In the cottage, Mother and Mrs Grove were huddled together looking inside the tall cupboard in the alcove beside the fireplace.
‘That’s heavy, so it’ll need to go at the bottom,’ said Mrs Grove.
‘I don’t need telling how to pack, Beatrice,’ said Mother.
‘Pack?’ Fear streamed through Juliet, which was daft, because she knew the rules about tied cottages.
Mother turned round. Her face, which had been drawn all week, was brighter. ‘It’s good news. Mrs Whicker wanted to see me because her ladyship has heard of my reputation with a needle and wants me to be her personal seamstress.’ She laughed and a couple of tears spurted from her eyes. ‘It’s a live-in position. Imagine that. There’s never been a resident seamstress at Moorside before.’
If Mother went to Moorside … ‘Will I have to move in with old Mrs Dancy?’
‘You’re coming with me. It’s a sign of how much they want me that they’re prepared to take you as well.’
Mrs Grove snorted. ‘It’s a sign of what a sensible body Mrs Whicker is, more like. Say what you like about her being a slave-driver, but she guards those housemaids more closely than their own mothers. She wouldn’t dream of setting you adrift, Juliet, not at your age.’
‘So I’m not going to work at Moorside?’
‘No, you’ll stop with old Mrs Dancy.’ Mrs Grove sounded as knowledgeable as if the whole thing was her idea. She talked about everything that way. ‘Nowt will change for you, except for living in a different place.’
Nowt will change? It had already changed. Pop was dead, and she and Mother were to move out of the cottage Mother had moved into as a bride on the day Pop planted the climbing rose.
‘We have to pack and give the cottage a thorough spring clean,’ said Mother.
‘It’ll keep you busy,’ said Mrs Grove, ‘and that’s no bad thing.’
Whether it was good or bad was beside the point. There was no choice.
Lying awake long into the night, Juliet heard Mother crying. She crept next door to comfort her, slipping into bed and cuddling up.
‘It’s all my fault,’ wept Mother. ‘I never let him forget, not once. He was a good husband and a good provider, but I never let him forget.’
‘Forget what?’ Juliet whispered, but she already knew. There was only one thing, and Agnes Harper never let anyone forget it.
‘The life I could have had if I hadn’t married him. I would have had my own salon by now. The way Clara and I were brought up, all Mother’s plans for us, the way she worked us so hard … Goodness, if Clara can manage it …! I was far more talented. And now I’m to be seamstress to the Drysdale ladies and it feels as if it’s my fault. The life I could have had, the career Mother planned for me, is going to happen, in a different sort of way, of course, but it feels as if I yearned for it for so long that I’ve made it come true. But what a price to pay.’
Juliet caught her breath. ‘What happened to Pop was an accident.’
‘I wish I hadn’t gone on about it so much.’
‘He didn’t mind. He was proud of you.’
‘He thought the sun shone out of my eyes. But I wish I hadn’t always said “I could have had this, I could have had that.” I wish sometimes I’d said “I’m glad I’ve got this.” But I never did.’
‘You must have.’
‘No, not once. I withheld it on purpose. Now I can never tell him.’
Chapter Two
Juliet had never climbed so many stairs in her life. The back staircase was enclosed and gloomy, with alcoves to step into to save you bumping into someone coming the other way. Not that they had to step aside for anyone, not following behind Mrs Whicker. She marched on her way and anyone coming down leapt aside so as not to inconvenience her. Mother and Juliet followed close behind and, frankly, struggled to keep up. The housekeeper of Moorside might be as vast as one of the boulders on the moor but she took the stairs without stopping for breath.
Mrs Whicker threw open a door and led them along a landing. They followed her into a long, low-ceilinged room. She was dressed in black, relieved only by a whisper of lace around the standing collar. Round her considerable waist she wore a belt from which dangled a series of short chains, holding keys, a timepiece and a propelling pencil.
‘Light,’ she declared. ‘The sewing room needs as much natural light as possible. There are also several lamps. This table should be of adequate size, and all the shelves and cupboards have been washed and freshly lined. You’ll find a sewing machine under that cover. Your bedchamber is through that door. Your meals will be brought upstairs and served on that table in the corner. Do you require anything else?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Mother. ‘This looks most satisfactory.’
