by Betty Neels
‘I imagine you’ll fuss about yours when you’re older. Now, what shall we do with the rest of our day?’
He drove her to Stourhead and they had lunch at the Spread Eagle pub. Then they wandered right round the lake, and on the way back in the afternoon they stopped in Shaftesbury and had a cream tea. It was well past six o’clock before they got back to the farm. It was a warm evening and the country was very beautiful; they wandered over the road to the bridge and leaned over to watch the river, waiting until their evening meal would be ready. The church clock struck seven as they left the bridge and strolled to the road. They had to wait a moment while a cyclist went by.
‘That’s the nice girl we saw yesterday,’ said Pauline.
‘Was she nice?’ asked Sir William in an uninterested manner.
Pauline nodded her head vigorously. ‘Oh, yes. When we live here I shall ask if I may be her friend.’
‘A bit old for you, darling?’ He had no idea of the girl’s age, and he wasn’t interested. ‘You must go to bed directly after supper. We’re going to make an early start in the morning.’
They were driving through Wilton when Pauline saw the small, ginger-haired figure getting off her bike as they passed the hotel. ‘Oh, there she is!’ she cried excitedly. ‘Daddy, do you suppose she works there?’
Sir William glanced sideways without slackening speed. ‘Very likely. I dare say you’ll see more of her when we come to live here.’
It was July when Admiral Riley left, and after that there was a constant coming and going of delivery vans, carpet layers, plumbers and painters. The village, via the Trout and Feathers, knew all that was going on and, naturally enough, Florina knew too. The new owner would move in in two weeks’ time, his small daughter was going to school in Wilton, and there was a housekeeper coming. Also, Mrs Datchett from Rose Cottage, and Mrs Deakin, whose husband was a farm worker, were to go to work there four times a week.
‘Disgraceful,’ grumbled Florina’s father. ‘That great house, with just a man and child in it…’
‘But there’s work for Mrs Datchett and Mrs Deakin, close to their own homes, as well as for old Mr Meek, who is seeing to the garden. And the tradespeople—it’s much better than leaving the house empty, Father.’
‘Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,’ snapped Mr Payne. ‘It’s bad enough that you go gallivanting off to work each day, leaving me to manage as best I can…’
Florina, laying the table for their meal, wasn’t listening. She had heard it all before. It was wicked, she supposed, not to love her father, but she had tried very hard and been rebuffed so often that she had given up. Once or twice she had questioned the amount of her wages which he told her were necessary to supplement his income, only to be told to mind her own business. And she had done so, under the impression that his health would suffer if she thwarted him. Now according to the doctor, there was no longer any fear of that.
She went into the kitchen to cook the liver and bacon. Moments later her father poked his head round the door and demanded to know if he was to get anything to eat. ‘I dare say you’d like to see me dead,’ he grumbled.
‘No, Father, just a bit more cheerful,’ said Florina. At the same time, she resolved to start looking for another job on the very next day.
As it happened, she had no need. She was getting on her bike the next morning when Mrs Datchett came out of Rose Cottage, just across the street, and accosted her.
‘Eh, love, can you spare a minute? You’ve heard I’m to go up to the Wheel House to work? Well, the housekeeper who took me on asked me if I knew of a good cook, and I thought of you. Lovely kitchen it is, too, and a cushy job as you might say, with that Sir William away most of the time and only the little girl and that housekeeper there. I don’t know what he’ll pay, but you’d not have that bike ride every day. Why don’t you have a go?’
Florina cycled to work, thinking hard. By the time she got there she had made her mind up to apply for the job; it could do no harm and it seemed to her that it was a direct sign from heaven that she should look for other work… To strengthen this argument, it was her half-day; usually spent in cleaning the house.
She got home about two o’clock and, instead of getting into an apron and getting out the vacuum cleaner, she went to her room, put on a clean blouse, brushed her blue skirt, did her hair in a severe style which did nothing for her looks, and went downstairs.
‘Why are you going out?’ enquired her father suspiciously.
