Emily

by Valerie Wood

  She was tired by the time she reached home. Sam had built up the fire and was sitting in the one chair which she had kept. ‘I’ll have to be off, Em. I said I’d be at ’farm for suppertime. I’ve built ’fire up for thee in case tha’s stopping tonight. Did tha get job?’

  She took off her shawl and hung it on a nail behind the door, then looked round at the empty room. ‘I did. I start tomorrow at seven o’clock.’

  ‘I’m glad, Em. Mr Francis is a fine gentleman. Look how he’s allus looked after Gran. And now he’s given me this job on ’farm. I could stay there for ever. We’re very lucky.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose we are.’

  He lumbered towards the door. ‘Well, I’d best be off then. I might see thee at ’market or somewhere, sometime.’

  She nodded. ‘I hope so, Sam.’

  He turned back towards her. ‘I’ll miss thee, Em, just like I miss our Gran.’ His blue eyes suddenly filled with tears which spilled over his cheeks. ‘I’ll miss thee a lot.’

  She rushed towards him and put her arms around his waist and her face against his chest and smelled the aroma of earth and grain and remembered the time when he had carried her on his back all those years ago. ‘I’ll miss you too, Sam, such a lot. You’ve been like a big brother to me. You’ve taught me such a lot.’

  ‘Have I?’ He wiped his face with his sleeve. ‘I didn’t know I’d done that. Well, fancy!’ He gave a tearful grin. ‘Just fancy me larning anybody owt.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Sam.’ She too wiped away a tear. ‘Don’t let anybody tell you you’re not.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said solemnly and picked up his box. ‘And thou’s a good lass too, just like our Gran allus said.’ He opened the door. ‘Cheerio then, Em. I’ll be seeing thee,’ and he marched away without once looking back.

  It was late afternoon but not yet dusk as the day had been bright and sunny, with very little cloud, not like a November day at all, so she decided that she too would walk to the river bank for one last time. She kept to the top of the dyke and walked swiftly and surely. She knew her way well now.

  The tide was full and the river washing over the salt marsh, so that she had to stay on top of the dyke rather than go down to the water’s edge. There was a stiff breeze blowing which caught her hair and on impulse she untied the clips which held it back and let it fly free. There were ships sailing down towards the mouth of the river, their canvas sails spread, and she put her arms up and waved as she used to when she was very young. I’m no longer a child, she thought. I have to do grown-up things from now on. But just this last time I want to run and shout just as I used to with Dick and Jim and Dora and Jane.

  She jumped down from the dyke and into the marshy fields and with her arms outstretched and her blond hair flying she ran in great circles, whooping and shouting as if to the companions of her childhood, who had also gone to the adult world. Above her mallards flew over and then great flocks of geese and as she saw the pale sun dropping and the sky darkening, she climbed soberly back up to the top of the dyke and looked over the water, shining darkly with colours of red, silver and gold. ‘Goodbye, river,’ she called. ‘Goodbye, childhood. Goodbye, Granny Edwards. Goodbye, Sam.’

  Chapter Six

  She sat on the hard chair by the fire; her body ached and her head jerked forward from time to time as she dropped into an intermittent slumber. Eventually she roused herself, built up the fire again with the remaining wood and went outside to fetch in some straw from the hen house. There was a sharp nip of frost in the air and she could smell the coldness of winter. She laid the straw on the floor in front of the fire and draped her shawl over it so that she wouldn’t itch from fleas, then, taking off her skirt and blouse, she lay down to try and sleep.

  The night was long and she lay looking into the flames or watched the flickering, dancing shadows on the walls and ceilings. Outside she could hear the screech of owls and the bark of foxes and as she drifted off into sleep she could hear the echo of Granny Edwards’s voice gently chiding and Sam’s deep voice in answer. She dreamed she could hear her name being called and the clatter of pans being put on the fire.

  She awoke with a start. A wind had risen and was rattling the door sneck, the fire had died down and there was no more wood inside. She sat up and put her shawl around her and went to the door and opened it. It was not yet dawn, the sky was merely lightening with a pale milky hue and a cluster of stars still glimmered. She stretched; she was stiff and aching and she went to the pump and splashed her face and hands, the cold water instantly dispelling her tiredness.

