‘I can’t have her ladyship thinking the sewing room girl can produce work like that.’
‘But I did.’
‘That’s not the point. The point is that her ladyship should have a high opinion of her personal seamstress. Besides, if you produce good work, it’s thanks to my tuition, so it amounts to the same thing. Now let that be the end of it. You’ll be back with old Mrs Dancy in no time. Do you imagine Miss Louisa would wish her panel to have been designed by the chit who takes care of the village crone?’
Juliet quivered with indignation. ‘I might not go back to old Mrs Dancy. There’s a position going at Naseby’s. I have an interview tomorrow afternoon.’
Mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘How dare you do this without reference to me?’
‘You should be pleased. Don’t you want me to have a better job?’
‘Pleased? Don’t tell me how to feel. Vexed is how I feel; let down is how I feel. My own daughter gadding off in search of a new job without my permission! What about poor Ella Dancy? What is she supposed to do?’
‘Mrs Naseby doesn’t need her new assistant until October, so if I get the position, there’ll be time to find someone for old Mrs Dancy.’
‘You’re impossible!’
Mother’s hand shot out and delivered a mighty slap across Juliet’s cheek. Juliet’s eyes popped open in shock. A second passed before she felt the pain. It started as a patch the size of a penny, then it leaked outwards like an ink stain, filling her cheek with hot distress.
‘Now see what you made me do,’ said Mother.
‘I’ll come to the interview with you,’ Mother declared over breakfast, as if yesterday’s outburst had never happened. The end of the sewing room with their dining table smelt of toast and kedgeree. Beside each place was a circular dish with a pat of butter stamped with the Drysdales’ coat of arms.
‘I’m fifteen, not twelve,’ Juliet objected.
‘Mrs Naseby will expect me to be there. She’s only interested in you because you’re my daughter. Have you got your samples ready?’
‘Mrs Naseby wants a shop girl, not a dressmaker.’
‘Get them out and I’ll choose the best ones.’
Juliet had slung her samples in the back of the cupboard the day they moved in and hadn’t looked at them since. Dratted things! Nana Adeline had made Mother and Auntie Clara work on samples of different types of sewing when they were growing up, and Mother had followed suit with her. Every time she waded through a sample of pin-tucking or French pleating, it had to be an improvement on the earlier sample, which was then discarded. For Mother and Auntie Clara, the idea had been to build up a body of work to show the mademoiselle of a salon, who might take them on, but for Juliet the purpose had been … non-existent. The cutter of old Mrs Dancy’s toenails hardly needed to be an expert in blanket stitch.
Now she sifted through her samples with pride and a desire to improve. Who would have thought it? Glancing round to ensure Mother wasn’t watching, she popped her embroidery design in the basket.
She categorically was not going to have Mother waltzing into Naseby’s, treating the interview as if it was for the greater glory of Agnes Harper, so she lied about the time Mrs Naseby expected her, then slipped out far earlier than she really needed to, scurrying across the stable yard and onto the back drive. She would be horrendously early, but it was better to hang about in the market square than be accompanied by Mother.
‘Excuse me.’
She jumped, tiny pulses springing into action all over her body. A young man had stepped out from the shrubbery. He was unshaven and beneath his cap his hair was too long. His shirt was collarless and, instead of a tie, he wore a neckerchief.
‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m looking for one of the maids at the big house. Her name’s Rosie.’
So this was Hal Price. What was all the fuss about? Cecily had called him handsome and Rosie had claimed him for herself. Well, she was welcome to him. He was nowt special. Rosie went down a notch or two in Juliet’s estimation. Much as she disliked, even feared, Rosie, she had expected her to have better taste than this.
‘Can you send her out to me?’ he asked.
Why not? It would kill a bit of time and save her having to hang about so long in Birkfield.
‘It’ll take me a few minutes.’
‘I’ll wait in there.’ He jerked one thumb at the shrubbery. ‘Just tell her to walk down the back drive.’
She returned to the house. Rosie should arrive back from old Mrs Dancy’s about now. Yes – there she was, entering the stable yard from the other side.
