Her Mother's Daughter

by Evie Grace

  ‘A monsieur?’ Nanny gasped. ‘A man in the kitchen? That is most improper. That won’t do. The mistress will never allow it.’

  ‘He has bin employed in the best kitchens in Paris.’

  ‘Why on earth would he choose to come to Windmarsh, then, if not to cause trouble among the maids?’ Agnes frowned, wondering what kind of trouble Nanny meant. ‘What is Mr Berry-Clay thinking of? Children require plain fare, not fancy foods that will inflame their tempers and palates. No confectionery, fresh fruit or puffed pastries.’

  ‘Well, I’m looking forward to something other than dry roasts and soggy cabbage,’ Miriam said. ‘I like a bit of fat on my meat and the juice left running through it.’

  Agnes began to feel hungry as Miriam went on, ‘I don’t know what poor Mrs Nidget will do.’

  ‘She has a sister in Faversham. I expect she will stay with her until she finds another position, which may depend upon the mistress providing her with a character,’ Nanny said. ‘Is the monthly nurse here yet?’

  ‘She arrived from London late last night. She is sleeping in one of the guest rooms until her room is ready. Her name is Mrs Pargeter.’

  ‘I shall find it hard to have another woman sharing my domain,’ Nanny murmured.

  ‘I’d better go before Mrs Catchpole starts wondering where I am,’ Miriam said. ‘By the way, don’t let Miss Agnes stir the porridge today – it’s burned to a crisp underneath.’

  Agnes wished for a breakfast like Papa’s: fillets of beef and game pies, boiled eggs; bread, jams, orange marmalade and fruits in season. She wondered what a French breakfast would be like.

  She asked Papa the question later that day when she met him for their customary hour in the drawing room. Mama was there as well, having been absent on the previous two occasions. Agnes sat down on one of the Chesterfield fireside chairs opposite her father while her mother reclined on the chaise, her figure draped with layers of skirts and a pleated bodice that appeared to have been let out to accommodate her belly.

  ‘Nanny said that it would be café au lait and petits pains or bavaroises.’

  ‘Did she? Well, I’m not sure what those things are, apart from the coffee. I regret that I didn’t take full advantage of my education. School was something which had to be endured.’ Papa turned away and called for the butler, who appeared from the room beyond in his white gloves, carrying a large object covered with a black cloth. ‘I have bought you a present. I saw it on my way through the market today and thought of you.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, thank you.’

  ‘You haven’t seen what it is yet. You might not like it,’ he chuckled. ‘Turner, place it on the table.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Papa nodded to the butler who took the top of the cloth and whisked it away with a flourish to reveal a brass cage with a scalloped top, and a small bird perched on a twig inside it.

  ‘Oh, how pretty!’ Agnes’s heart filled with joy and gratitude.

  ‘For you, my dear child.’ She noticed how Papa didn’t call her his dearest child as he’d used to. ‘It is a golden linnet,’ he added as she peered at the bird. She – she wanted it to be a girl – was brightly coloured with red, white and black feathers on her head, a golden body and white belly and her wings were adorned with bands of yellow. The bird chirruped and sang. ‘Listen to how sweetly it sings.’

  ‘Oh, James, you spoil that child,’ Mama complained. ‘Don’t forget that you will have a son to buy gifts for soon.’

  Agnes felt hurt at her mother’s comment. She had been mean to her many times before, but she was beginning to make her feel distinctly unwanted.

  ‘I hope you aren’t suggesting that I treat them any differently, apart from giving presents that are appropriate for their sex,’ Papa said.

  ‘They are different, by virtue of Agnes being an adopted child. The infant will be ours through and through.’

  Papa’s beard seemed to bristle with resentment.

  ‘We will consider them as full brother and sister, the Master and Miss Berry-Clay. Please don’t strain yourself by making yourself disagreeable to your husband. Remember the infant that grows inside you and treat him with some consideration, or he will be born with a sour look on his face.’

  Mama fell silent, but she sat sucking on her lip as if she still had plenty that she wanted to say.

