The Servant Girl

by Maggie Hope

  Frank had acquired a racing whippet too, a small, thin, trembling creature with a gentle nature and big limpid eyes but which could nevertheless run like the wind. And Penny would go with him when he exercised the dog, begging to hold on to the lead and trotting alongside it. ‘Steady, Dandy,’ she would cry, and the dog would match its pace to the child’s.

  The nine o’clock news came on and there was a message from the Prime Minister, Mr Chamberlain. Hetty stirred uncomfortably in her chair, reminded of the news reel which had preceded the film that afternoon. Mr Chamberlain was assuring the country that there wasn’t going to be a war, but somehow his words rang hollow to her. She thought of the pits back in Durham. After years of working short-time, if they worked at all, they were now going all out. As they must be all over the country. The chronic unemployment in the coal fields had melted away.

  Hetty had been a small child during the last war, but had grown up with tales of the horror of it, knew many war widows, attended many Remembrance Day parades as a schoolgirl. The thought that war could come again was horrifying. Then Frank was in the Territorials. Even though he was a skilled miner he would be one of the first to go if there was a war. Though maybe not, she told herself. After all there had been that accident to his back. She fiddled with the knob of the wireless and found a play just beginning. That was better. It was a Noël Coward play, a comedy about the spirit of a first wife who came back to haunt her husband when he married again: Blithe Spirit. It soon had her chuckling. The hero sounded something like Richard Fortune. Strange the way little things still reminded her of Richard, even after all these years, she thought sadly. Even though she hadn’t seen him in such an age.

  When the play finished she switched off the wireless and went upstairs, prepared for bed, all thoughts of probable war banished from her mind. She checked on Penny who was sleeping peacefully, the bedclothes flung back and one thumb stuck firmly in her mouth. That was one habit it was time Penny dropped. Gently, Hetty removed the thumb and pulled the clothes closer round her daughter.

  She climbed into her own bed and lay there, thinking of Richard, wondering where he was. Surely, if he had been living and working at home, she would have heard something of him in all these years? What a fool she was, hankering after a man who had probably forgotten she existed. She should take Alice’s advice and go out more, meet some nice young men.

  ‘How can you find Mr Right if you don’t meet any men at all?’ Alice would demand. Trouble was, most men Hetty met were either too young or too old. Sometimes she suspected they were more interested in her business than in herself. Trouble was, they just did not measure up to Richard Fortune.

  Chapter 33

  Richard was riding his father’s stallion, a magnificent animal which to his mind wasn’t getting enough exercise. There was only the one groom on the place now and with his father ill, how could it be expected? The horse was mettlesome, eager to go, but Richard kept him to a steady trot. This part of the moor was uneven, the tracks not made up and recent rain had left deep runnels in them.

  Richard was thinking over the conversation he had had with his mother at the breakfast table.

  ‘Have you thought of giving up your career and coming home to see to things here, Richard?’ she had asked. He had put down his fork and transferred his attention from his bacon and eggs to her.

  ‘What?’ he repeated, astonished. Giving up his career had never crossed his mind. And not only that, he was unused to his mother taking such an interest in things around her. In fact, she had not ceased to amaze him from the day he returned from Africa. There she sat, and there was no denying that she looked older than when he had first gone away. Her hair was silver now, her skin still as clear as he remembered it but with a network of fine wrinkles, the jawline softened and not so defined. Yet in some ways she seemed younger. No longer were her eyes clouded; her hand as she picked up her cup no longer trembled so that she had to steady it with the other. It was as if she had come back to normal life and he was well aware what an effort that must have cost her.

  ‘Richard, you look at me as though I am speaking a foreign language,’ she said now. ‘You heard what I said perfectly well.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, Mother. It’s just that I haven’t thought of giving up my career.’ He was doing well in the diplomatic service, was happy, or at least content, his interest in archaeology occupying his spare time. Coming back to England to live permanently was not an attractive prospect to him.