‘What do you want?’ Rosie demanded as she drew near.
‘There’s no need to take that tone. I’m doing you a favour. Hal’s waiting—’
‘Keep your voice down!’ Rosie hissed. ‘Where?’
‘He said to walk down the back drive. He’ll find you.’
A smile played across Rosie’s full lips and her eyes sparkled beneath her finely arched eyebrows. She was a real beauty and no mistake. ‘I’ll freshen up first.’ She walked away without another word.
‘Thanks, Juliet,’ Juliet murmured.
She hurried on her way, having no desire to be anywhere near when the lovebirds flew into each other’s arms. It was odd to go down the back drive, knowing that somewhere in the shrubbery, Hal Price was watching her pass. Uncomfortable. It was a relief to reach the gatekeeper’s lodge and strike out for the path down the hill.
When the clock in the market square chimed half past four, she opened the door and entered Naseby’s, setting the shop bell jingling.
‘You’re prompt, I see,’ said Mrs Naseby. ‘That’s important.’ She frowned. ‘But it doesn’t go in your favour that you combined this interview with doing your shopping.’
Juliet placed her basket on the counter. ‘It’s samples of my sewing. Mother thought you’d wish to see them.’
Mrs Naseby glanced at them. ‘Seams, darts … accordion pleating … Excellent workmanship, but it wasn’t necessary to bring them. Wait – what’s this?’
‘It’s my design for the embroidered panel on Miss Louisa’s ballgown.’
‘I like the way the ivy makes the colours stand out. Still, it won’t butter no parsnips in the shop. Suppose a customer buys goods to the value of one and thruppence three farthings and pays with half a crown. What change does she require?’
They used to do a lot of this at school. ‘One and tuppence farthing.’
There were more questions like that, then Mrs Naseby opened some of the shallow drawers in which her wares were kept, asking questions like ‘How could this braid be used?’ and ‘Which of these ribbons would be best for a child’s bonnet?’ Juliet did her best to answer, wanting the job more with each passing minute.
‘I think you’ll suit,’ Mrs Naseby said at last. ‘Dora finishes on the last day of September, which is a Friday, so you can start on the Saturday.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Naseby.’ Juliet threw her arms round the shopkeeper. Later she would die of embarrassment, but right now, she didn’t care.
‘Eh, get on with you.’ But Mrs Naseby didn’t sound annoyed. ‘I pay weekly and until you’re sixteen, your wages will go to your mother.’
It took some of the gloss off Juliet’s happiness, but that was just her being daft. Some girls didn’t see a penny of their wages until they turned twenty-one.
‘You look chirpy,’ said the gatekeeper’s wife as she entered the grounds.
Tempting as it was to share her good news, she held her tongue. Mother was going to be vexed enough, without others knowing before she did.
Juliet hummed to herself as she walked up the back drive. A violent rustling in the shrubbery brought her up short. Leaves swayed and Rosie burst through, face bruised, blood smeared across her temple. She clutched the front of her blouse to her, but there was no disguising the rent that started at the collar and worked downwards.
‘Rosie …’
Rosie staggered towards her, lim
ping badly. One shoe was missing, but it was more than that causing her limp. Her face was white, her clothes disarranged, shoulders caved in.
‘You bitch.’ Rosie’s voice was quiet, filled with tears, though her eyes were dry. ‘Leave me alone,’ she hissed as Juliet went to her. ‘Don’t touch me. This is your fault. You said it were Hal. Looked like Hal, did he?’
The hairs on Juliet’s arms prickled. ‘I’ve never seen Hal.’
‘You stupid, stupid bitch.’
Rosie grabbed Juliet’s arm, letting go of the front of her blouse. A flap of fabric flopped down, exposing—Juliet looked away, but not before she had glimpsed a mixture of flesh and purple bruising. Rosie uttered a cry in which rage and tears spurted out as one. Flinging Juliet aside, she covered herself again.
‘You’re going to get me up to the attic without being seen, do you hear? And you won’t say a word. I’ll say I tripped on the stairs. And if anyone gets told any different, so help me, I’ll slash your face open with broken glass. Understand?’
