by Lily Baxter
‘I hope you weren’t forgetting your place, Elsie.’
‘Of course not, Mr Soames.’
‘You’re needed in the kitchen. Take that tray down and Fred will bring the rest. Below stairs is where you belong, my girl.’
Elsie bit back a sharp retort. She could not afford to lose her job, even if it was only temporary, but she had no intention of remaining in service for the rest of her life. She had tried hard to hide her true feelings, but Henri Bellaire had seen through the thin veneer of humility she wore at work, and he had sensed the rebellious spirit that was her real self. She went back to washing dishes with a renewed sense of optimism. What happened next was up to her, but her first priority must be to nurse her mother back to health. The doctor’s prognosis might be wrong. Miracles could sometimes happen.
Elsie was peeling potatoes next morning when Nancy stuck her head round the scullery door. ‘You’re wanted in Miss Marianne’s room. You’re for it if you ask me. She was giving you black looks last night.’
Elsie wiped her hands on her apron. ‘It wasn’t my fault that her boyfriend needs glasses.’
‘That’s a good one,’ Nancy said, giggling. ‘Tell her that, I dare you.’
‘I will if she gives me a hard time.’ Elsie paused in the doorway. ‘You’d better point me in the right direction. I don’t know where her room is.’
‘Come on, I’ll show you. This old house is a maze of corridors and we don’t want you to get lost. You might never be found again until you’re a skeleton with bleached bones.’
‘You do talk a lot of rot, Nancy.’
‘Come.’ Marianne’s bored voice acknowledged Elsie’s tap on the door. She opened it, mouthing a word of thanks to Nancy.
‘Tell us what she says,’ she whispered.
Elsie entered the room, closing the door behind her. ‘You wanted to see me, Miss Winter?’
Marianne was sitting at her elegant rosewood dressing table. She turned her head to give Elsie an appraising look. ‘Cora Mason tells me that you’re a good hairdresser.’
‘I’m a trained lady’s maid.’
‘So I heard.’ Marianne turned away to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I want my hair bobbed. Can you do it?’
‘I’ve seen a picture of Irene Castle and her bob, but I’ve never cut hair like that.’
Marianne shook out her long flaxen curls. ‘I want a change. I’m taking charge of my own life from now on.’ She took a pair of scissors from a drawer. ‘Do it. I want a bob just like Irene Castle.’
Elsie hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Cut.’ Marianne thrust the scissors into her hand. ‘Do it, please.’
‘Well, since you ask so nicely,’ Elsie said, chuckling. ‘But don’t blame me if you don’t like the result. I can’t glue it back on once it’s cut.’
Marianne turned to her, frowning. ‘You have a lot to say for yourself.’
‘I’m not here on a permanent basis, Miss Winter. I’m only filling in for my sick mother.’
‘Why did you leave your previous employer?’
‘Mrs Tonbridge died.’
‘I see.’ Marianne eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Are you going to look for another position?’
‘People like me can’t afford to be idle.’
‘You sound militant. Are you one of those women who chain themselves to railings outside public buildings?’
‘No, but I wish I was. I think they’re very brave.’
‘Are you going to stand there and lecture me on women’s suffrage, or are you going to cut my hair?’
‘I can do either or both at the same time,’ Elsie said calmly. ‘Which would you prefer?’
For a brief moment Marianne looked taken aback and then she laughed. ‘You have spirit, I like that. I’ll opt for the cut without the sermon.’
Elsie wielded the scissors. ‘How short do you want it?’
‘Daringly short. Do you know how to finger wave? It’s all the rage in London.’
‘I’ve seen it in magazines. Mrs Tonbridge might have been an elderly lady but she liked to keep up with fashion.’
‘That’s how I intend to grow old, absolutely disgracefully.’ Marianne gurgled with laughter. ‘You’ll find a towel in the airing cupboard and there’s water in the jug on the washstand, if you want to work on damp hair.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Elsie made her preparations and began to cut, working quickly and methodically. She was aware that Marianne watched every snip of the scissors, but she did not allow her concentration to waver for a second. Once started her only concern was to create a style that was flattering to the face and a work of art in itself. Marianne, unlike Cora Mason, was silent throughout, reserving her comments until the last strand of hair was in place.
