No Moon

by Irene N. Watts

  Next day, the sun comes out after lunch, and we are able to take our usual walk. When we reach our accustomed bench in the park, the nannies make room for me between them.

  Before I sit down, I tell my charges they may play. “Look, Master Harold and Miss Diana have begun to make a snowman. Ask nicely and I am sure they will let you help.”

  “Why, Gardener, all alone today I see? I do hope Nanny Mackintosh is not indisposed.” This is the first time I have been acknowledged with more than a polite nod or a good-afternoon in the eight months I have been coming here with Nanny Mackintosh.

  Nanny Pritchard rises. “Master Harold, if I see you push your sister again, we will go home and you will be sent to bed without any tea,” she says. She sits down again and includes me in her conversation with Nanny Gilbert.

  “It is high time that young man was sent to boarding school. He is getting quite out of hand. The new governess is inexperienced and lacks firmness! But you have not told us where Nanny Mackintosh is this afternoon. I have brought her the knitting pattern she was admiring.”

  “Nanny has gone to Edinburgh for a few days, Nanny Pritchard.” I remember Nanny Mackintosh telling me never to impart matters of a personal nature to anyone. I decide to make my excuses and leave.

  “I must take the girls home now. Miss Alexandra is rolling in the snow like a puppy and will catch cold. Come along, girls.” Miss Portia obeys at once, but her sister does not want to leave the park.

  “No, no, no!” she shouts, defiantly.

  A tantrum is in the air, and the nannies will no doubt report to Nanny Mackintosh on her return that, like the young governess, I lack firmness.

  “Yes, yes, yes, Miss Alexandra!” I say. I pick up the little girl, put her in her carriage, and we walk home under snow-laden skies.

  A fire burns brightly in the nursery hearth. Soon it will be dark and time to turn on the lamps. I love this brief time before tea, with only the firelight making shadows on the whitewashed walls. I teach the girls how to make shadow shapes, how to hold their hands and transform them into birds, flying across the wall.

  Suddenly the door of Nanny’s room opens. She cannot possibly have returned already?

  “Back, are you? Having a nice rest by the fire?” It is Roberts. Her face wears its customary sneer as she swings her bucket to and fro, the cloth draped over the side.

  “What were you doing in Nanny Mackintosh’s room?” I ask. No one is permitted in Nanny’s room unless she is present.

  “What do you think I’m doing? Not that it’s any of your concern. I’m taking a look round to see if the room needs a good turnout while Nanny Mackintosh is away. That’s what Mrs. Ransom said I was to do. I’ve done it and now I’m off. I’ve no time to sit and play pretty games,” she says and brushes past me. Roberts must have been spying on us!

  She pretends to lose her balance, and some of the water spills on the floor.

  “Oh dear, look what I’ve gone and done.” She bends down, peering exaggeratedly at the spilled water. Something clatters onto the linoleum. It is a small spoon with delicate markings. I manage to pick it up before she does. I recognize the spoon, for I was present when Nanny showed it to Miss Portia. I overheard her say it had been a gift from her grandmother in Scotland.

  “I’ll put the spoon back where it belongs, Roberts. Nanny Mackintosh likes to polish that herself. Please clean up the spill before you leave the nursery.”

  “I’ll not take orders from a chit of a girl like you!” Roberts says.

  “I am in charge while Nanny Mackintosh is away!” I say.

  Roberts picks up the pail and empties the remaining water on the floor. “Then take charge and clean up the mess! I’m not doing it no more. You’re like a silly sheep–baa, baa–following that nanny around. You’ll turn out just like her, a bitter old maid. Serve you right.” She pulls my cap off and drops it in the puddle. “And don’t you even think about telling tales to Mr. Briggs or Mrs. Ransom! It was you who caused me to spill the water. Anyone can have an accident. As for Nanny’s spoon, it’s tarnished. All I was doing was taking it downstairs to shine it up!” Roberts hisses like a witch in a children’s story. “Get out of my way,” she says, and gives me a push.

  “Don’t you dare threaten me. Get out, and don’t come back to the nursery until you can tell the truth,” I say, opening the door wide. She does go, and I hear her clatter down the stairs. I wish I had given her a good slap. Then I remember the children!