Juliet had been at Naseby’s barely a week when a message came one morning to say Mrs Naseby’s daughter had had her baby, and Mrs Naseby immediately set off, promising to be back before the shop shut for dinner. Juliet served a couple of customers, then the door flew open and in dashed her old teacher.
‘Juliet, what a surprise. How long have you worked here?’
‘I’ve just started. How may I help you?’
‘I’ve torn my jacket sleeve. Can it be mended today? I have an appointment straight after school. Is Mrs Naseby here?’
‘Not at the moment, but I can mend it.’
‘Can you?’ Miss Bradley’s pretty face expressed a mixture of hope and doubt.
‘I’ve a lot of experience of sewing.’
‘Of course you have. I was forgetting. Here.’ She took care removing her jacket. ‘I must hurry back before playtime ends. I hope Mr Ferguson doesn’t see me or I’ll be fined for dressing inappropriately.’
On closer inspection, the tear was a full-blown rent. Juliet settled down to it, putting it aside each time a customer came in. If she looked too busy to serve, she could lose her job.
Mrs Naseby came bustling in with a beaming smile. ‘Put the kettle on, Juliet. That’s a fair old walk.’
She made tea and showed Mrs Naseby the mending. ‘I hope I did the right thing in starting, only Miss Bradley needs it in a hurry.’
Mrs Naseby scrutinised it over the tops of her spectacles. ‘Putting in new lining was the right thing to do. And look at it, all the stitches the same size. It’s perfect.’
Juliet blinked. So accustomed was she to meagre crumbs of praise from Mother that these generous words took her breath away. ‘Are you going to finish it?’ she asked, expecting to have it taken off her.
‘Not if you can produce work of this standard.’
More praise. Gratification warmed her. She worked on the mend in between customers and all through her dinner hour, finishing shortly before the end of school. Mrs Naseby checked her work and smiled her approval.
‘Your mother has taught you well. I’ll show you how to write up the bill and I’ll pay you one-third of the fee. When you’ve been here two years, I’ll pay you half.’
‘Does that mean you’ll put more mending my way?’
‘Aye, dressmaking too, if you’re up to it. Mrs Cottrell is coming over from Ladyfield to be measured for her new Sunday best. Me and thee can work on it together and I’ll see how you shape. I pay a higher rate for dressmaking. Sewing money will be paid straight to you an’ all, not put in with your wages.’
‘Thank you. I won’t let you down.’
‘Dressmaking is done on the premises, but mends and alterations you take home and do in your own time.’
Juliet parcelled up the jacket and the bill, and raced round to St Chad’s.
Miss Bradley was thrilled. ‘Such service – and what perfect needlework.’
To have her sewing called perfect not once but twice almost made her heart jump out of her chest. She had received more praise today than she had from Mother in the whole of her life. That was how it felt, anyroad.
She couldn’t wait to get home to tell Mother, though she would have to be careful how she said it. She didn’t want Mother calling her big-headed.
When she reached the gatekeeper’s lodge, instead of heading for the back drive, she went the other way. She wasn’t keen on the back drive any more, after what had happened to Rosie. If she went the other way, through his lordship’s parkland, she could weave her way round out of sight of the house and enter the stable yard from the other side.
At this distance from the house, wild flowers were allowed to grow. Yellow stars of St John’s wort and wood sage’s long spikes of yellowy-green above its heart-shaped leaves brightened the ground. Above, sunshine struck leaves that were on the turn, greens giving way to gold and russet. It was a warm afternoon, but a snap in the air betokened the change of season. Pop had cherished his outdoor life, and while Juliet now loved her sewing, she also loved being outside.
‘Help! Help!’
Rosie flashed into her mind – Rosie, shocked and bruised after the attack. But this was a child’s voice, reedy with panic. A small girl in a grubby cotton dress dashed through the trees, hair streaming behind her, hair ribbons half-undone and clinging on for dear life. Juliet had one moment in which to brace herself before the child slammed into her.
‘Steady on, chick. What’s wrong?’