  ‘Well, you should do now,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Your father is not going to get well and we have to face that fact. The estate needs a firm hand if it is not to slide any further. As it is, were it not for the threat of war we should be thinking of closing the mine for good. The depression hit us hard – I was surprised how hard. Your father kept all his worries from me but since his illness I have discovered that our position is not what it once was.’

  Richard pushed aside his bacon and eggs and took a piece of toast from the rack. He spread marmalade on it, then put it down on his plate. Of course he knew that the place wasn’t as prosperous as it once was, but then, in this last decade, the old industries of the north had been in deep depression and were only just climbing out of it. But surely there was enough income from the land, rents from the tenant farmers, to keep his parents in comparative comfort? There were not so many servants now although his father needed a full-time nurse, but the house still ran like clockwork.

  ‘I also think it’s time you settled down, Richard,’ Elizabeth interrupted his line of thought.

  This time he didn’t answer, just lifted his eyebrows.

  ‘You needn’t look like that,’ she said. ‘I’m serious about this. It’s time you thought about getting married, having family. Has there been no one in all these years?’

  No one. Richard thought about Hetty immediately but thrust the image of her out of his mind. There had been girls in Africa. Sisters of his friends, girls who worked in the office. Nothing serious, though, just dates he would take out to dinner, flirt mildly with, take to the theatre in Nairobi. There was one girl, Delia, who’d taught history at a girls’ school in Australia and they had become friendly when they met in Egypt. For a time he had thought he could settle down with her but it had come to nothing. After all, they had found, the only thing they really had in common was their interest in ancient civilisations.

  ‘Mother, I know you’re lonely, I know you miss Matthew—’ he began.

  ‘That’s something else I wanted to talk to you about – Hetty Pearson. Your father wouldn’t have anything to do with her, but after all she has my grandchild. Her name is Penny, I understand.’

  This time Richard was very surprised. ‘How on earth do you know that?’ he asked.

  ‘I made enquiries,’ she said calmly. ‘Not personally, of course, but through my solicitor. Evidently they’re living in Saltburn-by-the-Sea. Hetty is doing well, I believe.’ She looked reflective. ‘Hetty was good to me during my … my illness. I liked her. A pity she and Matthew – still, that’s all behind us now. I personally don’t think she was as bad as your father made out. As I say, I knew her well. Oh, you may have thought I was not aware of what was going on at that time but I wasn’t altogether off my head.’

  ‘Mother! I never thought for a moment that you were.’ Richard got to his feet and went to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her gently. ‘But I can tell you, I’m so happy to see you’re recovered so well. Why, you’re just as I remember you from when Matthew and I were small boys.’

  Elizabeth nodded and clasped his hand for a moment. Tears sprang to her eyes and she brushed them away impatiently. No use crying now for the lost years. She had begun to recover when her old doctor retired and a new man took over the practice. No, it had begun before that. It stemmed from the time when for once she had been fully awake and Havelock, perhaps not realising, had brought her her chequebook to sign. ‘Don’t bother about the amount,’ he had said, ‘just sign half a dozen, I’ll
see to the rest.’

  ‘But what are they for?’ Even as she’d asked she had taken the chequebook and pen from him.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Elizabeth,’ he had snapped, ‘what do you think they are for? Do you think I’m trying to take your money away from you? Robbing you, is that it? They’re for the usual household expenses. You know you agreed to pay them until this damn’ depression lifts.’

  Elizabeth had signed meekly, unable to face his irascibility, fearing he would start talking about her going away for further treatment as he often did. But somehow, for no reason that she could think of, she had begun to distrust him and when the next dose of her medicine was due she had forced herself to do without it, deny herself its comforting oblivion. Though she’d concealed the fact from Havelock. As now she was concealing the trouble there had been between her and his father from Richard. The terrible argument which had resulted in Havelock’s falling to the ground, unconscious.

