“Of course you were. Of course he was,” Edwina sneered. “What a pair of experts deciding the fate of my child and interfering in the running of the estate! An ignorant country doctor and a frustrated old maid. Of course the quack would back you up after he was fed malicious tales by you. You don’t seem to realise what a terrible blow you two ignoramuses have dealt me.” A gleam of hatred came into Edwina’s eyes. “And while we’re on the subject of your superior ways, where did you pick up that affected way of speaking? Anyone would think you were the mistress of the Park rather than one of its lackeys.”
Miss East took a step back as if pushed by the force of the malice in Edwina’s tone.
“I think I should leave,” she said in as mild a tone as she could manage.
“Stay where you are. I’m the one who tells you when you may leave, in case you’d forgotten in my absence.”
There was a sound behind Miss East. Charlotte flew through the door, momentarily freezing at the sight of her mother before edging towards Miss East and putting her arm around the housekeeper, burying her face in the folds of the woman’s apron.
Edwina looked on with distaste.
Miss East bent down to whisper to Charlotte, who shook her head and clung tighter.
“Stop acting like a baby and come here and shake your mother’s hand like a civilised human being,” said Edwina.
No one moved. Miss East bent down again and whispered to Charlotte who shook her head more emphatically.
“She’s shy,” said Miss East to fill the vibrating silence.
“She’s what?” Edwina’s response was low and clipped, with the ‘t’ on the end of ‘what’ sounding like a spit. “Shy of her own mother? Miss East, if ever I want an opinion on my own child, I’ll ask for it, but until then I’d be obliged if you would keep your mouth firmly closed. You’ve done enough damage with that mouth of yours to last you a lifetime.” She advanced on Charlotte and missed catching an arm as the child dodged behind Miss East. “This kind of conduct is not acceptable,” she said, retreating. “Dixon would never have allowed her to get away with such wilful behaviour.” Edwina’s mouth twisted into an ugly shape.
“No, ma’am.”
Edwina stared at the pair, considering.
“Very well,” she said at last. “Seeing as you two are getting on so well together it would seem a shame to split you up.” Her smile was not friendly. “Here it is nearly September and with all the upheaval,” (Victoria’s disappearance an ‘upheaval’? thought Miss East) “I forgot to hire a governess or enrol Charlotte in a prep school for the year. So you can continue to look after her for twelve months, Miss East, on top of all your other duties, and I advise you both to keep well out of my sight for the year.”
The reference he gave Nurse Dixon was so glowing it could secure her a position with the Royal family, the steward told Edwina when she asked him about his part in the nanny’s dismissal. It was the only practical way he was able to help the poor woman suffering the loss of her charge, and since he had never heard anything negative about her, and since that rock of sense Miss East had been so sympathetic towards her, he thought he had done the right thing in her ladyship’s absence, and did she approve? Of course she did, but what she wanted to know was had Dixon left a forwarding address or given any indication where she was going? He had to confess he hadn’t seen her personally before she departed, and that all details had been handled by Miss East.
As expected, said Edwina bitterly, and did he have any idea what Dixon’s Christian name was? No, he’d never heard it and there was no mention of it in his records. He had used the title ‘Nurse’ and hoped it would be acceptable to prospective employers.
Reasoning that Dixon, experienced in only one field, would be forced to seek a similar position to the one she’d filled at the Park, Edwina, at considerable expense, placed personal advertisements in The Irish Times and the English Times and the various periodicals featuring ‘Hunting’ in the title seeking news of Nurse Dixon’s whereabouts.
She questioned a few selected servants, who said they had no idea why Dixon upped and left. One day she was there and the next she was gone without so much as a by-your-leave or word of goodbye, odd behaviour even from her who was so stand-offish. What they did know was that she would have gone to Australia with her only friend Teresa Kelly if she hadn’t been in love with Manus, staying on waiting for him to declare himself. Teresa Kelly had told them that personally so it must be true. They didn’t know what had happened between Dixon and Manus, though they could see with their own eyes that he wasn’t especially interested in her.
Knowing glances passed among them. One bold one dared look up at Edwina’s face to see how she was taking this information but saw no change in her expression.
In the end, the servants said, Dixon had left only three weeks after Teresa, so it was all a bit of a waste of time.
A visit to the parish priest proved fruitless. Father O’Flaherty said he had written out the address of the old farmer for Teresa Kelly to give to her but hadn’t kept a copy for his records as there didn’t seem any point. He couldn’t bring the address to mind as it consisted of a few long aboriginal words that didn’t lodge in his memory as they were so unfamiliar to him. Teresa Kelly knew where to contact him if she needed further help, which he presumed she wouldn’t as she was so happy with the arrangement, so he was sorry but it didn’t look as if he would be able to help Her Ladyship. He didn’t offer to supply Edwina with Teresa Kelly’s address if Teresa did happen to make contact.
There were no replies to the advertisements in the newspapers and periodicals.
Soon after that Edwina wrote to the Australian Embassy in London, outlining all the facts about the abduction, and asked what course of action she should take to secure the return of her daughter.
