‘Well,’ Alice muttered to cover her embarrassment, ‘tha’d better not keep Annie waiting.’
Lizzie snuggled into the lovely fringed shawl, picked up a carpet bag containing a nightdress and checked herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece, then hurried off to Annie’s a few doors away. Ruth waved as she passed the window and Alice was surprised at how uplifted she was feeling, so much happier than this morning. Why, she almost wished she was going to the do herself. She frowned as she wondered why she couldn’t be kind and cheerful all the time, and was disturbed by the memory of how she had snubbed Joe Jackson.
The orchestra could be heard in the stillness of the night as the two girls approached the drive. A carriage ambled past and Lizzie gasped in amazement. ‘Gosh, I didn’t know the gentry were honouring us with their company.’
‘Course they are. There’s to be speeches after the meal, just like when it’s a do for the nobility.’
Lizzie giggled. ‘I hope they don’t ramble on too long. I’ve come to dance, not to listen to speeches.’
Annie put Lizzie in the picture. ‘Everyone involved in the reservoir construction will be here. Engineers, financial experts, lawyers, surveyors, labourers, drivers, men from the water works – even the humble chambermaids who look after the upper crust when they stay at the Hall, like me.’
‘Oh, Annie, I hope we don’t show ourselves up.’
‘Why should we? We’re as good as that lot any day. They might look all posh in their top hats and tails, but some of ’em have manners worse than pigs. You should see the state of the rooms some of them leave. Too drunk to use the chamber pots, some of ’em are, so they just pee the beds.’
‘Oh, Annie, and you have to clean up after them?’
Annie shrugged. ‘It’s a job, and we have some laughs, I can tell yer.’
They entered the reception area and Annie took Lizzie’s shawl.
‘Oh!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘I hope it doesn’t get lost. It belongs to our Alice.’
‘It won’t. I’ll ask Miss Tudor to take special care of it. She’s usually on reception but she’s looking after the cloaks tonight.’
Lizzie was mesmerised by the wide, open staircase, lit by a huge crystal chandelier.
‘Come on!’ Annie grabbed her by the arm and led her into the ballroom. Tables were set round three sides of the room, the other already occupied by the orchestra. Lizzie had never before seen such finery. Flowers had been arranged in huge Grecian urns between the tables and the dance floor, and chandeliers glistened like icicles along the patterned ceiling. An assistant in scarlet livery winked at Annie and bowed.
‘Your card, my lady?’ he said formally and Annie giggled.
‘I’ll give yer mi lady tomorrer, Sammy.’
Sammy whispered in Annie’s ear, ‘Don’t eat too much tonight, Annie, then we can have a fuddle tomorrow with what’s left.’
Annie laughed and then said seriously, ‘Why, I’ve a good mind to report you to the master, my boy.’
Lizzie chuckled and they handed the tickets to Sammy, who showed the two friends to their places. ‘Trust them to put us at the end,’ Annie grumbled. ‘Oh, Lizzie, you do look lovely. You are lucky having a dress like that – it must have cost a fortune.’
‘Aye, when it was new.’ Lizzie grimaced. ‘I only hope nobody recognises it.’
People were taking their seats at the tables and Annie and Lizzie joined them. ‘You see him over there?’ Annie said. ‘The handsome one with the black, curly hair? He’s Irish; five brothers there are, came over specially to work on the dam. There’s another of them, the one at the opposite end of the table. I think he’s lovely – the one with the black hair, I mean.’
‘He’s handsome right enough, but you should be careful. I’ve heard the girls at work – they say the Irish can charm the bloomers off a girl just by opening their mouths.’
‘Lizzie Stanford! Whatever would your Alice say if she heard you?’ They began to giggle.
‘Oh, she’s not so bad really, Annie.’
Annie raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh? You’ve changed your tune.’
‘Oh, I know, but I sometimes feel sorry for her, like tonight. I could have sworn she’d have liked to be coming with us.’
‘Well I for one can’t see your Alice letting her hair down and dancing.’
The room had hushed and a dignitary stood at the head of the top table. ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, may I call on Sir Duncan Batty to say grace.’ Everybody rose to their feet and joined in the Amen at the end, then shuffled back on to their chairs with relief as the waiters began to serve the soup.