‘Don’t worry, Father, I’ll be back to get you your tea.’ She skipped through the door before he could answer.
It was barely five minutes’ walk to the Wheel House and Florina didn’t give herself time to get nervous. She thumped the knocker, firmly, and then took several deep breaths. She had read somewhere that deep breathing helped if one felt nervous.
The door was opened and there was a tall, bony woman with grey hair and faded blue eyes. She looked stern and rather unwelcoming, so that Florina was glad of the deep breaths.
‘Good afternoon. Mrs Datchett told me this morning that you were wanting a cook…’
‘Sir William is wanting a cook. I’m the housekeeper. Do come in.’
She was led into a small sitting-room in the kitchen wing. ‘Why do you want to come?’
‘I work at a hotel in Wilton—I’ve been there for several years. I cycle there and back each day. I’d like to work on my own.’ Florina added, anxiously, ‘I’m a good cook, I can get references.’
‘You live here?’
‘Yes, just this side of the bridge.’
‘You’d have to be here by eight o’clock each morning, make out the menus, keep the kitchen clean, cook lunch if Sir William is here, and dinner as well. You’d be free in the afternoons. You’d have help with the washing up and so on, but you might have to stay late some evenings. Do you want to live in?’
‘I live very close by and I have to look after my father…’
The housekeeper nodded. ‘Well, you’re not quite what I had in mind, but I dare say you’ll suit. You can come on a month’s trial. There’s Sir William at weekends, his daughter, Pauline, living here with me, and you must be prepared to cook for guests at the weekends. You do know that Sir William intends to marry?’
Florina shook her head. She hadn’t realised until that moment that Sir William loomed so large in her life. The idea of him marrying left her with a feeling of disquiet, but she had no time to wonder about it, for the housekeeper said, ‘Sir William will be moving in at the end of next week. Can you start then? A month’s trial and, mind, he expects the best.’
She had to give a week’s notice. She would go and see the hotel manager in the morning, for that would give him ten days in which to find someone to take her place.
‘You haven’t asked what your wages will be,’ said the housekeeper, and mentioned a sum which sent Florina’s ginger eyebrows up.
‘That’s a good deal more than I’m getting now,’ she pointed out.
‘Probably, but you’ll have to work for it.’
‘I’d like to work here,’ said Florina. She would see Sir William sometimes, even if he never spoke to her.
‘Very well, you’ll get a letter in a day or two. My name is Frobisher, Miss Martha Frobisher. If you have any problems you’ll bring them to me. Sir William is a busy man, he hasn’t the time to bother with household matters.’ She eyed Florina’s small, neat person. ‘What is your name?’
‘Payne—Florina Payne.’
They wished each other goodbye with guarded politeness.
Mr Payne, apprised of his daughter’s astonishing behaviour, called upon heaven to defend him from ungrateful daughters, painted a pathetic picture of his early death from neglect and starvation, since there would be no one to look after him. Finally he declared that he might as well be dead.
‘Nonsense, Father,’ said Florina kindly. ‘You know that’s not true. I’m likely to be at home more than I am now. You’ve had to boil
your kettle for breakfast for years now, and I’ll leave your lunch ready just as usual…’
‘The housework—the whole place will go to rack and ruin.’
‘I shall be home each afternoon, I can do the chores then. Besides, the doctor said it would do you good to be more active now you’re better.’
‘I shall never be better…’
Florina said cheerfully, ‘I’ll make a cup of tea. You’ll feel better then.’
The manager was sorry that she wished to leave, but he understood that the chance of a job so close to her home wasn’t to be missed. He wrote out a splendid reference which she slid through the letterbox at Wheel House, together with her letter accepting the job. If she didn’t suit, of course, it would mean that she would be out of work at the end of a month; but she refused to entertain that idea, for she knew she was a good cook.
