by Dilly Court
‘I don’t want people interfering in my kitchen, ma’am. I don’t mind cooking for them, just as long as they don’t take advantage of my good nature.’
‘That’s very kind of you, and I’m sure they would be very grateful.’
‘I draw the line at doing their laundry. Where would they all sleep?’
‘You have your quarters on the ground floor, so I thought that the disused attic rooms would be more than suitable.’
‘I daresay they would,’ Mrs Flitton said doubtfully. ‘But my rheumaticky knees won’t cope with all those stairs.’
‘You won’t have to do a thing. The cleaning women will do anything that’s necessary and Alf can do the rest.’
‘Then I suppose it will be all right, ma’am. To tell the truth, I’d feel safer with a man about the house than if I were left on my own.’
‘Exactly,’ Mirabel said, trying not to sound too relieved. ‘Now all I have to do is convince Alf that it’s a good idea.’
It was more difficult to persuade Alf than Mirabel had expected. He was a proud man, and although she had tried to convince him that she was not offering charity, his initial reaction was to refuse. She was not going to accept defeat so easily and she enlisted Hubert’s help, hovering outside the study door while the two men discussed the matter in private. She was never to know what passed between them, but Alf emerged from Hubert’s study with a grim smile on his craggy features.
‘Is it settled?’ Mirabel asked anxiously. ‘Will you stay here and look after things, Alf?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Captain Kettle values them plants above everything. They need tending to as if they was little babies and I’ll see to it that they come to no harm.’
‘You’d best go upstairs and inspect the attics. You’ll need beds and bedding, but just let me know your requirements and I’ll see that they’re met.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘And you must move in as soon as the rooms are habitable. I hate to think of the children spending the rest of the winter in that damp cellar.’ She headed for the stairs, beckoning him to follow. ‘I’ll come up with you and see for myself what’s needed.’
Mirabel pushed ahead with arrangements for the Coker family to move their few belongings into their new home. She was, as she had told Alf, concerned for their welfare during the worst of the winter weather, but in truth she was eager to see them settled in case Hubert or Mrs Flitton might undergo a change of heart.
The cleaning women were duly sent up to the top floor and the contents of the attics, which consisted mainly of cabin trunks and assorted items of luggage, was removed and stored in a box room on the floor below. Then there was the more pleasurable activity of purchasing everything that the family needed to make them comfortable. With Gertie at her side Mirabel visited a warehouse in Wapping, where she purchased beds and enough furniture to make the space habitable. Another warehouse provided bedding and towels and yet another supplied drugget matting to cover the bare boards. Having suffered at the hands of her stepmother Mirabel was determined to make the Coker family feel welcome in their new home, even if it proved to be only temporary. If she were to be honest, the prospect of having children in the house fulfilled a need that she could not easily explain. She thought she had come to terms with the fact that she would never bear a child of her own, but Christmas spent with the young family had made her realise what she was missing. Such thoughts were disturbing and must be pushed to the back of her mind. Hubert had given her a home and status and she vowed never to let him see the secret yearning for a life that she could never have, or the constant and painful grief she felt for a dead man. She had tried to convince herself that to have such feelings for a man she hardly knew was ridiculous, but in her heart she knew she had been lost from the first moment she had set eyes on him.
Not that she had much time to think about herself. The next few months were filled with preparations for the trip to America, as well as the initial chaos of moving the Coker family into their new home. There were a couple of incidents while the older boys were getting used to the rules as set down by Mrs Flitton, the most notable being the day when they returned home, having spent hours on the foreshore, and had trailed the stinking Thames river mud throughout the house. This thoughtless act incurred Mrs Flitton’s wrath, as well as a taste of leather from their father’s buckled belt. After that, Danny, Pip and Ned had to suffer the indignity of washing in ice-cold water in the outhouse, leaving their soiled clothes in the copper before making their way upstairs barefoot and wrapped in towels. Tilda was put in charge of washing their garments, which were then hung up to dry in the boiler house, ready for work next day.
The two older girls, Jane and Maisie, looked after four-year-old Nora and two-year-old Kitty, but sometimes the sound of the little one sobbing was too much for Mirabel and she hurried upstairs to see what was the matter. More often than not the toddler had fallen over and bumped her head, quickly resolved with a kiss and a cuddle. At other times it was a quarrel between Jane and Maisie which involved hair-pulling and an exchange of insults, which had made both Nora and Kitty cry. Mirabel dealt out summary justice, followed by a trip to the kitchen where Mrs Flitton dispensed biscuits and cups of milk; a sure and certain cure-all.