‘Mock turtle,’ Annie whispered.
‘What?’ Lizzie was busy searching for the face of George Crossman, and blushed the colour of the apples in the large bowls of fruit on the table when she suddenly caught him staring and smiling in her direction.
‘Mock turtle,’ Annie repeated, ‘and the next course is to be roast pheasant.’
‘I’ve never had any pheasant,’ Lizzie said, trying not to drip soup on to her dress.
‘I’ve only picked the bones I’ve found among the leftovers.’
Lizzie screwed up her face. ‘Oh, Annie, you don’t know who left it.’
‘Not bothered.’ Annie shrugged. ‘Like to try anything once.’
The whole menu was delicious and Lizzie felt quite sickly by the time she’d finished, what with the mulled ale, rich with nutmeg, and the Yorkshire cheesecake. Annie said there would be port wine for the toasts but Lizzie didn’t think she could manage that. ‘My stomach must think there’s been an avalanche,’ she said. ‘I’ve eaten enough to last at least a week.’
The speeches seemed to go on for ever. The first speaker went on about how the dam would benefit the works and the surrounding towns and in time would become a place of beauty; the second paid tribute to all and sundry, people on the top table preening themselves at the mention of their name while the occupants of the other tables coughed, fidgeted and scraped their chairs.
‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake,’ Annie whispered, during yet another burst of applause, ‘why doesn’t somebody shove an apple down his cake hole?’
Lizzie began to giggle, and what with the mulled ale and the port wine found it impossible to stop. Fortunately the speeches ended at that point and the orchestra began to tune up as the guests sighed with relief.
George Crossman couldn’t wait to join Lizzie and was by her side even before the tables had been cleared.
‘Hello, Lizzie.’ He smiled. ‘Did you enjoy your meal?’
‘Except that I’ve eaten too much. I hope I don’t burst my buttons.’
George grinned. ‘That should be interesting.’ Lizzie blushed. ‘You look beautiful.’ She blushed even deeper. ‘I never realised how blue your eyes were until tonight.’
Annie grinned at Lizzie, and tapped her foot to the music. George suddenly seemed to notice her. ‘You look lovely too, Annie.’
‘Oh, thank you, kind sir.’ Annie curtsied.
‘Would you like to dance, Lizzie?’ George asked.
She looked at the dancers on the glistening expanse of marble. It looked very slippery; what if she made a spectacle of herself? But she really did want to dance. ‘All right.’ she said.
He took hold of her arm and led her on to the dance floor. She hoped she wouldn’t feel sick as he twirled her into a polka. However, the thrill of being held close to George soon dispelled all such thoughts and filled her with excitement as they whirled faster and faster to the music. It wasn’t until the dance ended that she wondered aloud what had happened to Annie.
George grinned. ‘I shouldn’t worry about Annie. She seems to be fully occupied.’ Indeed, Annie was in intimate conversation with the Irish labourer with the black curly hair, and when the next dance began he whirled her over in the direction of Lizzie and George.
‘Oh, I can’t do this one.’ Lizzie set off for the edge of the floor, but Annie pulled her back.
‘Yes you ca
n, I’ll show you how. It’s fun.’
The ladies were already forming a line opposite the gentlemen for the Sir Roger de Coverly. Lizzie’s heart began to pound. Nobody had prepared her for this; she was sure to throw all the dancers into confusion. However, George and Annie set her right by signalling beforehand when she should advance and when she should turn, and soon she had the hang of it and began to relax. After that the night flew by and it seemed impossible when Annie said it was time to go. In fact Charles, Annie’s brother, would have been kept waiting twenty minutes already. The Irish labourer was none too pleased when told that Annie’s brother was to chaperon her home, but Annie didn’t care. She had had a lovely time and there would be another day. Besides, she didn’t want him to think she was all that interested; best to keep him guessing.
Lizzie was a different matter. Her heart was thumping madly and plainly on her sleeve, and George Crossman was delighted. He left with her to collect her shawl and escorted her to where Charles was looking rather put out at being kept waiting. George appeased him by apologising, taking the blame for delaying the girls, even though he’d had no idea of the arrangement.