Scared eyes and a button nose turned up to her. ‘Oh, miss, it’s our Sophie. She’s fell down a hole, going after Mo, and they’ve both broke their legs. Come quick. They might die.’
‘Show me.’
The child dragged her to a part of the park where the trees grew more densely. They burst into a grassy clearing with a low mound in the middle.
‘There, miss.’
Juliet dropped the child’s hand. There wasn’t a hole to be seen. The girl ran ahead and fell to her knees at the base of the mound, pointing to a black gap at its base, like an oversized letter box.
The child put her mouth to the hole. ‘I’ve brought a lady, our Sophie.’
Juliet gently pushed her aside. ‘Sophie! Can you hear me?’
A muffled moan wavered through the gap.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘It’s me foot … and Mo’s leg is funny. He has to lie down. He’s panting.’
Juliet frowned at the child beside her. ‘Mo?’
‘The dog. He went in first and sort of screamed, then Sophie went in and she screamed an’ all.’
‘It sounds like they’ve had a nasty fall. I want you to stop here and talk to Sophie while I fetch help from the big house.’
‘Don’t leave us.’
‘I have to, chick.’
The thud of footsteps made her look round. A young man, corduroy jacket flapping open, pounded into the clearing, with another child bobbing behind. He strode across, the gaiters that protected him from boot tops to just below the knees of his twill trousers declaring him to be an outdoor worker. He dropped to his knees beside her; she moved so he could see the hole.
‘I gather there’s a girl and a dog trapped inside.’ Although he spoke with urgency, there was no panic in his voice. He smelt of grass and earth and woodsmoke.
‘I don’t know how far they fell.’
‘I’ve been looking over plans of the grounds recently.’ His eyes were light brown – not hazel – proper brown, only not the usual dark brown. ‘If I’m right, this is a hiding place built in the Civil War. It was sealed up two-hundred-odd years ago. I can’t get through this gap, but you might just about be able to. Will you try?’
Her hands went clammy at the thought, but she nodded.
He looked over his shoulder. ‘You two, run to the big house. Fetch help.’ He turned back to Juliet. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let you take any risks.’ A smile flashed across his face. ‘We don’t want to add to the heap of bodies at the bottom. You’re going t
o lie on your front and shuffle in feet first. I’ll hold you and I won’t let go. Feel around with your feet. If there’s nothing but wall, I’ll pull you out, but there might be steps if we’re near the old entrance.’
Lying down, she wriggled backwards. Her skirt bunched up, so she stopped and scooped it round her legs, then tried again, pushing herself backwards, dimly aware of the young man’s murmurs of encouragement, the sound giving her confidence as she fed feet and calves through the narrow hole. As her hips wriggled through, the smallness of the gap and the emptiness behind her made her insides feel wobbly, and she almost clawed her way back out again.
‘Don’t panic. The ground under your tummy: is it crumbling? If it is, even the tiniest bit, I’ll pull you out now.’
‘It’s firm.’
‘If your feet are to feel about, you need to reverse until your waist is on the edge. I’ll lie down in front of you and hold onto your wrists, so whatever happens, you won’t fall.’
He settled into position, his hands wrapping warmly around her wrists, strong and sure, the hands of a working man. Not work-coarsened like Pop’s after years of toil on the estate, but faintly, reassuringly rough.
Juliet slid further into the hole, legs swinging awkwardly. Then her waist rushed to the edge – the gap was about to swallow her whole – her heart thumped – her hands twisted – the young man’s hands moved and grasped hers in his, fingers twining together.
‘I’ve got you. You’re safe.’
Her heart raced, and every muscle in her body roared with discomfort. Then her eyes met his and she was aware of nothing but strong hands, a reassuring voice and an unwavering gaze that stilled the pulses jumping madly all around her body. His steadfastness became hers. Her heart delivered an altogether different kind of thump, but that was just the emotion of the moment.
‘Are you sure you can do this?’
She nodded, feeling the wall with her toes, gradually swinging one leg at a time in an arc to reach as much wall as possible.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. Wait.’ She clung to his hands. ‘I need to slide a bit further … There! A ledge … steps …’
The Sewing Room Girl Page 5