  ‘Never mind now,’ she said, patting Richard’s hand. ‘All that is in the past. We have the future to think of. We—’

  She broke off at the sound of a bell ringing, the bell which had once stood by her bedside and which now was used by Havelock’s nurse to summon help.

  ‘We’re needed upstairs,’ she said and rose to her feet.

  ‘Take it easy, Mother, I’ll see to it,’ said Richard, but she was already at the door and he followed swiftly. Havelock’s door was open at the head of the stairs and the nurse was just coming out.

  ‘Please call the doctor, Mr Fortune,’ she said to Richard. ‘I’m afraid your father has had a further attack.’ He pushed past her and gazed for a long moment at the figure on the bed. He turned back to his mother and put his arm around her. ‘There’s no hurry for the doctor, Mother,’ he said softly. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late.’

  Hetty was in Guisborough negotiating to buy the boarding house in Diamond Street, the one where she had lodged when she’d first left Fortune Hall. Rather she was talking to Mark Sefton, the solicitor she had chosen to handle this deal, for her former landlady was using Hetty’s usual Saltburn solicitor.

  ‘There’s no need to say who the buyer is, Mrs Pearson,’ said Mark. ‘Not at first anyway.’ He sat back in his chair and smiled at Hetty. She was like a ray of sunshine in his office, he thought. She’d brightened his day with her neat figure dressed in a smart, pale green suit with a nipped-in waist and pencil-slim skirt, a darker green hat pulled down over one eye, a rakish feather curling over the brim. He was only thirty-five himself and struggling to establish the practice, eager to have even a part of Hetty’s business for her name and acumen were becoming known in the area.

  ‘I’d prefer it that way,’ she said. She thought back to the unhappy days she had spent in that house, the insults which her landlady had thrown at her the day she left. But really, she was not being vindictive in buying the property, it was purely a matter of business. She liked the house, loved its high-ceilinged rooms and tall windows looking out over the sea. And already she had plans formulated in her mind as to how she would have it altered. It would be a hotel especially for young families, with a play room in the basement for rainy days, a baby-minding service staffed with local girls, all of whom she knew personally and all of whom she could trust. She would advertise it during the winter. It would be open in time for the season next year.

  ‘Of course, I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t remind you of the possibility of war, Mrs Pearson.’ He looked down at her hands, capable hands holding an open blue folder of papers but ringless. She noticed the glance.

  ‘Miss Pearson, actually.’

  She didn’t always correct people on the point of her unmarried status.

  Mark Sefton coughed behind his hand. ‘Yes, sorry. What I meant to say, if there is a war, well …’

  ‘There won’t be a demand for hotels in seaside resorts? But I don’t think the war will come so far as Saltburn-by-the-Sea, do you? And it won’t last forever either.’

  ‘Saltburn is not so far from Middlesbrough and all its heavy industry.’

  ‘True. But far enough, I think. In any case, I don’t think there will be a war. The Prime Minister assured us there wouldn’t be, didn’t he?’

  Mark smiled. ‘You may be right but I thought I should warn you.’

  ‘I consider myself warned. Now, if there is anything else?’ She closed the folder and began pulling on her gloves.

  ‘No, I will be in touch. Unless …’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘You wouldn’t care to have lunch with me, would you?’

  ‘Why not? I’d be happy to.’ After all, she thought, she had to have lunch somewhere and Mark Sefton was a pleasant enough companion.

  They ate in a restaurant near the priory and Hetty was reminded of that other time she had been there and Richard had seen her in the priory grounds with Matthew. She burned at the recollection and quickly put it out of her mind; she was not going to let memories of the past haunt the present.

  They had a pleasant meal and Mark Sefton was a good companion, she discovered, attractive and with a sharp wit which kept her entertained. But that was all, she thought, and wondered at herself as she drove her car over the moors on her way back to Saltburn. She was not ready for a relationship. Not that the solicitor had been anything but friendly and polite, no hint of more. But she still raised an invisible barrier between herself and men.