On one such occasion, Mirabel sat in the rocking chair by the range with Kitty on her knee while Jane, Maisie and Nora finished their snacks. Tilda looked on with a worried frown. ‘You are very naughty fighting like alley cats,’ she said, glaring at her sisters. ‘You won’t get spoilt like this when we leave here.’
Maisie’s eyes welled with tears. ‘We’ll be good from now on.’ She turned to Mirabel with a pleading look. ‘Don’t send us away, missis.’
‘You’ll be staying here for quite a while yet,’ Mirabel said hastily. ‘But you must behave yourselves, girls. That means no fighting. You must look after the little ones and do as Tilda tells you.’
Mrs Flitton looked up from slicing meat for the pot. ‘And if you don’t I’ll tell your pa. He’ll sort you out.’
Jane paled visibly. ‘We’ll be good, Mrs Flitton. Maisie and I didn’t mean to get into a scrap; it just happened.’ She reached out and ruffled Nora’s curls. ‘We’ll look after the little ’uns.’
‘Well, you’ve been warned,’ Mirabel said, trying hard to keep a straight face. She kissed Kitty’s chubby cheek. ‘You must look after baby. She’s only little.’
‘And I can’t keep an eye on you all the time,’ Tilda added, shaking her head. ‘I was sent out to work at your age, Jane. I was washing bottles in the brewery from early morning until late at night, so think yourself lucky that all you have to do is to look after the young ones.’
Kitty began to struggle and reluctantly Mirabel placed her on the floor where she toddled over to Tilda, who scooped her up in her arms. ‘I’ll take you upstairs,’ she said sternly. ‘And you three come as well. Some of us have work to do and that don’t include feeding you biscuits and milk whenever you feel hungry. You wait your turn for dinner, and I don’t want to hear another peep out of any of you.’ She held her hand out to Nora, who obeyed instantly and hurried to her side. Mirabel watched them troop out of the kitchen with a barely disguised sigh.
‘I don’t want to speak out of turn, ma’am,’ Mrs Flitton said quietly, ‘but you mustn’t get too fond of the nippers. They’ll have to leave as soon as you and the master return from your travels.’
Mirabel turned to look at her and saw sympathy and understanding in the older woman’s eyes. ‘I realise that, Mrs Flitton.’
‘I never had children, but there are compensations.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Mirabel rose to her feet. ‘It’s not long until we leave for Liverpool, and I’ve got things to do.’
‘I don’t envy you, ma’am,’ Mrs Flitton said, sniffing. ‘Foreign parts are nasty dirty places.’
Mirabel escaped to the privacy of her bedroom. She had sent Gertie out to purchase the medicaments that Hubert considered necessa
ry for the journey, including everything from Carter’s Little Liver Pills to Lamplough’s Pyretic Saline, which claimed to relieve or cure everything from typhus to prickly heat and smallpox. Hubert had unearthed the brassbound medicine chest that had accompanied him during his army service, and he spent hours in his study making lists of everything they would need for their travels. Mirabel was left with little to do other than see to her own wardrobe and make sure that Gertie was also suitably kitted out.
She went to sit by the window, looking down on the street below with unseeing eyes. Their departure date was growing closer but her initial excitement was dimmed by the nagging ache in her heart that simply refused to go away. Again and again she told herself that she should be happy and grateful to Hubert for plucking her from a life of servitude, which of course she was, but it was tempered by the feeling of loss, not only of the man she loved, but of the children she would never bear. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself that her feelings for the louche, world-weary sea captain would have been tempered by a closer acquaintance, she could not banish him from her mind or her heart. She dashed away a tear, rising from the window seat at the sound of footsteps outside her door. Busying herself at her dressing table she turned her head to smile at Gertie as she burst into the room with only a cursory knock. ‘Well? Did you get everything?’
Pink-cheeked and breathless, Gertie set her basket down on an occasional table. ‘I got the lot, Mabel. We got cures for everything from headaches to gout and snake bite.’
‘In two weeks’ time we’ll be setting off for Liverpool,’ Mirabel said dreamily. ‘We’ll be on our way across the Atlantic Ocean to America.’
‘It would be just perfect if Bodger was in the crew. I want him to see me travelling like a proper lady.’ Gertie shrugged off her cape.
‘You’ll be able to tell him all about it next time you see him.’ Mirabel picked up the basket. ‘I’ll take this to Hubert so that he can check it against his list.’ She hurried from the room. Hubert had left earlier for a final fitting at his tailor in Savile Row, but she needed to be alone, which was difficult in a house crowded with servants and children. Leaving London for a trip that might take many months was like saying a final farewell to those she had lost and the life she had previously led. It was going to be a new beginning, or so she hoped.