  Her bag was by the door and she rooted around in it for her hairbrush. She brushed and brushed her hair and twisted it into a bun so that it was neat and tidy. She dressed again and prepared to leave. Just one glance back, she thought as she walked away, and as she looked for the final time she could almost visualize Granny Edwards standing by the door watching her, just as her mother had watched her leave home all those years before. She straightened her shoulders and put her head up. Come on, Emily, she told herself. Another life is ahead of you. Who knows what is going to happen next?

  The work was no harder than she expected, she loved the elegant rooms and the sweep of the staircase and she took great pride in her work. She was up at five-thirty as Mrs Brewer had told her she would be, and with the other housemaids had all the fireplaces in the downstairs rooms cleaned, the fire-irons polished and the fires relit by half-past six. Then they took off their dark aprons, washed their hands and put on their white aprons, ate their own breakfast in the kitchen and prepared the breakfast trays for Mrs Francis and her daughter Deborah, to be taken upstairs at half-past nine. The dining table was laid for Mr Francis and any visitors who might be staying. If there were no visitors then Mr Francis breakfasted alone at eight o’clock, helping himself from the dresser in the dining room, where he ate simply of smoked fish, toast and marmalade and coffee, before going about his business on the estate.

  ‘He’s very easy to look after is Mr Francis,’ Mrs Castle said as they ate breakfast at the big kitchen table one morning. ‘But then he allus was, even when he was a young man.’

  ‘Have you been with the family a long time, Mrs Castle?’ Emily was curious; the cook seemed to know all that happened in the household and yet she had never seen her out of the kitchen.

  ‘Aye, since I was just a nipper like yonder lass.’ She pointed over to Jane, who was sweating by the range as she stoked the embers. Jane was always the last to eat as she had to make sure everyone else had food on their plates and that the fire didn’t go out. ‘I started as a kitchen maid, just as she has, so don’t look so glum, Janey, you might get to be cook when I’m dead and gone.’ She gave a great rumble of a laugh. ‘But don’t bank on it yet ’cos I’m not planning on going for a long time.’

  ‘We don’t see much of Mrs Francis or Miss Deborah,’ Emily added conversationally, ‘except when we take ’breakfast trays up.’ Rarely had she seen Mrs Francis downstairs; she seemed to take little interest in the running of the household, seemingly content to leave it to Mrs Brewer, and as for her daughter, Deborah, Emily only ever heard her voice echoing through the house, usually petulant and grievous.

  Mrs Castle gave a searching look at Emily. ‘It’s not our place to see them we work for.’ She touched her nose, ‘We keep this out of everything,’ she patted her mouth, ‘and we keep this buttoned up. And’, she went on, ‘anything we hear we keep to ourselves.’

  Emily was suitably chastened. ‘I didn’t mean –’

  ‘I know,’ Mrs Castle interrupted. ‘It’s onny natural to be curious about them you work for. But there’s things you’ll hear or see that you won’t understand, so it’s best if you don’t hear or see ’em, if you follow my meaning.’

  She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. ‘Try to be invisible, Emily. That’s ’best thing to do.’

  ‘It’s not fair,’ Jane grumbled as they undressed and climbed into the bed
they shared in the topmost room. ‘I’ve got ’worst job of all. I’m at everybody’s beck and call. And just look at my hands.’ She held out her raw and chapped hands for Emily’s inspection. ‘And I miss my ma, and I even miss Jenny and all ’other bairns.’ She burst into tears. ‘I wish I was at home.’

  Emily put her arms around her. ‘Don’t cry, Jane. It’s not easy for you to leave everybody. It’s worse for you than me, ’cos I haven’t left anybody behind, only Sam, and I know he’ll be all right at ’farm.’

  Jane sniffled and wiped her nose on a handkerchief she took from under her pillow. ‘My ma allus said she didn’t know how Sam managed so well considering he had no ma or da, and especially as he wasn’t very bright.’

  Emily bridled. ‘He might not be very bright, but he can grow vegetables and catch game and he never wanted for any money ’cos he works hard.’ But she started to wonder as she lay next to her sleeping friend, how it was that Granny Edwards and Sam hadn’t finished up in the workhouse as her mother and brother Joe had done. Granny Edwards was a good manager, I expect, she thought sleepily as she turned over and tucked her hand beneath her cheek. That would be the reason.