She stared at her reflection and a delighted smile lit her face. ‘That’s wonderful. Just what I wanted.’ She met Elsie’s anxious gaze with a nod of her head. ‘You are an excellent coiffeuse. Pass me my handbag; I must give you something for your trouble.’
Elsie shook her head. ‘I’m being paid to work here, miss. I’d rather be cutting hair than washing dishes.’
‘Is that what you do? I thought you’d been taken on as a parlour maid.’
‘I do whatever I’m asked to do.’
‘Nevertheless, I insist on giving you something extra. Buy some flowers or chocolates for your mother.’ Marianne rose from the stool in front of the dressing table and shook out her skirts. She reached for her handbag and took out a purse. ‘Thank you, Elsie.’ She pressed a florin and a silver sixpence into Elsie’s hand. ‘I can’t wait to see Henri’s face when he sees my new hairdo.’
‘You look like a film star, and I’m not just saying that to flatter you.’
‘Maybe you ought to cut your own hair,’ Marianne said with a wry smile. ‘I confess I was a bit miffed when Henri mistook you for me, but I think it might be amusing to change places on the odd occasion.’
‘I don’t think you’d enjoy washing pots and pans in the scullery, Miss Marianne.’
‘Nor would I, but if you were to take to my bed with a headache, or some minor affliction, I could go out with Henri unchaperoned. It would be such a lark.’
‘And Mrs Tranter would sack me on the spot. That wouldn’t be much fun for me.’
‘I suppose you’re right. But you’re wasting your talents slaving away in the scullery. You can do better than that.’
‘I intend to, miss. There’s no question about that.’
Marianne’s new hairstyle created a sensation in the household. Mrs Winter was horrified, or so Nancy said when she returned to the kitchen after serving lunch in the dining room. ‘I thought she was going to faint or have one of them apple-eptic fits you hear about. She said that Miss Marianne’s mother would be furious if she saw her looking like a shorn sheep.’
Mrs Coker nodded her head. ‘A very elegant lady is Mrs Winter. It’s a pity she left Miss Marianne to go wild the way she has. I thought that posh finishing school would sort her out, but it seems I was wrong.’
‘Well I think she looks nice,’ Phyllis said boldly.
‘And when did you see her?’ Mrs Coker rounded on her. ‘You should have had everything done and finished before the family are about.’
‘I’d just cleaned the lavatory for the second time this morning, Cook. Mr Winter had left it in a terrible state.’
‘We don’t want to know that, Phyllis. Get on with your work.’
Elsie emerged from the scullery, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She had heard the conversation but it was not her place to defend or criticise Miss Marianne. ‘I’ve finished the dishes, Cook. Is it all right if I go home to check on Ma? I’ll only be an hour or so.’
‘I suppose you’ll be too grand to wash dishes now that you’re Miss Marianne’s hairdresser,’ Mrs Coker said with a grim smile.
Elsie shrugged and laughed, but she was conscious of the sideways looks given her by the kitchen maids, neither of whom had ever been particular
ly friendly towards her. ‘It was just the once, Mrs Coker. I doubt if I’ll be called upon again.’
She left the kitchen, well aware of the rumblings of jealousy amongst some of the servants, but she set off for home with the coins jingling in her pocket and she stopped at the village shop to buy some of her mother’s favourite biscuits and a jar of Bovril, which would make nourishing beef tea.
‘How is Monique?’ Mrs Rogers, the genial woman who ran the village store, asked the same question every time Elsie walked through the door.
‘About the same,’ Elsie said briefly. She knew that whatever she told Mrs Rogers in confidence would be common knowledge within minutes.
‘How are you getting on at Darcy Hall?’ Mrs Rogers scooped digestive biscuits from the cardboard box and weighed them on the big brass scales. ‘And how is Miss Marianne? I daresay she’ll find it very quiet now that she’s back at home.’