‘I’ll leave you to unpack.’
The moment Mrs Whicker sailed from the room, Mother turned to Juliet.
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s bigger than the whole of our old downstairs.’
Mother opened the connecting door to the bedroom and dismay thumped inside Juliet’s chest. The bedrooms at home – their whole cottage, for that matter – had been pretty. Mother had made her own curtains, complete with piping, lining and matching pelmets; cushion covers with frills; and the antimacassars and arm caps, tablecloths and tray cloths had been embroidered. This bedroom was plain. It contained two beds with brass bedsteads, a hanging cupboard, a set of drawers and a simple washstand with a china jug-and-basin set on its marble top.
‘Mrs Whicker was going to put you in with one of the maids, but I said I had to have you near me,’ said Mother, ‘though I didn’t expect this.’
‘We’ll soon cheer it up. Tray cloths on the chest of drawers, a little curtain round the washstand’s legs.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant, separate rooms.’
They were in the middle of their unpacking when Mrs Whicker swept into the sewing room.
‘Unpacked? Good. Come in,’ she called and a maid staggered in, her arms wrapped around a massive basket. ‘The household mending.’
Mrs Whicker swept out again and Mother sat down with the mending beside her.
‘Are you starting it now?’ Juliet asked in surprise.
‘It’s what I’m being paid for,’ was the tart reply.
‘I thought you’d be making gowns for Lady Margaret and the young ladies.’
‘I will, but there’s the household sewing as well.’
She hadn’t mentioned it before, certainly not when Juliet had heard her telling the other village women.
‘Isn’t it good that Mrs Whicker knows about sewing rooms?’ ventured Juliet.
Mother laughed and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. ‘She knows nothing beyond what I told her when she sent for me, and now she’s had the nerve to parrot it back to me as if it was all her own idea.’ Her face changed, anxiety replacing scorn. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said that. I have to stay in her good books. Get on with the unpacking.’
‘Old Mrs Dancy is expecting me.’
‘It won’t take you five minutes to get finished. Can’t you see I’m busy?’
Juliet walked into their other room, a wave of homesickness washing over her for her old bedroom with the roses nodding at the window. They would be someone else’s roses soon, and the neighbours who had gathered to bid them farewell an hour ago would soon be calling round to welcome the new family. Maybe they were already.
She stowed away their clothes, all beautifully made by Mother, and set out their hairbrushes on the chest of drawers. And now she really must go. Ella had arranged to go in late to the florist’s this morning, so Juliet could arrive at Moorside with her mother, instead of trailing in self-consciously after her day’s work.
With a swift kiss for Mother, she darted out of the sewing room and hurried along the landing. As she opened the door to the backstairs, a hand grabbed her arm from behind and swung her round. She found herself face-to-face with a girl three or four years older than herself, dressed in a maid
’s uniform. Her abundant black curls that just about managed to stay pinned in place and dark, clever eyes made her look like she should be wearing a scarlet skirt and golden hoops in her ears, dancing beside a Gypsy campfire. How drab Juliet’s fair hair and blue eyes felt in comparison.
The girl’s hand darted out and gave her a hard shove. Juliet stepped backwards, banging into the edge of the open door.
‘What was that for?’
‘I know who you are.’ The girl tilted her head to one side, looking Juliet up and down. ‘I know what you’re after an’ all.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I’ve heard about you.’ She thrust her face close. Her skin was creamy smooth, her eyes filled with challenge. ‘You’re the girl who wipes the shitty arse of an old biddy in the village. You hope to get the next maid’s position that becomes available here, and don’t pretend otherwise. My sister Hannah is next in line, so don’t try getting round Mrs Whicker, because if I think you’re up to something, you’ll be sorry.’ She stepped back. ‘Stick to wiping shitty arses. It’s all you’re fit for. Get out of my way.’