  I turn around. Miss Portia is wide-eyed, staring horrified at the mess, her hands over her ears. Miss Alexandra cries and cries, and I long to do the same. Instead, I pick up my soiled cap and throw it into the hamper to rinse out later. I must first get the girls to calm down. I lift Miss Alexandra up, sit her on my knee, and wipe her tears away with the corner of my apron.

  “Who wants to help me clean up the mess?”

  “Me! Me!” In seconds, the girls are on their knees getting their pinafores soaking wet while I rush to fetch old rags. When all is dry again and I have changed their pinafores and found myself a clean cap, we sit by the fire. I do my best to smooth over what just took place. What set Roberts off? I wonder. Surely she would not be stupid enough to steal a spoon? Is she trying to get me dismissed?

  “Sometimes Master Harold plays roughly with his sister,” I tell the girls. “Don’t you and Master Roger disagree sometimes? It is soon over, Miss Portia, once everyone says they are sorry.”

  “I don’t like Roberts. Send her away, Gardy,” Miss Portia says. I wish I could send her away….

  “I am sure Roberts is sorry for what she did, just as I am for speaking so harshly to her. I shall tell her so. Nanny would say, ‘Roberts and Gardener do not deserve any cake for tea!’ But you have been very good girls and you shall have cake. Look how nice and shiny you have made our floor. And now, let us forget all about it.”

  When Charlie Phipps brings up our tea a few minutes later, no one would guess that anything untoward had happened. “Enjoy your tea, young ladies,” he says, and the little girls giggle. He is such a nice young man.

  That evening, it is Croft who brings up my cocoa and biscuits. She’s always friendly, with a smile for everyone, though being Mrs. Porter’s kitchen maid can’t be a bed of roses in a busy household. If it had been Roberts, the cocoa would have been slopped in the saucer….

  “Thank you, Croft. Can you stay a bit? I miss not going down to the servants’ hall.”

  “I can stay only a minute. Mrs. Porter’s fit to be tied–a venison pie she baked for tomorrow’s lunch is missing. The foreign secretary is to dine with Lord Milton. If that were not enough, Mr. Briggs says the silver is short. Three silver spoons have disappeared since he counted them after breakfast!”

  “Do they suspect one of us?” I ask, wondering whether I should tell Croft about Roberts.

  “They think they know. Roberts was supposed to be in by nine o’clock. It’s her evening off, but she’s always late coming back. Mrs. Ransom has had to warn her twice. Roberts is walking out with some fly-by-night, a fellow who works down at the racetrack. Seeing as Roberts and I share a room, I am the one she confides in. I believe she has run off with him. When Mrs. Ransom and Mr. Briggs and I came downstairs to check our room, we saw at a glance that Roberts’ clothes and boxes were gone. She’s been planning it for a while, I shouldn’t wonder. They think she had time to slip away this afternoon, when the kitchen was empty.

  “I think he lost money on the horses and made her steal whatever she could for him to sell. Roberts hasn’t liked it here since Nanny refused to consider her for the position of nursemaid. I’m not sorry to see the back of her, and that’s the truth!

  “I’ll have to go. Mrs. Porter is in a bad mood, needing to bake another pie. She’ll be waiting for me to help her, and there’s the servants’ hall to tidy. We’re shorthanded now that Roberts has gone.”

  Two days later, a new scullery maid appears. She’s thin as a wraith and hasn’t lifted her eyes to look
at anyone yet. Dean says she’s from the orphanage. She knocks at the door of the nursery as if I were a proper nanny. She scrubs the floor and polishes the brass fender around the fireplace as if her life depends on it. I’ll never live up to her high standards and I tell her so! Her name is Good. I can imagine the teasing she gets with a name like that! Good Riddance, Good Looking, Good Gracious, poor thing. No wonder she’s shy!

  Next time she comes up to clean, I tell her, “This is my first place too, but everyone is nice. You’ll see.” She manages a smile and a whispered thanks.

  No one knows if Lord Milton sent for the police, but Croft overheard Mrs. Porter tell Mr. Briggs, “Mark my words, Mr. Briggs, Roberts will come to a bad end, and no mistake! Who is going to employ her without a character? I never did take to her and that’s the truth!”