  ‘We have never hidden the fact that you are adopted from you, Agnes,’ Papa went on. ‘Can you remember what we’ve told you?’

  ‘Yes. You chose me to be your daughter, Papa. The lady who was my mama couldn’t look after me so you gave me a home at Windmarsh.’

  ‘That is correct,’ Papa said.

  ‘Where is my other mama?’ The promise of a new sibling had made Agnes think about her own parents. No one had ever talked about the mother and father who had given her up. When she had asked, the conversation had always been broken off or the subject abruptly changed.

  ‘She is gone. Dead, my dear Agnes,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh?’ She was overwhelmed with a wave of sadness. ‘And my other papa?’ She assumed that she had one.

  ‘Both of your parents are dead and buried. You have us now. Let’s have no more thought of them.’

  ‘But who were they?’ She needed to know who these mysterious people were.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Suffice to say that you could be the daughter of a baronet or descended from royalty, but whatever the circumstances of your birth, you are being brought up to be a lady.’

  ‘And shall I marry a prince?’ she said, smiling. She felt a vague sadness that her other parents were gone, but they had left her the legacy of intelligence, good humour and the knowledge that she had been high born, because Papa had said so.

  He smiled. ‘You will need to wed a prince to keep you in the lifestyle to which you have become accustomed. Your mother has expensive tastes and a profligate manner of spending.’ His voice hardened when he turned to Mama. ‘I saw the bills from the tradesmen today. Don’t you think that the cost of refitting the nursery was somewhat extortionate? I’m sure that it could have been done for less. Why did you need wallpaper from London when a fresh coat of whitewash would have sufficed?’

  ‘Cream damask is quite the rage,’ Mama countered.

  ‘For a fleeting moment until printed flowers or Flemish tapestries become à la mode. I noticed that Cook was wearing a rather pretty lace collar – it reminded me of one I’d seen you wearing recently.’

  ‘I gave some of my old things to the servants.’

  ‘It looked brand new.’

  Mama shrugged. ‘I can’t help it if my preference for a particular style has altered. James, I’m finding this talk of money quite vulgar.’

  ‘I’m asking you to make small economies where and when you can, that is all. I’m not telling you to go around in rags. We have a good income, but there are investments to be made in new machinery and adaptations to the brew house.’

  ‘Are you saying the brewery is no longer profitable?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Papa sounded exasperated. ‘Oh, how I hate to talk about business at home! This is supposed to be my haven of peace and repose. But it is important. Let’s speak of this again after our son has been safely delivered into the world. I remember that the doctor has said that your nerves must be made a priority.’

  ‘So has Mrs Pargeter. If she had her way I would be locked away in my room. She has been here less than one day and she is driving me to distraction with her attentions – the windows have had to be sandbagged against draughts, the baby clothes have had to be laundered three times and Mrs Catchpole has to direct all her enquiries about the running of the household through her,’ Mama said sulkily.

  Agnes smiled to herself. She had thought that her mother would have been delighted to have an excuse for laying abed all day.

  ‘Talking of household matters,’ Mama went on, ‘is there any news of the French cook?’

  ‘I have sent him a letter inviting him
to meet me at the brewery at the end of the week to discuss terms.’

  ‘I do hope he will agree. You have persuaded me that French cuisine is much superior to the English way of cooking.’

  ‘Nanny says that it is all garlic and snails,’ Agnes said, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

  ‘Hush,’ Nanny whispered, reminding her of her presence. She seemed to have blended into the background like part of the furniture, and the Berry-Clays weren’t at all concerned about speaking in front of her.

  ‘We must hold a dinner party soon for your brother and his wife, and our neighbours,’ Mama said.

  Agnes felt ignored. Rejected.

  ‘Let us not be in too much of a rush. Monsieur hasn’t accepted my offer yet. And you must consult with the guard dog—’ Agnes noticed how Mama raised one eyebrow and Papa corrected himself, ‘Mrs Pargeter – the occasion of hosting a dinner party is too much for your constitution at the best of times.’

