He couldn’t settle down for years yet, but even so … might Juliet be the girl for him?
Chapter Six
January brought heavy snowfall that hushed the landscape and stilled the air beneath skies that dazzled after days of sagging with the weight of the snow. Cecily took her petticoats and stockings to bed each night and didn’t emerge from beneath the covers until she had wriggled into them. Frost patterned the windowpanes inside as well as out, and she needed the long run down the backstairs to warm her up.
The outdoor world might look serene but it had them all running round like blue-arsed flies. Fires needed tending, requiring numerous journeys with coal scuttles and ash pans. The front hall had to be mopped and dried every hour, regardless of whether a member of the family had walked any snow in, and the main corridor below stairs was cleaned hourly as well. There were hand-warmers, foot-warmers and hot-water pigs to be filled, and endless requests for tea and hot chocolate to be attended to.
Juliet was stranded in Birkfield.
‘I hope Mrs Naseby doesn’t mind,’ Mrs Harper fretted.
‘Not a lot she can do about it if she does,’ Cecily shrugged.
When the weather released its iron hold and the thaw set in, she noticed Mrs Harper looked pale and tired, though what did she have to be weak and wan about? She led a privileged life in the sewing room. But when Cecily asked her if she felt well, Mrs Harper’s snappy reply sent her stalking from the room. So much for trying to be kind.
Leaving Mrs Harper to her solitary midday meal, Cecily went downstairs, looking forward to a hearty stew and dumplings, the aroma of which had tantalised her every time she passed the kitchen.
It wasn’t until the roly-poly pudding and custard was served that she noticed the empty place: Rosie. Where was she? Before she could ask, Thomasina said, ‘Cecily,’ in a voice that made her sound like a teacher, and Cecily subsided. What was going on?
At the end of the meal, Mr Durbin stood. ‘Parlourmaids and chambermaids, remain behind. Everyone else, please leave.’
With murmurs of surprise and curious glances, the rest departed, leaving the housemaids shifting in their seats.
‘Mrs Whicker and I will interview you one at a time on a serious matter in Mrs Whicker’s sitting room. Thomasina, no one is to return here following her interview. After you, Mrs Whicker.’
Immediately the door shut behind them, all eyes turned on Thomasina, who held up a hand. ‘You’ll have to wait till you’re interviewed.’
When it was Cecily’s turn to enter the housekeeper’s sitting room, her heart banged so hard it almost threw her curtsey off balance.
‘I require a truthful answer,’ said Mrs Whicker. ‘Rosie has got herself into trouble and refuses to name the father. Do you know who it might be?’
Rosie – in trouble? Cecily’s jaw dropped. ‘No, Mrs Whicker.’ She wanted to say, ‘Rosie? Are you sure? Rosie?’
‘Think carefully before you say no,’ advised Mr Durbin. ‘If we know the father’s name, we can arrange a marriage.’
‘Has she shown an interest in a young man?’ Mrs Whicker asked.
‘Followers aren’t permitted,’ said Cecily.
‘Rosie clearly broke that rule. Now we need his name. It’s Rosie’s only hope.’
A name did spring to mind – but why had Rosie kept her mouth shut?
‘Out with it, girl,’ Mrs Whicker ordered. ‘You clearly know something.’
‘Please, Mrs Whicker. Rosie was interested in someone, but she hasn’t mentioned him in a while.’
‘He undoubtedly cast her aside once he had had his way with her,’ said Mr Durbin. ‘His name?’
‘Hal Price, sir.’
Juliet toiled upstairs. Her legs felt wobbly after that hard slog up the hill. She was grateful to Mrs Naseby, who had been kindness itself to her unexpected guest and today had said she could leave early to be sure of getting home in daylight. She walked into the sewing room. Mother was sitting in the wingback chair, facing the fireplace. Juliet didn’t blame her on a day like today, but she was surprised when Mother didn’t jump up to greet her after her week’s absence. Standing beside the chair, she saw Mother was sound asleep and tried to draw back, but Mother woke with a jump.
‘Oh – it’s you. Goodness, for a moment I thought Mrs Whicker had caught me napping.’ She sat bolt upright in horror. ‘Have I slept all afternoon?’
