Hilda was allowing her imagination to run away with her. Hilda had been trained as a housemaid and never experienced working in a country house. The rules would be very different. And she was expecting to rise quickly through the ranks of the servants, but Flora wondered if Hilda’s dream was even a possibility.
Albert urged the horse on. A smaller lane took them to the side of the house and through another wooded area. Flora noted as they emerged from the trees again that the gardens and lawns were as immaculate as at the front. Here and there were beds of flowers, all tended to perfection. A Grecian statue of a half-clothed woman was the first of many decorating the gardens. When they came to a set of stone arches, beyond which there were stables and outhouses, Flora glimpsed a line of high walls and vines growing thickly over them. All the paths were swept clear of weeds and had borders of small plants that looked recently added to the well-tended earth.
The courtyard was very busy with stable hands. Some youths were cleaning and brushing the cobbles. Others were grooming the horses which were tethered outside the many boxes. Several younger boys in dirty breeches and heavy boots used spades to fill their barrows.
Albert stopped the cart and climbed down. ‘I’m off to the find water and a nosebag for the horse,’ he told them as he helped them from the cart. ‘Looks like the kitchens might be over there, through the garden beyond to the back of the house.’
Flora and Hilda nodded in silence. Flora knew Hilda was nervous. Her face was pale and her brown eyes full of apprehension. They made their way together along the path and Flora heard Hilda’s gasp as the magnificent building rose above them.
‘It’s so big,’ said Hilda. ‘I wonder who cleans all them windows?’
Flora was thinking the same. She hoped it wouldn’t be Hilda’s job.
They passed several ornamental ponds and nodded to an older man who was trimming the hedges with shears. A smaller paved courtyard led up to the back door. Two women stood talking. The younger, who wore a pinafore and mob cap, hurried into the house. The remaining woman was in her fifties, Flora guessed, and her tall, erect posture, her black garb and silk apron trimmed with black beads, indicated her high rank. Her white collar was ruffled around he
r neck and a ring of keys hung at her waist.
‘Do you think it’s Mrs Burns?’ whispered Hilda nervously. ‘Oh, Flora, do I look all right? Will she like me?’
Flora smiled. ‘Course she will.’
‘I feel sick with nerves.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Hilda squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘You’ll make a fine impression.’
But Flora felt her heart sink a little. The face beneath the white lace cap showed little welcome. A tight mouth and unsmiling eyes gave nothing away as she clasped her hands in front of her and narrowed her gaze at their approach.
Chapter Six
‘You must be Jones,’ the housekeeper said to Hilda.
‘Hilda Jones,’ replied Hilda breathlessly.
‘We refer to lowers by their surnames. You may call me Mrs Burns.’
‘Thank you,’ Hilda said, adding quickly, ‘Mrs Burns.’
‘And this?’ The housekeeper frowned at Flora.
‘I’m Flora Shine, Hilda’s travelling companion,’ answered Flora, as Hilda seemed all of a fluster.
Mrs Burns looked them up and down. ‘We follow the rule of invitation here. Myself and Mr Leighton, the butler, must be consulted first. But, since you’ve had some way to travel, you’d better come in.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Burns,’ Hilda said again.
Mrs Burns led them inside the house. ‘You’ve arrived at a busy time. Mrs Harris is just cooking the staff meal. I usually conduct interviews in the morning,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘but you’re fortunate that I can see you as most of the family are away.’
Despite the cool welcome, Flora was impressed by the busy kitchen, with staff darting here and there. Trays were held high over people’s heads and uniformed footmen shooed maids out of their way. Flora stared around the large room full of shining pots, pans and freshly washed cutlery. Flora saw the cook, a small woman with very red cheeks, busy at the stoves. Around her worked the kitchen staff, carrying and fetching the dishes.
‘This is Mrs Harris.’ Mrs Burns said, nodding to the cook.