  Agnes sat in silence, listening to her parents and watching the bird. This was supposed to be their time for her, but Mama and Papa seemed too wrapped up in their own affairs. She felt quite cross with them.

  Eventually, the clock on the mantel chimed seven times, signalling that it was time for her to leave. Papa called for the butler to carry the birdcage upstairs.

  ‘Thank you again, Papa, but I wonder if you should take it back to the market,’ Agnes said.

  ‘What are you saying?’ He frowned. ‘Don’t you like it after all?’

  ‘No, I love it, but wasn’t it rather expensive? I shouldn’t like to end up poor. I heard you talking to Mama about the brewery.’

  Papa’s lips curved into a smile before he broke into loud laughter.

  ‘Oh, don’t let that conversation worry your head. It’s very thoughtful of you, offering to return my gift, but we have more than enough riches to cover the price of a bird and gilded cage. You will never be poor, I promise. Goodnight, Agnes.’

  ‘Goodnight, Papa.’ She wished Mama the same and returned to the nursery, reassured by her father’s words, but her peace of mind was soon broken, for in the middle of the night, the whole house awoke to the sound of an eerie scream.

  She scrambled out of bed, her first thought being that it was one of the ghostly smugglers come to haunt them. Her second was that something terrible had happened to the bird. She made her way to the schoolroom where the butler had left the cage. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she saw that the linnet was asleep on her perch with her head to one side and her feathers fluffed up. She sprinkled some of the seed that the butler had left on a plate on the mantel and placed the cloth back over the cage as Nanny, looking flustered and dressed in her nightgown, joined her. The candle she was carrying flickered and went out.

  Another scream pierced the darkness, making Agnes almost jump out of her skin.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ she whispered.

  ‘I believe that it was one of Heaven’s angels heralding the arrival of the mistress’s son.’

  ‘Oh? How does that happen?’

  ‘You will find out one day,’ Nanny said as Miriam came hurrying in to the room with a small lantern.

  ‘Everything is upside down and inside out,’ she exclaimed. ‘Mrs Pargeter has the whole household on its feet, running errands. Turner has sent Mr Noakes with the carriage for the doctor, and the footman to the cellar for fresh supplies of brandy. Cook is making gruel and the other maids are collecting clean sheets and hot water. Oh my, I can’t for the life of me remember what I’m here for.’ She paused for a moment. ‘That’s it. Mrs Pargeter wants me to light the fire in the mistress’s room and I’ve come to look for spills.’

  ‘That seems rather wasteful, a fire in June, but I suppose that these are exceptional circumstances,’ Nanny said. ‘Please, let me light my candle.’

  ‘Of course.’ Miriam opened the door on the lantern. Nanny placed the wick of her candle in the flame where it sputtered back to life. ‘The mistress is about to deliver her child.’

  ‘I fear that it may take some time. My dearly departed mama laboured for two whole days—’ Nanny stopped abruptly.

  ‘The poor lady,’ Miriam said. ‘I don’t wish for children of my own.’

  ‘The gift of a child is a blessing. If I could marry and bear a child, I would undergo any trial or tribulation.’ Nanny touched the corner of her eye.

  She was crying, Agnes realised with astonishment. Nanny had mastered the art of controlling her emotions to such an extent that her pupil had wondered if she actually ever felt anything at all. She suppressed an impulse to reach out and comfort her.

  ‘I’m sorry to ’ave upset you,’ Miriam said quickly.

  ‘It’s all right. I’m content with looking after other people’s children, but there are occasions such as this when I wish … Oh, what does it matter? There is nothing that can be done.’ Nanny cleared her throat. ‘There will be much joy and celebration when Agnes’s brother is here. We are all looking forward to having an infant at Windmarsh Court.’

  ‘I had better be on my way,’ Miriam said, hurrying off.

  ‘Dearie me, she has forgotten the spills after all that,’ Nanny said. ‘Run after her with them, will you?’

  Agnes grabbed a handful of twisted papers from the spill-box and caught up with the maid at the end of the landing.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said, placing them in Miriam’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, miss. I’m all of a flap.’