‘No. Mrs Naseby let me leave early.’
Mother flopped back. ‘I just needed forty winks. My eyes get tired doing close work in this winter light.’
Juliet crouched in front of the fire, gingerly peeling gloves from fingers tingling their way back to life. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll lend a hand.’ But when she returned from putting away her things, Mother still looked tired, so she offered, ‘Why don’t I make a start while you snatch a few more minutes?’
She was taken aback when Mother immediately sighed herself to sleep. She positioned herself on the window seat to catch the best of the remaining light.
There was a tap on the door. She bounded across to find Cecily, holding a tray.
‘Cook sent a hot drink for you.’
She tried to come in, but Mother mustn’t be caught slumbering, so Juliet barred her way, trying to take the tray from her. They tussled for a moment, then Cecily let go.
‘There’s loads to tell you,’ Cecily whispered. ‘Come and sit in the linen cupboard.’
Bringing her hot chocolate, she followed Cecily along the landing into the cupboard. Cupboard! It was bigger than her old bedroom in the cottage. Crisply folded linen was stacked on shelves. The air smelt of fresh washing and lavender, with the dull tang of mothballs.
The hot chocolate cooled untouched as she listened to the tale of Rosie’s downfall and the interrogation of the maids a couple of hours ago. Dread expanded inside her chest.
‘… so I said Hal.’
‘Hal? You blamed Hal?’
Cecily’s face reddened. ‘I didn’t blame him, exactly, but they could see I knew summat. Mind you, I feel right rotten now. He’s been hauled into the estate office. He’s up before Mr Nugent.’
‘Where’s the estate office?’
Dumping her drink on a shelf, she dragged Cecily to the backstairs and pushed her ahead. Cecily led the way to the ground floor, stopping beside a door that gave onto the main house. She turned anxious eyes on Juliet, but Juliet gave her a shove. Cecily opened the door and crept through. It was surprisingly gloomy, then Juliet realised they had emerged beneath a vast staircase. Following her friend from its shadow, she beheld for the first time a part of the Drysdales’ home. This was only their front hall, not a proper room, but it was as big as a church, with a tiled floor and ancient woodwork.
Cecily darted across to where a corridor started. ‘That door down there.’
‘Thanks. Get back to your duties.’
Cecily scurried away. Juliet ghosted down the corridor. Taking the doorknob in one hand, she knocked with the other and walked in without waiting. Straight across the room was a large window, framed by brocade curtains and pelmet, through which, in the twilight, humps of snow showed where plants grew in a walled garden. At right angles to window and door stood a desk, behind which sat Mr Nugent, flanked by Mr Durbin and Mrs Whicker. Hal stood in front of the desk. He held his cloth cap, but wasn’t twisting it in a subservient way. Behind him were two men whose corduroy and twill spoke of their outdoor work, and whose ages suggested they must be his father and grandfather.
All eyes turned on her, and Juliet’s determination almost faltered.
‘How dare you?’ Mrs Whicker boomed. ‘Mr Nugent, I do apologise. This young person is the sewing room girl.’
‘I’m aware of her identity,’ Mr Nugent answered quietly. ‘Let us hear what she has to say for herself.’
His voice was smooth and low, and Juliet’s thumping heart slowed in response. Without raising his voice, Mr Nugent held the situation under his control. Placing his hands on the arms of his
chair, he came to his feet. Was he about to have her thrown out? She tried to blot out her awareness of Hal’s proximity and kept her gaze fixed on his lordship’s man of business, so he would see how honest and trustworthy she was. She hid a gulp as he walked round the desk and positioned himself in front of her, holding her gaze all the time. Should she lower her eyes? But if she looked away, might she appear dishonest?
‘What have you to say to me, Juliet?’
‘Begging your pardon, Mr Nugent, but if Hal’s here because of what’s happened to Rosie, it wasn’t him. It was someone else. I know because … I was there.’
‘You were there?’ demanded Mrs Whicker.
‘I understand your concern, Mrs Whicker.’ Mr Nugent didn’t remove his gaze from Juliet’s. ‘Indeed, I share it. But it behoves us to allow Juliet to explain.’ He nodded to her, a tiny nod, as if they were the only two in the room. ‘Go ahead.’