She went to the Wheel House the day before she was to start work, so that she might have a good look round her kitchen. It had everything, and the pantry and cupboards and fridge were bulging with food. She spent a satisfying afternoon arranging everything to her liking, and then went home to get her father’s tea, a meal she sat through while he grumbled and complained at her lack of filial devotion. It was a relief, once she had tidied their meal away, to walk back to Wheel House and put the finishing touches to the kitchen. Miss Frobisher was upstairs somewhere, and the old house was quiet but for the gentle sound of running water from the mill. She had left the kitchen door open so the setting sun poured in, lighting the whole place as she made the last of her preparations for the morning. Sir William and Pauline would be arriving after lunch; she would bake a cake and scones in the morning and prepare everything for dinner that evening. She would have all day, so she wouldn’t need to hurry.
She crossed to the door to close it and, with a final look round, went down the passage to the front hall. Sir William was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his head on one side, contemplating a large oil painting of a prissy-looking young lady in rose-coloured taffeta and ringlets, leaning over a gilded chair.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Hello. She doesn’t seem quite right there, does she? One of my more strait-laced forebears.’ He smiled. ‘I expect you’re here for some reason?’
At the sight of him, Florina was experiencing a variety of sensations: a sudden rush of delight, peevishness at the thought of her untidy appearance, a deep sadness that he hadn’t a clue as to who she was, which of course was ridiculous of her. And woven through this a variety of thoughts…suitable food which could be cooked quickly if he needed a meal.
He was watching her with faint amusement. ‘Have we met?’ He snapped a finger. ‘Of course! You were so good as to tell us where we might stay when we first came here.’
‘Yes,’ said Florina breathlessly, ‘that’s me. I’m the cook. Miss Frobisher engaged me, but only if you approve.’ She added to make it quite clear, ‘I’m on a month’s trial.’
‘You don’t look much like a cook.’ He stared rather hard at the ginger plait hanging over one shoulder. ‘But the proof of the pudding…as they say.’
He turned round as Miss Frobisher bustled in. ‘Nanny, how nice to see you. I’m here a day too soon, aren’t I? I’ve left Pauline with her aunt, but I’ll drive back tomorrow and fetch her after lunch. I had a consultation in Salisbury and it seemed a good idea to come on here instead of driving back to town. Is everything just as it should be?’
‘Aye, Sir William, it is. You’ll be tired, no doubt. Cook will get you a light meal…’
‘No need. I’ll go to the Trout and Feathers. And I can’t call you “cook”, not with that pigtail. What is your name?’
‘Florina Payne.’ She caught Mrs Frobisher’s stern eye, and added, ‘Sir William.’
‘Not an English name, but a pretty one.’
‘My mother was Dutch, sir.’
‘Indeed! I go to Holland from time to time.’ He added kindly, ‘Well, Florina, we’ll see you in the morning—or do you live in?’
‘In the village.’
‘I’ll need to leave early,’ he observed, and strolled away towards the drawing-room.
Mrs Frobisher said, in a warning voice, ‘So you had best be here at half-past seven, Florina, for he will want his breakfast at eight o’clock. You can have your own breakfast with me after he has gone.’
Florina glanced at the broad back disappearing through the open door of the drawing-room. She found the idea of cooking his breakfast positively exciting; an idea, she told herself sternly, which was both pointless and silly.
All the same, the thought of it sustained her through her father’s diatribe when she got back home.
She made tea before she left in the morning, and took a cup up to her father, bade him a cheerful good morning, reminded him that everything was ready for his breakfast, just as usual, and walked quickly through the still quiet village. Wheel House was quiet, too. She went in through the kitchen door, using the key Mrs Frobisher had given her, and set to work. The kettle was boiling and the teapot warming when Sir William wandered in, wrapped in a rather splendid dressing-gown. She turned from cutting bread for toast and wished him a polite good morning. ‘Where would you like your tea, sir?’ she asked him. ‘Breakfast will be in half an hour, sooner, if you wish.’
‘Half an hour is fine. And I’ll have my tea here.’ He fetched a mug from the dresser, poured his tea and went to stand in the open doorway. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
‘Bacon and eggs, with mushrooms, fried bread and tomato. Then, toast and marmalade, tea or coffee, sir.’
