‘Well, Mrs O’Connor, how I envy you the time to relax and have a cool drink in the midst of preparations for dinner guests,’ said the woman as she made her way to a small area with a large white sink surrounded by shelves of jugs, vases and containers of every size and shape.
‘That old rip!’ muttered Mrs O’Connor under her breath, her face purple with annoyance as she motioned to Kitty to get back to work.
The housekeeper produced a sharp scissors and began to trim and cut the flowers and arrange them deftly. She then curtly announced to Kitty where they were to be put.
‘Drawing-room, Kitty.’
‘Main hallway.’
‘Bottom of the stairs.’
‘Landing.’
‘Dining-room, girl.’
Peggy felt like laughing as Kitty slopped water along the tiled floors and rushed up and down the stairs. She pulled a face at Kitty.
‘You, girl, stop making silly faces and get a mop and dry up that floor,’ ordered the housekeeper before going upstairs with the last floral arrangement.
It was long after dark when Peggy stopped work. Her shoulders and arms and the backs of her legs ached. Earlier she had felt her eyes shutting while Mrs O’Connor was telling her something. At seven o’clock she had managed to eat quickly a few slices of meat, some thick crusty bread and a piece of rather stale sponge cake. At eleven o’clock she trudged up the stairs at last. She just about managed to hang her dress on the hook before stretching out on the bed. The room was warm and she let the bedclothes cover just the lower half of her body. She wanted to stay awake and chat to Kitty and find out about the place, but exhaustion won the battle against curiosity.
CHAPTER 14
The Likes of Us
‘PEGGY, PEGGY, GET UP QUICK. Mrs O’Connor will kill you if you don’t make a start.’
It was dawn. Bleary eyed, Peggy tried to remember where she was. She threw some water from the white wash-bowl between the beds on to her face before dragging on her dress. Kitty passed her the hairbrush and helped her to tidy her hair.
‘We’ll talk later,’ assured the other girl, pushing Peggy out the door, as she turned to fix her own hair.
The kitchen felt cool and the smell of last night’s dinner still hung in the air. The range needed emptying and the coals had to be topped up. Peggy began to fill the large kettle. Mrs O’Connor ambled in, her face pale in the early morning light. She told Peggy to fetch bacon and eggs and a bowl. In no time breakfast was cooked and ready to serve. Peggy watched with amazement as Kitty lifted the heavy tray up the stairs, but she seemed surefooted and well able to manage.
Once her own breakfast was over, Peggy was curious to discover more about the Rowans.
‘How many are there in the family?’ she asked Kitty.
‘Well,’ began Kitty, ‘there’s the Mistress, Mrs Elizabeth – you’ve met her. Then the Master, Mr Gregory Rowan – he’s some kind of banker. Miss Roxanne is fifteen and a right little minx. Watch out for her. She may look as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but …’
‘Kitty!’ warned the cook.
‘Anyways, then there’s Simon, he’s a pet. He’s six years old. There’s always cousins or uncles or aunts staying too, but it’s just themselves at the moment.’
Just then Mrs Madden appeared at the table.
‘Kitty, I’ve warned you about gossiping! Now, get back upstairs, there’s plenty of cleaning to be done this morning, and Peggy, when you’ve finished the washing up I want to see you in my office.’
Peggy filled the sink with boiling hot water and began to scrub and scrub, plunging her hands into the greasy water. I’d better get used to this! she thought.
An hour later she made her way to the housekeeper’s small room. A walnut desk was covered in papers and a few ledgers lay open. Mrs Madden had two or three outfits over her arm.
‘Now, try these on and we’ll see what fits you.’
The first was way too small, and Peggy noticed that it smelled faintly of stale sweat. Mrs Madden tossed it over the chair. The minute Peggy pulled on the second one she knew it was just right. The material was light green cotton with a tiny pattern of dainty leaves in plum colour which gave the appearance of stripes. It had long sleeves, with extra-long buttoned cuffs so that the sleeves could be rolled up for work. Peggy twirled around in it.
‘It’s just beautiful and perfect,’ she smiled.