She didn’t want to look up at him any more, not while she spoke of something so disturbing, but he didn’t look away, so she couldn’t either. She described her encounter with the young man whom she had assumed was Hal, and how, later, Rosie had staggered from the shrubbery, bloodied and bruised. Mr Nugent watched her the whole time. Was he looking for a flicker of a lie? She felt peeled and defenceless, but wouldn’t drop her gaze.
At last he lifted his gaze away. Juliet surreptitiously rolled her shoulders. She had a crick in her neck.
Mr Nugent looked beyond her to the Price men. ‘Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen. I’m sure you appreciate this matter had to be investigated.’ He nodded to them in polite dismissal and they left. Mr Nugent turned to the butler and the housekeeper. ‘Well, Mrs Whicker, there’s your answer. I’ll leave you to take whatever steps you deem necessary.’
Sourness invaded Juliet’s mouth. Poor Rosie. And all because Juliet had assumed that man was Hal.
Juliet set off early the next morning. Mrs Naseby had said it wouldn’t matter if she was late, but she wanted to be punctual. Grooms and gardeners alike were clearing the stable yard of snow and slush.
‘I’m reet glad to see thee, young miss.’ Here was Mr Harold Price beside her. ‘That were a grand thing you did yesterday for our Hal.’
‘I just told the truth.’
Footsteps came crunching towards her from behind. She knew, she just knew, it was Hal, and her heartbeat quickened.
‘Juliet.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.’
‘As soon as I heard, I had to speak up for you.’
If only she could have lingered, but he had to get on with his job and she had to get to Birkfield. Her heart sang as she tramped across the park and towards the hill.
As she neared the halfway point on her way down, she was surprised to see someone sitting on the bench: a figure with a shawl bundled around a coat. She must be mad to sit there on a day like this. Drawing level, Juliet felt a new kind of coldness as the girl’s head turned and Rosie stared at her, her eyes almost black in a face pinched with cold. Two carpetbags hunched by her feet.
Juliet made an instinctive move towards her, wanting to offer compassion, but Rosie’s glare stopped her.
‘Come to gloat, have you?’ Rosie demanded.
‘I always come this way.’
With a jerk of her chin, Rosie looked away, fixing her gaze across the valley.
Juliet took a step closer. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to you.’
‘Which part? Being attacked or getting chucked out of my job?’
‘That man asked for you by name. What was I supposed to do?’
Rosie’s face swung round again. ‘You could have said “Are you Hal?” instead of taking it for granted. You could have used a bit of intelligence.’
‘I’m sorry, Rosie.’
‘Well, that makes everything right, doesn’t it.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll walk down the hill and take my pick of all the jobs on offer. That’s why I’m sitting here. I’m considering all the offers I’ve had and deciding which suits me best.’
Juliet flinched. Was this her fault? She wanted to help, but there was nothing she could do.
‘Clear off, bitch. You make me sick … Oh no, wait, it’s not you making me sick, is it? It’s the brat.’
Rosie looked away again. Juliet stood there, not knowing what to do. At last, she set off down the hill, trying to concentrate on keeping her footing, but her eyes were brimming with tears.
She rushed into Naseby’s, expecting to feel relieved and … and safe as the door shut behind her. Hard as she tried to concentrate on her work, Rosie was there in her mind, and she found herself staring at nothing in odd moments. Not that there were many of those. Now that the thaw had set in, Naseby’s had a rush of customers, and when she wasn’t busy serving, she was mopping the floor clean of dirty footprints.
‘Take care going home,’ said Mrs Naseby at the end of the day, as Juliet piled on her outdoor things.
Would she bump into Rosie? She made it to the edge of town without an encounter and started up the hill. What if Rosie was still on the bench? But that was a stupid fear. Even so, she felt a rush of relief when she passed the bench and it was unoccupied. At last, she neared Moorside.