  9

  An Accident

  “Nanny’s back,” Dean whispers, when we return from our afternoon walk. I’m glad I did not stay out any longer–Nanny will be glancing impatiently at the nursery clock! Miss Alexandra walks much of the way home on most days, but the March wind is sharp today, and it was too cold for us to wait while she inspected every leaf and paving stone.

  “I am very sorry about your loss, Nanny Mackintosh,” I say, on entering the nursery. “The children have missed you.”

  “Thank you, Gardener.” I expect her to say something more, but she turns away. When Good comes in to clear the tea things, Nanny asks her name. The new girl is so nervous that she drops a knife. Flushing scarlet, she picks it up with a mumbled apology and says, “Good, ma’am.”

  She is scarcely out of the door before Nanny offers her opinion. “What an unfortunate name for someone so clumsy! Change the children’s frocks please, Gardener. It will not do to keep Lord and Lady Milton waiting on my first day back.”

  I had hoped that Nanny would return softened, or at least a little more approachable. But no pleasant words are exchanged between us, however hard I try to please her. And Miss Portia has found herself banished to the corner twice in two days, for some trifling fault.

  I am happy to return to the servants’ hall after spending my evenings alone, upstairs, while Nanny has been away. I thought she’d be going down to Mrs. Ransom’s parlor, but she complains of a migraine.

  Hart is with us tonight. More often, she accompanies Lord and Lady Milton to the opera or a dinner party, but this evening she sits beside Mr. Harris, who is most attentive to her. She takes no more notice of him than of anyone else, but I find him most pleasant and nice-looking, too! Hart works hard, waiting up for her ladyship to come home, taking care of her beautiful gowns, and arranging her hair in becoming styles. She is the one who brings Lady Milton her early-morning tea, no matter how late she has waited up the night before. Dean says Hart keeps the bedroom and dressing rooms to perfection. And Hart is a good needlewoman as well.

  Mrs. Porter offers us wedges of savory pie. There has been a fork supper earlier for twenty guests, so we are to enjoy the leftover treat. After she gives me a slice to take up to Nanny, she takes me by surprise: “You will miss her and the children when they sail to New York, Gardener!”

  I am bewildered. Sail to New York? Nanny has not mentioned a word about it to me, nor has anyone else!

  “Hadn’t you heard, Gardener?” Dean says. “Lord and Lady Milton are sailing on the maiden voyage of the Titanic and will take the girls. Lady Milton’s sister is Miss Alexandra’s godmother and has not seen her since the christening. You’ll be sharing a cabin with Nanny Mackintosh, won’t you, Hart?”

  “Yes, and I shall have my hands full. The Titanic is the most luxurious liner ever built. I’ve been informed that Lady Milton will have to be dressed even more fittingly than usual. It means changes of outfits and restyling her hair two or three times a day! New gowns have been ordered from Maison Lucile in Hanover Square, designs imported from the Paris salon. We will spend six days at sea, a week in New York, and another week coming back. I’ll have six or seven trunks to pack, at the very least!”

  “You and Nanny will be waited on hand and foot,” Mrs. Porter says.

  Charlie Phipps winks at me. “That will be nothing new for Nanny Mackintosh–isn’t that so, Gardener?”

  I take no notice of him, knowing that Mr. Briggs won’t tolerate any criticism from the staff about our employers or each other. “That will do, Phipps,” he says.

  “Don’t you wish you were going on the Titanic too, Gardener?” Phipps asks me.

  “No, thanks. I cannot swim, and the very idea of sailing so far away, with nothing to look at but the ocean, makes me shudder!” The moment I answer him, I wish I hadn’t spoken so freely.

  Phipps leans back and laughs and laughs before Mr. Briggs gives him a sharp look, and he stops. Nevertheless, my evening is spoiled.

  The first time I heard the name Titanic was last Christmas. We had all gone over to Uncle Alf’s house. He was giving a party for family, friends, and neighbors. There was a young man, Patrick O’Connor, over from Belfast for the holidays. He’s the nephew of one of the porters at the market, who helps out at the stall now and then. Patrick could not take his eyes from Kathleen. Later she told me he’d said that he’s eighteen and has been working on the Titanic, helping to install boilers.

  “Have you ever been to sea, Mr. Briggs?” Mr. Harris asks him.