The housekeeper then produced a dark slate grey dress, made to the same pattern. Peggy felt it made her look drab and dreary.
‘Yes, that will do nicely,’ nodded the woman.
She then gave Peggy three white aprons and matching white cuff protectors, and a neat white collar and two caps.
‘Keep one apron and the collar for good wear. Also, I expect you to keep a civil tongue in your head and keep yourself clean and tidy. I won’t stand for a slovenly appearance. Now, do we understand each other? There’ll be a warmer uniform, much the same, for when the cold weather comes. Any stitching or mending needed, you attend to it yourself.’
‘Yes, Mrs Madden.’
‘Work hard, my girl, and I’ll be pleased with you. I’m a fair woman and only too pleased to help a girl like yourself fresh from Ireland. It’s how I started myself.’
Peggy looked at her, but obviously Mrs Madden was not prepared to tell her any more.
‘Now run along upstairs and put on the green and tie up your hair, and then get straight down again to attend to your duties.’
Peggy had just come back down to the kitchen when she noticed the lady of the house standing there discussing the week’s menu with the cook. Elizabeth Rowan was the prettiest woman Peggy had ever seen in her life. Her skin was clear, without a blemish or freckle. Peggy wrinkled her nose thinking of the bridge of freckles that no amount of scrubbing would remove. Such fashion and style the Mistress had – a beautiful lace-ruffled blouse and a skirt, the colour of the soft moss back home, that fell in flounces almost to the floor.
‘Little Peggy, isn’t it?’
Peggy almost dropped to the floor and with the brush and pan still in her hands went towards the sweet voice and accent.
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ she said, and blushed.
‘Well, I hope you’ve settled in. Mrs Madden has fitted you out already, I’m glad to see. I hope you won’t let myself or Mrs Halligan down.’
‘No, Ma’am,’ promised Peggy.
‘Mrs O’Connor will tell you what needs to be done. She runs the kitchen like an army regiment, spick and span, good food, on time and everything in its place. I leave it all in her good hands.’ The Mistress threw a glance of relief at Mrs O’Connor. The cook reminded Peggy of a large wood pigeon, almost cooing with pride as the other woman went back upstairs.
‘She’s a good kind mistress, Peggy, remember that. There isn’t a bad bone in her and I should know. I’ve worked for her ever since my poor husband Paddy was taken nine years ago. My daughter worked here too, but she’s married with babies herself now. Would you ever believe I’m a grandmother, Peggy? Mrs Rowan is a fine woman, mind you, even if she can’t boil an egg or make a cup of tea for herself. Not everyone can live their life in the kitchen. That’s for the likes of us!’
Peggy nodded. She felt as if a stone had sunk in the waters of her spirit at the words ‘the likes of us’. She looked at Mrs O’Connor whose face was round and full of kindness. Years of standing over saucepans and pots seemed to have boiled her skin a lusty pink.
‘Now, lassie, sit down and listen well to me and I’ll tell you what’s expected of you,’ Mrs O’Connor began.
‘A good kitchen maid …’
* * *
Peggy sat on the bed, her knees pulled up under her chin. Her head was reeling and she had a headache. She would never remember half of what Mrs O’Connor told her. There was just too much for one person to do, let alone remember. She had nearly laughed in the middle of the long list thinking the cook was playing a joke on her, but one look at the serious face was enough to
tell her the woman was in earnest.
This was meant to be the mid-afternoon rest period.
‘I always insist on an hour’s rest every afternoon,’ Mrs O’Connor had told her. ‘It’s the one thing that Mrs Madden and I are in total agreement about – an hour or more to sleep, relax and rest your feet, or get a breath of fresh air. ‘Tis the least a body could expect.’
Peggy was all wound up, her brain bursting with all the new information. How could she possibly relax when she felt like this?
‘Well, Peggy, aren’t you having a nap in this heat?’ Kitty pulled the door open to let some air circulate between it and the window in the small room.
Kitty had stripped off her uniform. She lay across the narrow bed, dressed just in her underclothing, her arms and legs spreadeagled trying to cool down. Peggy couldn’t resist the temptation. She put her hand in the full water jug on the stand between the beds and flicked the water all over Kitty.