A vigorous dig from a sharp elbow heaved Juliet aside, and the girl disappeared downstairs. Would she be lying in wait further down? But Juliet wasn’t aware of any other back staircases, so she had no choice but to brave this one. Her heart pounded all the way down, but she reached the ground floor without incident. The stairs gave onto a long passage running right to left, with another passage stretching away straight ahead. She nipped into this one, passing a long line of doors. Earlier, walking along here towards the stairs, she had looked forward to learning what lay behind each door. Now all she wanted was to get out of here and flee back to where she belonged.
She hurried across the stable yard’s cobbles and onto the back drive that the cart had brought them along earlier. This was hidden from the main drive by a thick wall of shrubs until it curved and joined the wider main drive near the gatekeeper’s lodge. No one emerged from the lodge to challenge her and she slipped through the gates and ran back to Clough.
‘I wasn’t expecting you this soon, chick,’ said Ella. ‘Are you settled in already?’
‘We didn’t take much with us.’
Only clothes and personal things. Their furniture had been sold or given away. Pop would be ashamed to think that the home he had proudly built up for them had been dismantled so swiftly.
‘Come upstairs and tell us about it before I go,’ said Ella, leading the way.
Her interest warmed Juliet and the encounter with that girl eased out of the forefront of her mind. She described the sewing room, fitted out according to Mother’s wishes.
‘It’s near the top of the house, at the back, and the windows overlook the stable yard. We’re going to have our meals in there as well.’
‘It’s the sign of an upper servant, having your meals fetched up to you,’ said Ella. ‘That’s what they do for governesses. It means the seamstress has status.’
‘Aye, Agnes Harper’ull like that,’ said old Mrs Dancy. ‘She’s always been full of herself, that one.’
‘Granny,’ Ella chided.
Mother, an upper servant? Juliet felt a thrill of pride. Real pride. Not the adoration Pop – and Mother – had encouraged in her when she was little, but a proper, mature pride. It hadn’t sat easily with her conscience to feel critical of Mother these past two or three years after she had realised how tiresome the neighbours found her. But now, as an upper servant in the Drysdale household, as the person chosen to be the first ever live-in seamstress, Mother was bound to be content.
Juliet felt more settled too. Instead of feeling uncomfortable about old Mrs Dancy’s remark, she perked up, a feeling that lingered as, later, she made her way to her new home. Fancy! She was entitled to walk between these imposing gateposts and along the shady back drive. She had no reason to feel awkward about crossing the stable yard and entering the long corridor that led to the backstairs.
‘I’m back.’
She entered the sewing room. Mother sat beside a window, head bent over a sheet, needle darting in and out. The basket of mending lurked on the floor beside her, but most of its contents were now in folded piles on the table.
‘Good.’ Mother didn’t look up. ‘I’ve left you the socks to darn.’
‘His lordship’s socks?’ She picked the bundle out of the bottom of the basket. No, the quality was working men’s. ‘You’re responsible for the servants’ mending?’
‘Only the men’s.’
Smothering a sigh, Juliet set to work. Was this how it was to be? Days with old Mrs Dancy and evenings of menial sewing? Any pleasure she might have taken in sewing had been criticised into oblivion at an early age by Mother’s fault-finding tuition, which had mostly involved unpicking and doing again … and again.
‘It’s the only way to learn,’ Mother used to say. ‘It’s how Nana Adeline taught me and it didn’t do me any harm.’
When the door opened, pushed by a young maid with her back against it because she was carrying a tray, Juliet could have kissed her. She jumped up to help.
‘It goes on this table over here.’
‘Tablecloth, Juliet,’ said Mother.
‘I’ll put it down here for a minute.’ The maid deposited the tray on the end of the sewing table.
‘Not there,’ said Mother. ‘That’s my sewing table.’
‘Well, I’ve got to put it somewhere,’ said the girl. ‘I’ve just fetched it up all them stairs and my arms are dropping off.’
‘I’ll hold it,’ Juliet offered. ‘You do the tablecloth.’
‘In future, you must put the cloth on the table in advance, Juliet,’ said Mother. She stood up and stretched her back. ‘I’ll tidy myself while you two lay the table.’
‘I’m Cecily.’ Sandy hair showed beneath a white cap. A smattering of freckles crossed her nose.