By the time they reached Annie’s house the men had arranged to attend the football match together the following day. Football was not George’s favourite pastime, but he had discovered that Isaac Stanford was a staunch spectator and Emily a regular helper with the teas. Lizzie and Ruth would offer to lend a hand and perhaps even Alice if she was still in a generous frame of mind.
Annie and Charles were most discreet when they reached Annie’s and supposedly admired the Great Bear and the Milky Way, whilst George held Lizzie closer than ever before and, as Ruth would say, kissed her for ages and ages.
Annie sighed as they crept silently indoors and up the stairs and thought how romantic it was that George and Lizzie should be madly in love. Annie thought she might attend the football match tomorrow too. After all, the Irish labourers often came this way on a Saturday. Annie had no intention of falling in love but there was no harm in a little fun. Then she remembered she would be working late tomorrow, clearing up after the ball. Oh, Gawd. She wondered if it had been worth it, but then she cheered up. Sammy would be working too; he might not be as dashing as the Irish labourer but he was nice, was Sammy. Besides, Sammy wouldn’t try to talk her bloomers off. She grinned into the darkness. It had been a lovely night.
The match between the Band of Hope and Banner Saddington’s woollen mill was not so much a contest as an afternoon of horseplay. No one was exactly sure of the rules so they changed them to suit themselves, and a hilarious time was enjoyed by all. The afternoon proved an achievement for George Crossman who succeeded in becoming acquainted with Lizzie’s parents, which resulted in his being invited to tea on the following day. Alice had surprised them all by not only helping serve the teas, but also being particularly pleasant to George. Lizzie thought – indeed hoped – that perhaps Alice had turned over a new leaf and noticed how beautiful Alice looked when she smiled. Then she went and spoiled it all by giving Ruth the sharp end of her tongue. ‘Stop disgracing thiself. You should know better at your age.’ All because Ruth had run after the ball and kicked it back to one of the players.
‘Leave her be,’ Emily said. ‘Our Ruth works hard all week, and she’s not but a child; she’s a right to let steam off on a Saturday.’
This put the scowl back on Alice’s face and cast a shadow over Ruth and Emily, but Lizzie and George were enchanted by each other and completely oblivious of any sign of discontent. If Emily had but given the subject a little thought she should have realised that Alice had every right to feel resentful considering she had never been allowed to let off steam, even at ten, let alone Ruth’s age. Alice frothed up the square of brown soap and bent her head over the pail of washing-up water in an effort to hide her tears. All around her people were laughing and joking, and outside on the green children were skipping and singing, but all Alice could hear was the voice of Grandmother Stanford. ‘Sit up straight. Don’t run. God has his eye on thee. Our sins are not set from us, but multiplied around us. Pray for us, child. Has thou learned thy lesson for today? Repent, child, before it is too late.’
Alice lifted up her skirt, dropped the dishcloth and ran, out of the free school and across the green, knowing that if she didn’t get away she would begin to scream and if she once started she would be unable to stop.
‘What’s up with our Alice?’ Isaac enquired of Emily.
‘Nay, I’m sure I don’t know. I only wish I did.’ Emily took over the washing up.
Isaac set off for home, worried about his daughter, yet completely unaware of her feelings. Not that he would have thought of her childhood deprivation as anything unusual, having been raised in entirely the same manner himself. Isaac thought a good, strict Christian upbringing never harmed anyone. In fact, in Alice’s case he looked on it as a blessing in disguise, Grandmother Stanford having settled her entire fortune on Alice, in return for her companionship. Oh aye, our Alice’ll be well enough off when she comes of age, he had pointed out to Emily. Emily had never questioned Isaac as to whether he thought it was worth it; that would have been admitting her own doubts and her own share of the blame. So Isaac arrived home completely puzzled by Alice’s irrational behaviour.
Alice was standing near the window, looking out across the valley, abstractedly flicking dust from the aspidistra with a finely embroidered hanky. Isaac went to stand beside her. ‘Well, lass, what’s to do?’
Alice glanced at her father’s concerned face and forced a smile to her lips. ‘I don’t know. I think it was the cold – it seemed to seep into my bones. I had to get away from the place, but I’m all right now.’ If only she could have explained to her father, told him of the bitterness and resentment that filled her on occasions, but she couldn’t hurt her dad. After all, he had suffered the same fate throughout his own childhood, and for longer.