‘I’m drowned, God almighty!’ shouted Kitty. She shot up in the bed and grabbed the jug, and for an instant Peggy thought she was going to empty the jug of water over her. Instead Kitty placed the large wash-bowl on the floor and poured all the water from the jug into it. Then she gingerly put one foot into the bowl. ‘God, that’s gorgeous.’
Peggy was over in a flash, standing on one foot with the other thrust into the blissfully cold water. Soon the throbbing in her foot and her tiredness was easing away.
‘Aren’t we the right pair, paddling in a wash-bowl instead of a cool mountain stream or the waves at the seaside?’
They pulled the bowl along the floor, then both of them sat on the side of Kitty’s bed and dangled their feet in the water.
‘Peggy, I’m glad you’ve come. ‘Twas awful lonely here the last month or so since Norah Owens left.’
‘Where did she go?’ enquired Peggy, curious about the fate of the previous occupant of her bed and uniform.
‘Out west,’ announced Kitty, ‘across prairies and plains. There’s twice the money to be made in places like California. Norah’s wild – she says it’s a land of opportunity. She tried to talk me into going with her, but I told her I know what side my bread is buttered on!’
Peggy nodded sagely and stifled a pang of regret that she had not had the chance to meet the wild Norah Owens. Still, it was nice to have Kitty.
Over the next few days Kitty and Peggy began to lay the stones of a strong friendship. Often at night they chatted, taking it in turn to tell their stories until they heard the snore from the opposite bed.
Kitty’s family had left Ireland in 1847, when the Great Famine was at its worst. Kitty was ten then. The voyage was a nightmare and after a month at sea almost half of the passengers died of cabin fever, including Kitty’s mother and father and two brothers. At journey’s end all that was left of the Murphy family was Kitty and her four-year-old sister, May. They were placed in an orphanage. The following year Kitty started work.
Her first position was as a scullery maid in a house in the centre of Boston. They gave her a uniform, a bed in the room beside the scullery, and they fed her. Other than that she was not paid one cent for the whole year. Eventually she ran away and went back to the orphanage. Her little sister had been moved to another home and she could not trace her. Next she worked for an old lady who was a recluse and lived miles from her nearest neighbour. Provisions were delivered once a week and in emergencies Kitty would walk miles to the nearest store. But the rest of the week was spent cooking and cleaning almost in total solitude. The old lady cut herself off from Kitty too by reading and writing letters all day. Kitty dared not run away again. And then finally Mrs Bridgeton died and the solicitors had helped to get her this position here with the Rowan family in Greenbay.
‘This is as good as you’ll get, Peggy. I know that and anyways hard work never killed anybody,’ declared Kitty.
Kitty might be a few years older than Peggy, but she had missed out on so much in life. Peggy decided she would do her best to make it up to her. For her part, Kitty had made up her mind to help Peggy settle in and buckle down to work, and to make the most of her new life in Boston.
Across the bare floorboards they held hands as they drifted to sleep in the summer heat of the attic room.
* * *
The week’s routine was strict and rigid, but at least everyone knew exactly what they had to do and there were few misunderstandings. One day blended into another. At night, Peggy’s bones and muscles ached. Kitty would hold her legs and rub them, and Peggy moaned, feeling that her veins would burst with cramps.
‘Don’t make too much noise, Peggy,’ urged Kitty, ‘or we’ll have Mrs Madden up complaining to us.’ The housekeeper slept in the room below them.
There wasn’t a day or night that Peggy didn’t feel homesick and lonely. She wrote a long letter to Nano and Eily, and day after day she waited for their reply.
Often in the evenings the cook and the two maids would sit in the kitchen and wait for the bells to ring. Mrs O’Connor always managed to save for herself Mr Rowan’s copy of the paper from the day before. She would pull her heavy chair up near the warmth of the range and read out snippets of news. Her favourites were the murders and missing children stories, which she read with zeal, checking every few minutes that Peggy and Kitty were still listening.