‘Where did you learn to cook?’ he asked idly.
‘My mother taught me and I took a cookery course in Salisbury. I worked at the hotel in Wilton for several years.’
He nodded. ‘I shall have guests sometimes. You could cope with that?’
She said seriously, ‘Oh, yes.’ She put a frying pan on the Aga. ‘Would you like more tea, sir?’
He shook his head. ‘Why not have a cup yourself?’ He wandered to the door. ‘Pauline will be glad to see you—she’ll be here this afternoon.’
She set the table in the dining-room, and was making the toast when Miss Frobisher came into the kitchen. She eyed the laden tray with approval and her greeting held more warmth than usual. ‘Sir William always likes a good breakfast; he’s a big man and needs his strength for his work.’ She shot a look at Florina. ‘He’s a doctor, did you know that? A very well known one. He was a dear little boy, I always knew he’d be successful. You’d better take that tray in, I can hear him coming downstairs.’
Florina laid the food on the table before him, casting a motherly glance at him hidden behind the morning paper. She had liked him on sight, she remembered, and that liking was growing by the minute. She would very much like to know all about him, of course, though she had the good sense to know that she never would.
CHAPTER TWO
THERE was plenty to keep Florina busy that morning. After breakfast, shared with Mrs Frobisher, there was the menu to put together, the cake and scones to make and everything to prepare for the evening. That done, there was coffee to make for Mrs Frobisher, Mrs Deakin and Mrs Datchett, who came to sit around the kitchen table for a short break from their polishing and dusting. The latter two ladies were inclined to gossip, but received short shrift from the housekeeper, who didn’t answer their questions about the new owner and silenced them with an intimidating eye.
‘But he is going to marry?’ persisted Mrs Deakin, not easily put off.
‘It seems very likely,’ conceded Mrs Frobisher, and Florina thought that there was a trace of disquiet in the housekeeper’s voice.
Florina left an excellent light lunch ready for the housekeeper, and took herself off home to get a meal for her father and herself. The breakfast dishes were still on the table and he was sitting in a chair, reading the paper.
He greeted her with a disgruntled, ‘So there you are, and high time too!’ Then he picked up
his paper again, leaving her to clear the table, wash up and get a snack meal.
They ate in silence and Florina made short work of tidying everything away. Cleaning the house, dusting and carpet-sweeping took her another half an hour; there was an hour of leisure before she needed to return to Wheel House. She spent it in the big garden behind the cottage, weeding and tying back the clumps of old-fashioned flowers her mother had planted years ago, and which Florina tended still. She made tea for her father before she went, drank a cup herself, tidied her already neat person and returned to Wheel House. She had left everything ready for tea, and as she went round the back of the house to the kitchen wing she could hear the little girl’s excited voice from the drawing-room, the door of which was open as she passed. Her hand was on the kitchen door when she was stopped.
The girl rushed at her from the room. ‘I’m Pauline—oh, isn’t this fun? Have you seen my room? It’s pink and white! We’ve eaten almost all the scones and half the cake. Daddy says you must be a treasure in the kitchen.’
‘Hello,’ said Florina, and beamed at the pretty little face grinning at her. ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed the cake. I’m going to get dinner ready now.’
‘I’ll help you.’
Pauline danced into the kitchen, examining the pots and saucepans, opening the cupboards and peering inside, peeping into the fridge. Florina, changing out of her dress into the striped cotton frock and large white apron which was her uniform while she was working, called from the little cloakroom leading from the kitchen, ‘Put everything back where you found it, won’t you, Pauline?’
She reappeared to collect the ingredients for the watercress soup, boeuf en croûte, and the chocolate sauce to go with the profiteroles.
Florina worked steadily, undeterred by Pauline’s stream of excited chatter. She was chopping mint and Pauline was sitting on the table, running a finger round the remnants of the chocolate sauce in the pan, when Sir William wandered in.