  “No, but my brother-in-law is a steward in first class on the Olympic, Titanic’s sister ship. He does the Atlantic run to New York and was on the maiden voyage last year. My brother-in-law says the Titanic is even grander than his own ship. There is a swimming bath, a Turkish bath, and a fully equipped gymnasium, as well as a squash court. Imagine, some of the first-class parlor suites even have private promenades.” The drawing room bell rings, and Mr. Briggs pushes his chair back, saying, “On your feet, Phipps. Time to bring in the sherry.”

  Mrs. Porter asks, “Where is Nanny Mackintosh’s cocoa, Croft?” I take the tray Croft hands me, wondering what my duties will be when everyone in the nursery is away. I’d happily scrub and scour every room in the house–and there are some I have never been inside–rather than go on a sea voyage. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be surrounded by so much water! I worry about Miss Alexandra, in particular. She can be willful and needs more than one pair of eyes to stop her running off in search of adventures. Suppose she falls overboard? I have never seen Nanny Mackintosh vary her slow, deliberate gait….

  Next day, Mrs. Ransom puts up the servants’ schedule. The nurseries are to be whitewashed and papered from April 11–15, then Good and I will spring-clean after the workmen have left. The holiday list is up too–mine is from April 20–27. I wasn’t expecting a week until the end of my first year in June, but as the family is away, I suppose that is a convenient time. Won’t Mother and Emily be happy? Kath and I have managed to meet only twice on my evenings off lately, so she’ll be excited at my being home too. I’ll no doubt be hearing more about Patrick O’Connor. On our last walk, she did not stop talking about him the whole time!

  “Lou, Patrick says his feelings for me are serious, and I like him too. He writes to me at the salon. He’ll be going on the one-day sea trial for the Titanic, setting off from Belfast on April 2nd to make sure the ship is ready for the maiden voyage. He’s been taken on as stoker and hopes the crew will get shore leave before they sail to America. If he does, he plans to come to London and spend the day with me!

  “After he returns from America, he is going to ask Father’s permission for us to walk out together. He doesn’t think it right that we meet in secret! In some ways, he is quite old-fashioned, almost as bad as Father. Oh, Lou, don’t you think Patrick is awfully handsome?”

  “But, Kathleen, you would never marry a sailor, would you? You’d hardly ever see him, and what about all your dreams of having a career and the salon?” She is not much older than me!

  “I can do both, can’t I? This is 1912; the world is not like it used to be. We can do anything we want. When I marry Patrick, you w
ill be my bridesmaid, and I shall make you the most wonderful hat in London. It’s all ahead of us, Lou–the whole world!”

  “There will be nothing at all ahead for me if I’m late getting back. I’m happy for you, Kath, but don’t be in too much of a hurry, will you?”

  On the morning of Friday, April 5, Nanny is getting ready for her day off. I have just finished sorting out the toy box and have set aside a few toys for the children to take on the voyage. I am still sitting on the floor, and Miss Alexandra and Miss Portia clamber over me, squabbling over a teddy bear. I take no notice until Nanny comes out of her room, glaring at us. She claps her hands, startling the children.

  “Really, Gardener, sometimes I despair of you ever remembering your place! Girls, go and sit at the table in silence and fold your hands. Gardener, it is almost time for your walk. Take the nursery umbrella; it looks like rain. I am about to leave.”

  “Yes, Nanny, have a pleasant day.” It is so much nicer in the nursery when she is not here!

  Nanny Mackintosh sails out dressed in black. She will be in mourning for a year, on account of her father. I notice the hem of her black skirt is longer than the customary uniform she wears.

  Suddenly I hear a cry and a thud, as if a box or trunk has been dropped. I did not see Nanny carrying anything other than her umbrella and rush out to see what has happened. To my dismay, Nanny Mackintosh lies crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. I close the gate at the top and run down to her. Nanny’s face is white, one leg is bent unnaturally beneath her, and she holds her arm, moaning in pain.

  “Don’t try to move, Nanny, I’m going for help!” Luckily, Dean is downstairs, dusting. She calls Mrs. Ransom. Mr. Briggs and Phipps arrive moments later, and Mrs. Ransom tells them to carry Nanny into her own parlor and to inform Lady Milton. No doubt the doctor will be sent for.