It didn’t take long for Peggy to discover that Kitty could not read or write. She loved to listen to Mrs O’Connor and was thrilled when Peggy read the latest serial story from the newspaper for her in bed at night.
‘Wouldn’t you like to be able to read a bit yourself, Kitty?’ asked Peggy. ‘Didn’t anyone ever teach you?’
Kitty looked ashamed, but shook her head.
‘I don’t remember. Maybe once in the orphans’ home, but mostly there was the other stuff to do – sewing, cleaning, helping with the little ones and the babies. I’d better things to do with myself,’ protested the older girl.
‘I could teach you a bit, if you wanted,’ offered Peggy.
‘No, I don’t think so – it would only cause trouble,’ muttered Kitty, trying to avoid Peggy’s eyes.
‘Trouble? What kind of trouble? Do you mean the trouble I’d take teaching you at night?’
‘No, no – it just might get us into trouble. Anyways, it’s not worth it. It doesn’t matter that much what I can or can’t do.’
Peggy turned on her, furious. ‘Matter? Of course it matters! Do you want to stay a stupid skivvy for the rest of your days?’
A tense silence hung in the air. Peggy could feel the blood pulsing in her ears. Maybe she’d gone too far, said too much. Kitty looked straight at her.
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Well!’ Peggy felt like cheering, but instead she just smiled. Then she began to wonder how exactly you’d go about teaching all about the alphabet and the words and sounds.
Still, if Kitty was willing to try, then so was she.
‘Peggy, could you teach me to write my own name? I’d like that.’
‘That’ll be the first lesson,’ promised Peggy.
By the next night the attic room was full of scraps of paper with KITTY MURPHY scrawled across them in large uneven letters.
CHAPTER 15
Roxanne
THE ROWAN FAMILY USUALLY kept their distance and had little to do with the maids, except for young Simon who loved to be in and out of the kitchen. He would stand up on a chair watching Mrs O’Connor and she would let him lick bowls and give her mixtures a stir sometimes, for luck. He often ran in from the garden demanding a jar or tin to put some unfortunate creature in and would arrive back to show them all kinds of insects, the like of which Peggy had never seen before. The American insects seemed a lot bigger than the Irish ones, she thought. ‘Maybe they’re better fed,’ laughed Kitty.
Roxanne, the only daughter, was fifteen and as flawlessly beautiful as her mother. She had almost silver-blonde hair which she wore in ringlets around her face, showing off her large blue eyes to advantage. Sh
e played the piano every day and studied with a tutor who came to instruct her in French and English, literature and art. Sometimes other young ladies would call and Peggy would watch from the kitchen step as they went for a short drive around Greenbay by carriage. They were always chaperoned by one of the mothers.
Roxanne rarely came down the stairs to the kitchen area and if she did it was usually to complain. One Saturday she arrived at the kitchen door and called Mrs Madden. Kitty and the housekeeper had immediately to begin to re-press Roxanne’s pale peach dress as she wanted it for dinner.
Peggy was set to restitching the hem of Roxanne’s favourite petticoat which had snagged when she was out shopping that morning.
‘I’m no good at sewing and mending,’ Peggy had admitted from the start, but she had been met with polite disbelief by the rest of the household.
She kept sticking the needle in her finger as she tried to copy the fine stitches of her predecessor. She even managed to stitch the petticoat to her apron at one stage, she was in such a mood trying to sew.
An hour later, Roxanne stormed downstairs and flung the petticoat at her.
‘It’s got specks of blood on it – her blood,’ she screamed, pointing at Peggy. ‘I will not wear it till it’s been laundered.’
Peggy had never felt so embarrassed.
‘There, Miss Roxanne, I am afraid you will have to wait until Monday when the washerwomen come around,’ Mrs Madden replied firmly.
The daughter of the house flounced off back upstairs muttering comments about ‘those Irish!’
* * *
A few days later Peggy heard excited voices of family and friends who had come to wish Miss Roxanne a happy sixteenth birthday and toast her good health. Mrs O’Connor had provided an extravagant supper and a special cake.
Wildflower Girl (Children of the Famine) Page 8