  There was another bloodcurdling scream that sent Agnes fleeing back to the schoolroom.

  ‘Mama is dying,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Calm yourself,’ Nanny said. ‘She is quite well. It is perfectly natural.’

  ‘She is in pain. Why? It is inhuman.’

  Agnes couldn’t help wondering if Queen Victoria had suffered in the same way when she had produced her eighth child a couple of months earlier. It didn’t seem possible to contemplate having one child – let alone an eighth – if it caused such agony.

  ‘We should go out for a walk,’ Nanny decided. ‘Make haste. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.’

  ‘It is dark,’ Agnes observed.

  ‘Dawn is about to break.’

  Agnes didn’t even brush her hair. She put on her clothes and ran down the first flight of stairs, her heart pounding. In spite of Nanny’s reassurances, she was convinced that both Mama and the infant were going to die. She hadn’t wanted a brother, but now that God was about to take him up to Heaven, she was distraught.

  As she reached the landing, she caught the sound of a stranger’s voice coming from the doorway into Mama’s room.

  ‘You look as though you are in need of some medical attention for yourself, Mr Berry-Clay.’

  ‘Please don’t concern yourself with me, Doctor Shaw. I’m worried for my wife and child. I wish I had done as Mrs Pargeter asked and stayed at my place of business overnight, leaving this to the women.’

  ‘It is a worrying time for all, especially when labour accelerates precipitously as it has in this case, but be assured that I shall do all that I can.’

  ‘Is there anything that can be done for the pain? She is suffering terribly. I can’t bear to hear her like this. She is normally very self-contained.’

  ‘There are some obstetric surgeons who are beginning to recommend chloroform, but it is my firm belief that we should not interfere. If God had wished labour to be painless, he would have created it so. Mr Berry-Clay, I suggest that you retire to your study, take a draught of brandy and wait.’

  ‘What do you think the outcome will be? Please tell me. I’m not going to lose them, am I?’

  ‘I cannot say. Let me go and attend to your wife.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I mustn’t delay you for a moment longer.’

  Feeling guilty for eavesdropping and panicked further by her father’s exchange with the doctor, Agnes hurried on down the second flight of stairs and the third to the ground floor. She met Nanny outside the boot room. She
was holding a pair of outdoor shoes. Agnes took them and put them on, her fingers trembling as she tied the laces.

  They went out together and walked in silence as the sky turned pastel blue and the sun began to spread its golden rays across the surface of the water of the estuary. What were they going to find on their return?

  ‘Can you hear anything?’ Agnes asked when they arrived at the rear of the house where the ivy had taken a firm grip on the brickwork around the back door and sent suckers crawling up to the first-floor windows.

  Nanny paused to listen and shook her head. She pushed the door open. Agnes stepped inside, hardly daring to breathe. She could hear the sound of voices from the kitchen along the corridor: laughter; the whistle of a kettle; the chinking of glasses.

  ‘Well, I never did.’ Nanny’s lips curved into a smile, and Agnes’s breast flooded with relief.

  They hastened to the kitchen where they found Cook and the maids in high spirits.

  ‘Please, someone put us out of our misery,’ Nanny said. ‘It’s good news?’

  ‘The mistress has bin delivered of a son – they are both doing well.’ Cook placed a tray of loaves fresh from the bread oven on the table, and raised a glass.

  ‘Thanks be to God,’ Nanny exclaimed. She turned to Agnes and embraced her, temporarily forgetting to behave with restraint.

  ‘I have a brother.’ Agnes couldn’t stop smiling. ‘I can’t wait to meet him.’

  ‘All in good time.’ Nanny took a step back. ‘Mrs Nidget, we would like eggs on toast and slices of cake served in the schoolroom. And some tea, please.’

  ‘It’s a little inconvenient – we are celebrating. Mr Turner thought the master would be more than happy to let him serve a little wine on this occasion.’

  ‘We cannot wait. Agnes is growing pale for want of sustenance. She didn’t have breakfast because of the excitement of the morning.’