  She opened the curtains in Mr Francis’s study one morning, and looking out at the winter landscape she was surprised to see him mounting his horse and riding away. The groom looking up at the window saw her and gave a wave. She raised her hand and turned to start her chores. Wonder where he’s going so early? It’s not yet a quarter to six and still dark. But she remembered Cook’s advice to not see or hear anything and dismissed the question from her mind. She finished the study and, first knocking on the door, she entered the sitting room. She put down her dustpan and brush and went across to the window to open the curtains.

  ‘Who are you?’

  The sudden voice startled her and she jumped. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you there.’ Mrs Francis was sitting in a high-backed chair hidden from Emily’s view as she’d come in through the door.

  ‘What’s your name? Are you new? Have I seen you before?’ The questions were abrupt, requiring an immediate answer.

  ‘Only when I’ve brought up breakfast, ma’am,’ she stammered. ‘Emily Hawkins is my name and yes, I haven’t been here long. This is my first position.’ She stood in front of Mrs Francis, unsure of whether to withdraw or wait for dismissal.

  ‘Fetch me a cup of tea and toast,’ Mrs Francis demanded. ‘You can do your chores later.’ She shivered. ‘I’m cold. Get someone to light the fire.’ Her face was pinched and her eyes looked tired. She still wore her bedgown and robe and a cap upon her head, from which dark hair strayed out.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Emily hurried downstairs in search of Janet. ‘Be quick,’ she said. ‘Make some tea and toast for Mrs Francis and we have to light ’fire straight away. She’s in ’sitting room!’

  ‘What’s this? What’s this? Madam’s up?’ Mrs Castle took charge. ‘You must take up ’tea and toast, Emily, if that’s what she said. Janet, go up now and light ’fire. Come on, quick as lightning or you’ll know what for!’

  Emily set a tray as Jane toasted the bread. ‘Mr Francis must have disturbed her,’ she commented. ‘I’ve just seen him ride off.’

  ‘Have you now?’ Mrs Castle set a silver teapot down on the tray. ‘Well, never mind that, off you go and mind you don’t spill. And ask ’mistress if she would like you to pour,’ she called after Emily as she went up the kitchen stairs to the hall.

  She didn’t know why she felt so nervous in front of Mrs Francis. She had felt no qualms or apprehension with Mr Francis, he had a quiet gentle manner, but there was a look about Mrs Francis which disturbed her. It’s because she is tired, I expect. She can’t have slept well. ‘Would you like me to pour the tea, ma’am, or shall I leave you?’ Janet had made the fire and quietly slipped away.

  ‘Pour,’ she said, scrutinizing Emily, ‘and when I have finished you can come upstairs and help me back to bed. I won’t want breakfast, so make sure that no-one disturbs me.’

  ‘Poor lady has a lot to put up with,’ Mrs Castle remarked when later a relieved Emily came back into the kitchen after helping Mrs Francis to bed and drawing the curtains tightly so that the early morning light didn’t disturb her. There were just the two of them in the kitchen. ‘Pop ’kettle on, Em, and we’ll have a cup o’ tea afore others come in for breakfast.’

  ‘Mrs Francis doesn’t seem very happy,’ Emily said, temporarily forgetting Mrs Castle’s former entreaty not to discuss her employers.

  Mrs Castle appeared to have forgotten it too, for she nodded and said, ‘Aye, it’s not a happy family in spite of all its wealth and land.’

  ‘What was Mr Francis like when he was a young man?’ Emily asked as she poured boiling water on to the leaves. ‘He was handsome, I expect, but was he so quiet as he is now?’

  ‘No! He was as jolly a young fellow as you could find anywhere, allus laughing and joking and then – and then’, her voice tailed away as she remembered, ‘well, like I say, it doesn’t do to gossip. No good comes of it. But all I’ll say, Emily, and this is between you and me, they’ve had misfortune in this family and through no fault of anybody’s as far as we can tell. The hand of God must have been there.’ She looked pensive as she sipped her tea. ‘Or mebbe it was Devil’s work. Who knows?’

  They heard the sound of a voice calling and Mrs Castle jumped to her feet. ‘Quick. Go upstairs! That’s Miss Deborah. Don’t let her disturb her mother. Find Mrs Brewer if you can, she’ll take care of her.’