‘I expect she will.’
‘She’ll probably go out to India to find a husband. There isn’t much choice for a young lady of her class round here, especially now the eligible young men are queuing up to enlist.’
‘I really don’t know, Mrs Rogers. I just wash dishes. The family don’t confide in me.’
Mrs Rogers tipped the biscuits into a paper bag and swung it expertly so that the corners made neat twists. She placed it on the counter. ‘I’ll just have to wait for Nancy or Phyllis to come into the shop. They’re treated like part of the family, so they say.’
‘I’m sure they are. Now I really must hurry as I’ve only an hour off.’ Elsie paid for her purchases and hurried from the shop before the curious Mrs Rogers could ask any more questions.
The sun was shining from a sky so blue that it hurt her eyes, and heat rose from the dusty pavements burning through the thin soles of her boots as she walked homeward. Several women stopped her to enquire about her mother’s progress and Elsie could not bring herself to tell them that there was little hope. If she kept up the pretence that her mother would regain her health perhaps it would come true. She quickened her pace, thinking how pleased Ma would be to have some sweet biscuits to go with her cup of tea. She would tell her about Miss Marianne’s new hairstyle and the sensation it had caused, and how finger waving was not as difficult as she might have supposed. As she rounded the bend in the lane she saw Miss Peabody, the district nurse, wheeling her bicycle through the front gate of Tan Cottage. She waved and called her name. ‘Wait, please.’
Miss Peabody stood very still. ‘You’ve saved me a ride to Darcy Hall, Elsie.’
‘What’s wrong?’ The words tasted bitter in her mouth and the look on Miss Peabody’s face confirmed her worst fears.
‘Dr Hancock has taken her to the hospital, Elsie. I’m afraid she took a turn for the worse.’
Elsie clutched the gatepost for support as her knees threatened to give way beneath her. ‘How serious is it, Miss Peabody?’
‘I can’t say, but you’d better go to the hospital.’
‘I’ll go right away. You wouldn’t know what time the next bus is, I suppose?’
‘There are only two a day and I think the first one has gone.’
‘Then I’ll walk.’
‘It’s eight miles to the hospital, Elsie. I’d lend you my bicycle, but I need it to do my rounds.’
‘Thank you, but I’ve walked to town before. It’s not that far and at least it’s not raining.’
Miss Peabody managed a tight little smile. ‘That’s right, my dear. It’s a fine day, we must be grateful for small mercies. You might get a lift if you’re lucky.’
With the paper bag containing her purchases still clutched in her hand, Elsie set off in the direction of the hospital. It was early afternoon and there was very little traffic about, apart from the odd farm wagon. The Roman road stretched before her like an endless grey ribbon, the farmland on either side bounded by low hedgerows that afforded little shade. Somewhere high above a field of ripe corn a skylark hovered, warbling its melodious song, but the only other sound was the crunching of her feet on the hard ground.
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and spotted a cloud of dust in the distance which seemed to be coming nearer. The sound of a motor car engine grew louder and an open tourer travelling at some speed came into view. She moved closer to the hedge as it approached, but it was only when the vehicle slowed down and came to a halt beside her that she recognised the driver.
Henri raised the goggles to the top of his helmet. ‘Good afternoon, Elsie. I have it right this time, have I not?’
His expression was comical and yet apologetic and quite irresistible. She smiled. ‘Yes, you do, sir.’
‘Where are you going on such a hot day? There’s nothing for miles.’
‘To the hospital.’ Her voice broke on a suppressed sob. ‘My mother was rushed in and I must see her.’
His smile faded. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it’s not serious.’
‘It is, I’m afraid.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘If you’re going to Darcy Hall would you be kind enough to tell Mr Soames why I haven’t returned to work?’
He leaned over to open the door. ‘Get in. I’ll drive you to the hospital if you can give me directions.’
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but it’s not necessary.’
‘I can’t allow a young lady to walk all that way in such heat. I will drive you there in no time.’