  ‘There’s a visitor for you,’ said Sylvia as she entered the flat above the restaurant in Ruby Street. ‘A man.’

  ‘Oh? Who is it? Didn’t you ask his name?’

  Hetty took off her hat and placed it on the hall table, running her fingers through her hair. She gave herself a quick glance in the mirror. She was presentable, she decided.

  ‘Hello, Hetty.’

  Startled, she looked past her reflection to where another face was suddenly framed in the glass, a face she would have known in any crowd, even though it was so many years since she had seen it.

  ‘Richard!’

  He was standing in the doorway which led into her sitting room, smiling and gazing at her with Penny’s grey eyes. Hetty’s heart lurched and began pounding. She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind my coming here, Hetty?’

  She found her voice though her throat was dry and she felt like an embarrassed schoolgirl confronted with the object of her first crush. ‘Not at all, Richard,’ she said. ‘How nice to see you. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Hetty,’ he said, and stood aside for her to move into the room. She sat in one of the deep armchairs because her legs were strangely weak, then immediately wished she hadn’t for she had to look up so far to him. She gestured to a chair opposite and he sat down. That was better, at least he was on her level.

  ‘How are you, Hetty? Though I hardly have to ask, you look well.’ He sat back and crossed his long legs and suddenly she saw that he was as nervous as she herself.

  ‘And your mother and father?’ It was absurd, she felt, sitting here making polite conversation. She hadn’t seen Richard Fortune for years, she told herself, she was nothing to him and he was nothing to her, nothing at all. She forced herself to relax, unclench her hands which were in tight fists.

  ‘Well, that’s why I’m here,’ said Richard. He meant that was why he was in England but she took it to mean that was why he had sought her out, something to do with his parents, not for his own sake at all, and in spite of just reminding herself he meant nothing to her, she felt a pang of disappointment.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘My father died last month, Hetty.’

  ‘Oh!’ Havelock dead? Whatever he had been and however he had treated her she was shaken; he had been such a vital person, somehow it was difficult to imagine him dead. ‘I’m sorry. And your mother—’

  ‘Mother is well, considering,’ he answered. ‘She is much better in herself. In fact, she is very well. Sad, of course, but we were expecting it. There was time to get used t
o the idea. Father had a heart attack a few weeks ago and I came home as soon as I could.’

  Came home from where? thought Hetty, with a small part of her mind, and said, ‘So you have come to tell me about it?’ Why, she thought, why when the family had not come near her since Penny was born? And they must have known where she was, at least Havelock must have.

  ‘Mother wants to see her grandchild, Hetty.’

  ‘No!’ She felt like shouting it. ‘Penny is my child, mine alone! Your father didn’t even acknowledge her. None of you did!’

  ‘I tried to help you,’ said Richard. ‘I have been in Africa all this time, I haven’t been home until now, Hetty. And my mother wasn’t in a position to do anything about it until now.’

  Africa. And all the time she had thought he was there, at Fortune Hall. All the time she had pictured him there, as she had first known him, riding over the moors, working for his father. She stared at him.

  ‘I would like to meet my niece too, Hetty. I know her name is Penny. Don’t you think she has a right to know who her father was, who her grandmother is?’

  ‘She has a grandmother. Her grandmother is Maggie Pearson, her grandfather is Thomas Pearson and she has her Uncle Frank.’

  ‘Hetty.’ He watched as she rose to her feet in agitation and began pacing around the room.

  ‘I want you to go, Richard. I’m confused, I don’t know what to think … It’s all too sudden,’ she said finally, stopping and turning to face him, her arms folded tightly over her breasts. She leaned towards him earnestly.

  ‘Hetty, please, tell me you will consider bringing her to Fortune Hall? You must know what it would mean to my mother – her grandchild. She’s the only one she knows of at least.’