‘Aye, it were allus the same in the free school. It freezes folks to the marrow, especially in January. Still, I’m glad you’re all right, lass. Tha should have said – I’d have brought you home, instead of running as though the devil himself were after thee.’
Alice smiled again. It wasn’t the devil she was running from, it was her memories: memories of the old woman who had stolen her freedom for two whole years.
Isaac stared at his daughter. ‘Eeh, lass, tha’s grown to be a beauty and no mistake.’
Alice stood open-mouthed, then she stammered, ‘Who, me?’
‘Aye, thee.’
Alice felt the tears brimming and then overflowing, to trail over her high, perfectly shaped cheekbones. ‘Oh, our dad,’ she cried and found herself in Isaac’s strong, protective arms, and this time she didn’t shrink from him, or stand rigid and unfeeling, but fell against him, seeking his affection, at last the child she should once have been.
‘Nay, nay, tha must be sickening for something, lass. It’s that freezing schoolroom, it fair gives me the jitters. I’d swear it’s bloody haunted.’
Alice was so taken aback at her father’s use of the swear word that she stood back, stared at him and burst out laughing. When Emily entered the room she thought the pair were bordering on hysteria.
‘What’s happened?’ she cried. ‘Tell me what’s wrong?’
Alice couldn’t answer, she was laughing so much, but Isaac managed to mutter, ‘Nothing’s wrong, Emily, we were just having a laugh, letting our hair down a bit like. We all need to do that once in a while.’
Emily didn’t say a word, but the thought came to her, ‘Aye, and it’s not before time, either.’ Then she popped the kettle on the fire, the teapot to warm, and set about getting the tea ready.
Chapter Two
Joe Jackson was at one side of the table with Alice, and opposite sat George Crossman with Lizzie. Isaac was a satisfied man. Two of his daughters settled down and courting, both with eligible young men. Well, Joe was not all that young, but there was no doubt that at twenty-nine, nine years
Alice’s senior, he seemed ideal. Joe was a steady bloke, quiet and sensible; the only criticism Isaac had of Joe was that he wasn’t a chapelgoer. Not that Joe had any objection to Alice’s attending; in fact he even escorted her to the service and the Bible class in the dark evenings. Besides, it seemed to Isaac that Joe worshipped the ground that Alice walked upon. Another thing Isaac admired was the man’s independence. Even though Joe was aware of Alice’s forthcoming inheritance he was determined to save until he himself could afford a house, before taking Alice in marriage. He had fought in France, suffered a knee injury and returned to work his way up to a decent job and a steady income. Isaac had no worries on that score. Oh aye, theirs would be a steady partnership, no great passion but a marriage of give and take. For though Joe liked a jug of ale now and then – only one, mind – following the Oddfellows meetings, Alice never objected. Aye, it would be an amicable marriage right enough.
As for Lizzie and George, well, that was a different kettle of fish altogether. The great passion between those two was there for all to see. The secret smiles, the touches at every opportunity. In fact Isaac thought that the sooner the two of them were wed the better it would be. Unfortunately their financial situation was by no means as sound as Alice and Joe’s; the tyre mill’s wages were nowhere near as generous. It always seemed a shame that the more physical toil a man put into his work the less he was rewarded. Not that Joe wasn’t a clever man – a more studious one it would be hard to find – but all the same it didn’t seem quite fair to Isaac.
He studied his youngest daughter, Ruth. Now she was a merry one and no mistake. Couldn’t keep still for two minutes together, and a mind just as active. Isaac frowned. He hoped Ruth wouldn’t be too flighty. She seemed to favour dressing a bit more frivolous somehow, but no, she was a good girl like the others. He would give Emily her due, she had made a right good job of training the girls. Isaac sucked on his pipe. He would have liked a son but it wasn’t to be; no doubt God had His reasons. He shook himself. Any road up, he would soon be father-in-law to two grand lads by the looks of things. He would have to wait and see what fate had in store for young Ruth. So long as she was happy – and young Ruth was certainly that – then Isaac Stanford was a contented man.
The Stanford Lasses Page 3