‘But it’s in the other direction, and it’s miles out of your way.’
‘I would feel bad if I abandoned you here. I can see that you’re upset and I’m sure Marianne will not mind waiting for a little while longer.’
‘You really don’t have to do this. I’m used to walking.’
‘And I’m used to people doing what I ask.’ He laughed and his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Please do not disappoint me.’
She was hot and tired and extremely anxious and it was easier to accept than to resist. She climbed in beside him. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure. I like to show off my prowess as a driver.’ He repositioned his goggles, engaged gear and spun the car round with a squeal of tyres. ‘Unfortunately this motor car is only mine while I am here in England, but I have a similar model at home in Paris.’ He gunned the engine and drove off.
It was the first time she had ever travelled in a horseless carriage and the speed was both exhilarating and frightening. She held on tight, closing her eyes at first and then opening them to marvel at the effect of scenery flashing by faster than she could have imagined. Henri glanced at her and grinned. ‘You are not scared?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Of course not.’
‘Marianne also likes to go fast.’
The excitement and thrill of the experience was suddenly dimmed by the mention of Marianne’s name. For a short while Elsie had been able to forget her troubles and enjoy the novelty of being treated as an equal by a man like Henri, but the moment had passed. ‘Turn left here,’ she said abruptly. ‘The hospital is at the end of the road. You can’t miss it.’
He turned the wheel and swung the vehicle round. The motor drew to a halt outside the front entrance, and Henri climbed out onto the gravel. He took off his helmet and goggles and moved swiftly to open the door for Elsie. ‘That was better than walking, was it not?’
She allowed him to help her out of the car, enjoying the sensation of being treated like a lady. ‘Thank you so much, Monsieur Bellaire. It was very kind of you to go out of your way like this.’
‘I will wait for you.’
‘Oh, no, really I couldn’t expect you to do that.’
‘How will you get home?’
‘I don’t know. I expect there’ll be a bus.’
He frowned. ‘You will be returning to Darcy Hall?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then I will wait for you.’
She could see that to argue was useless, and her desire to see her mother overrode all othe
r considerations. She hurried into the hospital, leaving Henri to follow or not as he pleased.
A nurse showed her to the side ward and asked her to wait in the corridor. Elsie caught a glimpse of the bed and the movement of nurses fluttering about the room like grey and white doves, but the door closed again, shutting her out. She was tempted to barge in and demand to see her mother, but just as she felt she could bear it no longer the door opened and Dr Hancock emerged.
‘Elsie, my dear, I am so sorry.’
Chapter Three
HENRI HAD WAITED for her and he offered to drive her back to Darcy Hall. ‘You should not be alone at a time like this, chérie,’ he said gently.
Dazed and too shocked even to cry, Elsie shook her head. ‘I don’t belong there. I should go home.’
‘I’m sure they will look after you,’ Henri insisted. ‘Unless you have someone close who could be with you tonight.’
‘I’ve no family in England.’
He shot her a curious glance. ‘Does that mean you have relations in France? I only assume that because your French is flawless.’
‘My mother’s family are French, but they cut her off when she married Pa.’
‘I’m sorry. That must have been a matter of great sorrow for her, but if you will allow me to take you to Darcy Hall I’m certain that Marianne will see that you are looked after.’
‘No. Thank you, Monsieur Bellaire, but I want to go home.’
‘It’s Henri,’ he said softly. ‘I am your friend, Elsie. I think you should not be alone tonight.’
‘I grew up in Tan Cottage. It’s where I live,’ she said simply. ‘Please take me home.’
He left her at the door and she did not invite him in. She was not ashamed of the tiny one up, one down cottage, but she wanted to be alone. Her mother’s sudden death from a haemorrhage had come as a body blow. Even though she had been warned that the end might be imminent, deep down Elsie had clung to the hope that it might not be so. Now it was final. She had seen her mother’s dead body and kissed her marble-like cheek as if she were saying goodnight, but it was a long and never-ending darkness that had taken her mother from her.