Dear Lady Blackshaw, came the reply a month later, we have read your letter with great interest and concern, and have discussed it from all angles. Our conclusions are as follows: whether you treat the case as a felony or as a missing persons case, whether you offer a reward or threaten imprisonment, you are left with an almost insurmountable problem.
Presuming the abductors will have adopted false identities, identification would depend on the circulation of photographs (which you say you can supply) through the medium of newspapers and posters. In a vast country such as ours, such circulation would be patchy and uncertain. Added to this, we can be equally sure that the abductors will have made every effort to change their appearance, rendering such identification tenuous at best. And who is there to identify them if they are located? If there is no identification, there can be no arrest.
Speaking informally and as an Australian, I can only warn you that if someone in Australia doesn’t want to be found, they won’t be found. Even if their entry into the country is recorded, which may not be the case with all the confusion created by the war, they could soon lose themselves and assume false identities, as I said, in a city or the huge expanses of the outback, and here something else comes into play. The Australians have a great regard for the underdog and the underprivileged, and would surround lone women and children with a protective ring, asking no questions, and never think of ‘dobbing them in’, as the saying goes, for either a reward or a feeling of righteousness.
My advice is that you or someone sent by you would have to travel to Australia and personally initiate a police or a private search and be on hand to identify the culprits if they are found, a highly unlikely event, if you want my personal opinion.
No, I don’t want your personal opinion thank you very much, Edwina said aloud, not bothering to finish reading the letter. I’ll go to Australia myself. Beatrice will come with me. We’ll find them. Wait and see. Just as soon as the baby is born and I have recovered sufficiently to show the county what I’m capable of on Sandstorm. Then I’ll go.
15
Tyringham Park
1883
Waldron’s mother, who was called a dowager because of h
er hump rather than her situation, had been in need of a new personal maid at the time Waldron was a young man of twenty-six. Following the Park’s tradition of not employing local people, she contacted her clergyman cousin in Yorkshire, as she usually did, to have one sent over from there. Over the years he had supplied staff, mostly orphans, on a regular basis to Tyringham Park, and all had been deemed most satisfactory. The most recent arrival, young Sid Cooper, had proved to be a real godsend.
Her preference for orphans, as well as reflecting well on her philanthropic reputation, suited her because they had no one to speak up for them if their wages were too low or the hours too long. Added to that, there would be no disruption by parental illnesses, where the servant would be summoned home to nurse the afflicted one and then stay on to look after the remaining one.
As luck would have it, according to the Dowager who never tired of exclaiming over the “gratuitous sense of timing” whenever Miss East’s name was mentioned in later years, fourteen-year-old Lily East’s mother had just died and left her an orphan in need of a position. True, on the day of the funeral Lily East was so poorly she looked as if she would be joining her mother in the grave shortly: she was gaunt and pale, and her hand trembled when she handed the clergyman cousin a cup of tea. He took in the bitten nails, sparse hair, blotchy skin, convulsive tic and her inability to stand for very long. He also noticed the hovering stepfather who kept preventing Lily from speaking to anyone for more than a minute.
When she arrived at Tyringham Park three days later she was in an even worse state. The Dowager, on seeing her, exclaimed in her penetrating voice to the housekeeper “Perfect!” She even clapped her hands. “She’ll do very nicely. My blank canvas.”
Miss Timmins, the housekeeper, failed to catch Lily as she fell in a dead faint on the Turkish carpet under the Waterford crystal chandelier.
“I thought I’d specified ‘healthy’,” said the Dowager, lifting her skirts and heading for the door, making a semi-circular movement to avoid the collapsed figure. “Deal with it, Miss Timmins.” She left, revising her ideas about employing an English orphan who had no family to come to collect her and look after her, and who might not be well enough for a long time to make the journey back across the water.
Miss Timmins was grateful the Dowager was not in the room when she bent to minister to Lily East and found her skirt and the carpet drenched in blood. Using the end of the girl’s black shawl she hurriedly soaked up most of the blood from the dark red carpet, then rang the bell pull and told the maid to get Sid to bring the pony and trap around to the servants’ entrance – the new girl was very ill. She lifted her – she was hardly any weight at all, a little wisp of a thing – carried her to her room, wrapped her tightly in a dark blanket, and rushed to the back door of the Park where Sid was already waiting.
“That was quick, God bless you,” she said.
“Here, give her to me,” said Sid. “What a tiny little thing!” He peered into her face and loved what he saw. “Are you sure she’s not dead already?”
“Stop that kind of talk!” Miss Timmins admonished as she seated herself beside Sid. “She might be able to hear you. Hand her over to me now. Straight to the doctor’s house, and hope as you’ve never hoped before that he is at home.”
“What’s she got?” asked Sid.
“Anaemia.”
“I never seen anyone that pale.”
“Try to avoid the potholes – she looks as if she could snap in two.”
Sid was only sixteen but he handled the pony and trap with accuracy and confidence.
A young man met them at the door and took a minute to convince them he really was Dr Finn, the son of the older version they were expecting. Sid wanted to stay on, but Miss Timmins sent him back.
Five minutes later old Dr Niall Finn arrived out of breath and joined his son in the surgery attached to the house.