  Deborah Francis was standing at the bottom of the hall stairs in her bedgown and without her robe, her dark hair unbrushed and hanging about her shoulders. ‘Where’s Betty?’ she complained as Emily appeared. ‘I want Betty.’ She stamped her foot, which Emily thought a very childish thing to do, especially as Miss Deborah was no longer a child but must have been all of twenty-one or -two.

  ‘Betty, Miss Deborah?’ Emily didn’t know of a Betty.

  ‘Betty! Betty Brewer, silly. Who are you, anyway?’

  Deborah Francis was often asleep when Emily had taken in the breakfast tray, quietly opening the curtains and then slipping out of the room again.

  ‘I’m here! I’m here!’ Mrs Brewer bustled down the stairs. ‘Whatever are you doing up so early, Miss Deborah? It’s not yet eight o’clock.’ She took hold of her mistress’s arm. ‘Come along, back upstairs and we’ll have a nice cup of tea, all tucked up in bed.’

  ‘Mama’s door is locked, Betty. I can’t get in,’ she said petulantly. ‘I knocked and knocked but she won’t answer.’

  ‘Hush now.’ Mrs Brewer soothed her as she led her upstairs. ‘Mama is not well this morning, we must let her have her rest. You can see her later.’

  Deborah Francis turned half-way up the stairs. ‘Who is that girl, Betty? I don’t know her.’

  ‘Emily. She hasn’t been here for very long. You’ll soon get used to seeing her about.’

  Emily looked upwards and gave her young mistress a slight smile. She seemed younger than her years. Almost childlike.

  ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she, Betty? She’s very pretty.’ She stopped again on the stairs. ‘Is she prettier than me, do you think?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Mrs Brewer was appeasing as she ushered her onwards. ‘Nowhere near as pretty as you. Quite plain in fact.’

  But Miss Deborah had taken a fancy to seeing Emily again. Mrs Brewer came into the kitchen later in the day and asked Emily to take tea into Miss Deborah in the sitting room, when normally Mrs Brewer would have taken it in herself. ‘She will have you bring it, Emily. She wants to take another look at you. Be patient with her, won’t you? Try not to aggravate her.’

  Why would I aggravate her? Emily wondered. And why does she want to see me?

  She wanted to see her in a good light. That is what she said. ‘You looked quite pretty this morning when I saw you, Emily,’ she said. ‘But I wondered if it was a trick of the light. Mama says that it can be. Stand by the window and turn arou
nd, please.’

  Emily put the tray on a small table and obligingly turned slowly around, then she bobbed her knee and said, ‘Will that be all, Miss Deborah?’

  ‘No. Pour the tea and tell me who you are and where you are from.’

  Emily poured the tea into a dainty china teacup and handed it to her. ‘I’m Emily Hawkins, Miss Deborah, and I lived with my grandmother until she died.’ Near enough, she thought, no need to tell her all about Granny Edwards.

  ‘And where are your parents? Or are you an orphan?’ Deborah stared at her from wide-set blue eyes.

  ‘Yes, miss. I’m an orphan, I think.’

  ‘You only think? Why don’t you know?’

  ‘My father is dead and I don’t know where my mother or brother are.’

  ‘You have a brother?’ Deborah put down her cup and clapped her hands joyfully. ‘Just like me. I have a brother too.’ She put her head on one side and considered. ‘Only I think he might be dead!’

  The door slowly opened and Mrs Francis appeared, her face was pale and her eyes had dark shadows beneath them. ‘What is all this chatter, Deborah? I’ve told you that you mustn’t gossip with the servants.’

  Emily bobbed her knee. ‘I was just leaving, ma’am,’ and was relieved to see Mrs Brewer coming through the door.

  ‘Miss Deborah wanted to talk to Emily, ma’am,’ Mrs Brewer explained. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  Mrs Francis sank wearily into a chair. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t really. It is a distraction, I suppose.’

  Mrs Brewer indicated that Emily should leave the room, and bobbing her knee she left.

  ‘Is she trustworthy, Mrs Brewer?’ Mrs Francis turned tired eyes towards the housekeeper. ‘Or will she tittle-tattle?’

  ‘She seems very reliable, ma’am, and she has no immediate family, so she has no-one to gossip with apart from the other servants, and they are all discreet.’

  ‘She has a brother, Mama, just like me,’ Deborah interrupted, then looked vague. ‘Or – I’m not sure if she said he was dead.’ She shrugged. ‘She’s an orphan, anyway.’