As she was picking her way along a dug-out path beside the vegetable garden wall, she heard men’s voices around the corner. The path was slippery, and she was in the middle of a delicious daydream in which she lost her footing just as Hal appeared round the corner, caught her in his arms and pulled her to him – when her feet skidded and every limb flew in a different direction before she ended up dumped on the ground. At once there were voices around her and hands picking her up. As she was set on her feet, a twang of pain speared through her foot and exploded in her ankle. She sagged and was hauled up again by Bert, a senior groom.
‘There, now, got your footing? Tom, didn’t I tell you to keep these paths salted?’
‘Aye, and I did.’ Tom grinned hugely. ‘It’s not the ice what did for her. She skidded on that.’
Her heart sank to see the smeared remains of a pile of dog dirt.
‘Turned your ankle, lass?’ asked Bert. He scooped her up and carried her into the kitchen, causing a flutter among the staff. ‘Took a tumble,’ he explained, depositing her on a chair.
‘Went arse over tit in a pile of dog shit,’ Tom declared, loud enough for the world and his wife to hear. ‘Begging your pardon, Cook.’
‘I should think so an’ all,’ said Cook. ‘Language like that in my kitchen.’
But Juliet was sure she was the only one to hear the rebuke. Everyone else was too busy laughing.
Goodness! What a lucky escape. Had Juliet been helped into the sewing room just five minutes earlier, Agnes would have been discovered sound asleep. The mere thought turned her knees to mush. She injected extra brightness into her voice to show how awake and alert she was. Juliet looked pale as Bert deposited her in the wingback chair. Was it still warm from the hour Agnes had spent slumbering in it?
‘A sprain,’ Mrs Whicker informed her. ‘She won’t be able to get down the hill for a while, that’s for certain.’
‘She can make herself useful here. She can start immediately.’
‘She’s had a nasty shock. A nap would be the best thing.’
‘There’s no napping in my sewing room,’ said Agnes. When Mrs Whicker had gone, she looked at Juliet. ‘It’ll be a help, having you here. And you never know, Mrs Whicker might even pay you, because Mrs Naseby certainly won’t.’ She handed Juliet a velvet jacket.
‘I thought you’d have finished this,’ Juliet said. ‘Isn’t Miss Phoebe due for her final fitting tomorrow?’
‘I’m a bit behind, but it doesn’t matter now you’re here. A blessing in disguise, that sprain.’
Within hours, Juliet’s foot was purple and swollen.
‘You won’t be going to the shop for a few days,’ Agnes declared. ‘Working together in the sewing room: it’ll b
e like the old days before the house party.’
Like the old days, Mother had said, but it wasn’t. Never before had Mother gone slinking off to have naps. Never before had she abdicated responsibility, dumping all the work on Juliet’s shoulders. But now …
Mother sighed and rubbed her eyes, setting her work aside. ‘Finish this seam for me. I need forty winks.’
‘What if someone comes in?’
‘The wing chair has its back to the door, and with my work basket on the table, it’ll look like I’m tidying it. If anyone comes, you must drop something, or speak loudly – I don’t know, but make sure to rouse me.’
Two minutes later she was asleep. Juliet didn’t know whether to be flabbergasted or indignant. So much for no napping in the sewing room!
When the same thing had happened several times, she voiced her concern.
‘It’s the snow,’ Mother said. ‘It gives me a headache. Forty winks is the only thing that clears it.’
‘It’s a good job I’m here or the sewing would fall way behind.’
Even so, Juliet was anxious to return to the shop. Being confined to the sewing room was stifling. Outside, the grounds were more green than white, but it didn’t make any difference to Mother’s need for her forty winks.
‘I’ll be fine once the snow has disappeared,’ she said.
The thaw continued. Juliet returned to work with her foot strapped in so many bandages she had to borrow a bigger boot. At the same time as the primroses started showing their softly coloured faces beneath the trees in the parkland, the tiny white flowers of shepherd’s purse appeared on the common land outside Birkfield. The signs of spring gladdened Juliet’s heart, though she felt a twinge of sorrow too. This was Pop’s favourite time of year. How proud he would have been to see her working in Naseby’s, but if he had been here to see it, then she would still be helping old Mrs Dancy. She cut short that train of thought. It was far too complicated and upsetting.
The Sewing Room Girl Page 7