They were in there a long time.
The older doctor explained to Miss Timmins later that it had been touch and go but it looked as if the young girl would pull through. Could she notify the parents?
“She has none.”
“She’s obviously underage, so who is her guardian?”
“The Dowager, I suppose. She employed her as the new maid.”
“Well, in that case I’ll talk to you instead so we can spare the Dowager. Is that all right by you?”
“I feel responsible for her anyway. It’s my job as housekeeper to look after all the indoor staff, and I’d take particular care of one so young and ill.”
Lily had had a miscarriage, as Miss Timmins had already guessed, and lost a lot of blood. It would be better not to move her to a Cork or Dublin hospital, as she was too weak to travel. Young Dr John Finn’s new wife, who was a nurse, would look after her until she was well enough to go back to the Park. Lily had an infection and would almost definitely be infertile – he would spare her the details. Lily would be told of this when she regained her strength, but there was no need for anyone else ever to know.
“I’ve already said anaemia.”
“That will do as well as anything.”
Six weeks later Miss Timmins stood on the Turkish carpet (which she had personally and secretly managed to clean before anyone noticed) and re-introduced Lily, whom the Dowager found difficult to equate with the sickly waif she had met previously, such was the improvement in the orphan’s health and appearance. Rather than sending her back to the Park after the initial danger was over, the doctor’s wife had insisted on keeping her until she was fully recovered, captivated as much by her personality as moved by her circumstances.
Most people avoided the Dowager because of her constant talking – it was a mystery how she picked up so much gossip when she didn’t pause long enough to let anyone break into her flow. She could clear a large space around her with, “Did I ever tell you about the time Lady Crombie met me by chance in Sackville Street?” or “Just listen to this. This will amuse you. I was in London and passing by St Paul’s Cathedral when . . .” Even her growing stock of misused words, examples of which were treasured and quoted by those who noticed, were not enough to prevent the silent withdrawal of guests. But since the arrival of her new maid, the Dowager noticed a change. When everyone else had left, Lily was still there, not missing a word. An audience of one, and a maid at that. The Dowager couldn’t believe how the young girl’s admiration gratified her need for attention. There was something about Lily that appealed to her – her company was agreeable and comforting, and as the years went by, indispensable.
All the chattering was a joy to Lily who had come from a house that, for the last four years with the arrival of her stepfather, had been filled with hostile silence, some of it bought at the cost of tape across her mouth. To the amusement of the staff, she absorbed the vocabulary and cadences of speech of her mistress from hours of captive listening.
Miss Timmins made sure Lily took time off to have meals in the staff kitchen and often came up to collect her. If one waited for the Dowager to pause in her monologues, one could starve to death. Young Sid always looked forward to her arrival and made sure she didn’t sit in a draught.
Lily was allowed to borrow books from the library when it was discovered she could read – her father had taught her – and chose Wilkie Collins and Arthur Conan Doyle, as well as accounts of real-life murders, so that she could share them with Miss Timmins. Because Lily had spent four years fantasising how she could dispose of her stepfather, she felt she had something in common with those who had actually done the deed.
Her dearest wish was that Waldron, who was twelve years her senior, would marry and father some children, and that she would be appointed as nanny to them, but from what the Dowager said he was in love with the army and, besides, had no opportunity to meet suitable young girls in India.
Lily East, four inches taller and a stone heavier, was twenty-four when the Dowager, who had never actually become a dowager as her husband remained alive and her sons unmarried so s
he was mistress to the end, died of a heart attack, not from jaw fatigue as her neighbours had predicted. His Lordship personally thanked Lily for being so good to his wife and promoted her to be Miss Timmins’s apprentice, as the dear old housekeeper was getting on in years and wasn’t really up to the job. Both women were more than pleased with the arrangement, though every now and then there was a dip in efficiency as they became too absorbed in discussing a hand of cards or the latest Sherlock Holmes mystery.
When Lily was thirty, just before the beginning of the twentieth century, Miss Timmins died and Lily became head housekeeper. The indoor staff were pleased that no one had been imported for the position – they were used to Miss East, as she was now addressed, and liked working for her.
Years earlier Sid had wanted to marry her but she refused, saying she preferred to stay free and single. She didn’t tell him it was because she couldn’t have children – he was such a good man he would have married her in spite of it, but she didn’t want the sacrifice weighing on her conscience. He eventually married Kate, one of the younger maids, and they moved to a cottage on the estate. Miss East was asked to stand as godmother to their first child, and when her eyes caught Sid’s across the baptismal font and she saw his proud expression, she knew she had done the right thing to refuse him.
Waldron was fifty when his father died and he inherited the title and the estate. Within a year he had brought back to the Park his twenty-year-old cousin, Lady Blackshaw, as a bride. Miss East looked forward to the life of the Park continuing – hunts, balls, weekend guests, tennis and shooting parties, but to everyone’s unhappy surprise, Waldron abandoned his young pregnant wife, saying she would be in good hands with Miss East as housekeeper, and went back to India, talking about duty to the Empire.
16
Tyringham Park Page 9