‘I’m glad it’s you and not – I don’t know her name. I had a spat with another maid earlier.’
‘Rosie.’ Cecily threw the cloth over the table and smoothed it. ‘She’s spitting feathers about you being here.’
‘She thinks I want to be a maid and she wants her sister to have the next job that’s going.’
‘Charity Hannah.’
Ah. That explained it. The girls in the Home for Orphaned Daughters of the Deserving Poor in Birkfield were all known as Charity This and Charity That. It kept them in their place.
‘She’s fourteen, so she has two more years there.’ Cecily deftly laid out the cutlery. ‘If she hasn’t got a respectable, permanent, live-in post by her sixteenth birthday, she’ll be for the workhouse.’
Mother came back, patting her hair into position. ‘I imagine all the talk in the servants’ hall is about us moving in.’
‘Not now,’ Cecily answered cheerfully. ‘It was about you when Mrs Whicker first told us you were coming, but we’ve moved on now. Mr Durbin – he’s our butler, very important – announced today that there’s a new gardening family coming. Harold Price, the head gardener, needs to slow down a bit now he’s knocking on in years, so his son, who left here years ago to work for her ladyship’s sister, is coming back to take over. They’ll work side by side for a year or two, then Harold Price will step down. The son’s family is coming too, of course, and d’you want to know the best bit? They say his oldest lad is a fine-looking chap of twenty. Just the right age for me.’
When the door shut behind Cecily, Mother said, ‘She sounds boy mad to me. I’m not having you being friendly with a girl like that.’
‘I’m fifteen, nearly grown up. You don’t have to choose my friends.’ She was not, absolutely not, going to shun Cecily.
The next day, Mother changed her mind.
‘I’ve had a word with Mrs Whicker and she assures me that her maids are closely supervised.’
‘That’s what Mrs Grove said.’
‘Followers aren’t permitted under any circumstances, so you may be friends with Cecily
if you wish.’
Was Juliet meant to say thank you? Her jaw tensed in annoyance. She was tired of being under everyone’s thumb – Mother’s, old Mrs Dancy’s, even Ella’s, though hers was a kind thumb.
‘I’ll be out when you come home tomorrow,’ said Mother. ‘I have to go to Naseby’s to order the sewing items I require. I’m calling on Beatrice Grove on the way back, so Mrs Whicker says you may have tea downstairs.’
Juliet thought she might forego tea, but when the time came, the sewing room door banged open and Rosie marched in as if she owned the place.
‘Too important to be on time, are you? Mrs Whicker says I’m to fetch you down and no hanging about.’ She bunched her fists on her hips. ‘Just don’t let it give you any ideas. Understand?’
‘What ideas?’
Rosie’s eyes flashed. ‘Ideas about being a maid here, for starters. Why do you think you have to eat your meals up here? Because you’re not wanted downstairs, that’s why. You think you’re so high and mighty, you and your mam – oh, beg pardon, your mother. Heaven forbid that you should have owt as common as a mam.’
Rosie flounced out, leaving Juliet feeling winded. It wasn’t the first time she had been picked on for talking nicely. There were times when she wished Nana Adeline had never paid for elocution lessons for Mother and Auntie Clara, but she didn’t dare let her own speech lapse or Mother would have her guts for garters.
She trailed downstairs, her cheeks flaming as she entered the hall to find everyone seated and waiting.
‘You’re nobody, so you sit at the bottom,’ said Rosie, ‘lower than the scrubbing women.’
‘That’s an interesting question,’ said Mr Durbin from the top end. ‘Does she sit at the bottom because she has no official place in the household or should she sit at this end, as belonging to her ladyship’s personal seamstress? What do you think, Mrs Whicker?’
Juliet made a dive for the lowliest place possible. ‘I’m fine here, thank you.’
Cook poured from a gigantic teapot, and plates of sandwiches were offered round, followed by a deliciously moist batch cake and buttery shortbread, but Juliet could swallow hardly anything, only to have all eyes turn her way when Cook remarked on her poor appetite.
The Sewing Room Girl Page 2