Finally, at the end of April, they sailed from Liverpool on the new Cunard steamship, the SS Servia, which boasted a total of one hundred and six first class state rooms, a smoking room and a luxuriously fitted ladies’ drawing room, as well as a music room and a library. Hubert had booked two state rooms on the main deck, and Gertie was to share a cabin with another lady’s maid on the lower deck. Mirabel exclaimed in delight when she found a large bouquet of hothouse flowers awaiting her, together with a basket of fruit.
‘Welcome on board, my dear,’ Hubert said, smiling. ‘I want only the best for my beautiful young wife.’
She reached up and kissed his whiskery cheek. ‘Thank you. It’s all wonderful.’
He took a rectangular shagreen case from his breast pocket and handed it to her. ‘I should have given you this on our wedding day, my dear. But to tell the truth I’d forgotten that I had it until I opened one of my travelling cases.’
She lifted the lid, uttering a gasp of surprise at the sight of the sapphire and diamond necklace and earrings. ‘For me, Hubert?’
‘They belonged to my mother and I kept them to give to the woman I would marry. So now they belong to you, Mirabel.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think I should have them.’ She tried to give them back but he closed her hand over the case.
‘Of course you should have them, and I want to see you wearing them this evening. I’ll see you at dinner.’ He prepared to leave the room but she caught him by the sleeve.
‘Thank you, Hubert.’ She hesitated, feeling suddenly shy. ‘Would you like to explore the ship with me?’
He smiled ruefully. ‘I’ve been on many such voyages, Mirabel. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t seem to be as excited as you are.’
She exchanged glances with Gertie, who was busy unpacking one of the large cabin trunks. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you at dinner then.’ She was disappointed but she managed a tight little smile as he left the room.
‘The master’s getting on a bit,’ Gertie said pointedly. ‘He ain’t as young as he once was, Mabel.’
‘I know, but I forget sometimes,’ Mirabel said, sighing. ‘I suppose I should be more understanding.’ She took off her fur-trimmed mantle and flung it on the bed. ‘I’m dying to go up on deck and look round, but perhaps I’d better wait until we’re under way.’
‘That might be best.’ Gertie shook the folds out of a blue-silk gown. ‘Will you wear this down to dinner, Mabel? I mean ma’am?’
Mirabel giggled and the tense feeling she had been experiencing since coming on board dissipated like morning mist. ‘I think you may still call me Mabel when we’re alone. As soon as they weigh anchor we’ll go out on deck together. That can’t be considered the wrong thing to do.’
On deck the throb of the engines seemed to echo the beating of Mirabel’s heart as the liner slid away from the quay wall. The people on shore were waving and blowing kisses to their loved ones who were at the start of their voyage to America. That there was no one to wave her off seemed to emphasise the fact that Hubert was the only family she had, and would ever have. Mirabel wrapped her shawl around her shoulders as a cool breeze tugged at her bonnet and slapped playfully at her cheeks. Taking a deep breath of salt-laden air she leaned against the railings, watching the dock gradually disappear from view. ‘A penny for ’em.’
Gertie’s voice broke into her thoughts and Mirabel turned with a start. ‘I was just thinking how wonderful this is. I’ve never seen the sea let alone travelled on a beautiful ship like the Servia.’
‘It is grand, isn’t it?’ Gertie glanced round at the huge twin funnels and the masts with the sails still tightly furled. ‘I never been on a ship before, but Bodger told me about his travels. He said that some folks get seasick, but not him.’
‘I hope I don’t,’ Mirabel said anxiously. ‘I don’t want to miss a moment of this experience. Let’s explore a bit, shall we?’
Gertie looked round nervously. ‘I ain’t sure if I should walk beside you, Mabel. The toffs don’t seem too friendly with their maids.’
Mirabel linked her hand through Gertie’s arm. ‘You’re my friend. I don’t think of you as a servant.’
Gertie did not look convinced, but she did not raise any objections as they promenaded slowly round the deck, taking in all the new and exciting sights and sounds. The smell of hot engine oil and smoke mingled with the scent of Macassar oil and expensive perfume as they walked past the few first class passengers who had braved the sharp salty breeze and the spray from the bow waves as the great vessel picked up speed. A sudden shower sent everyone looking for shelter and Mirabel headed for the ladies’ drawing room, but a stern-looking man wearing a tailcoat, whose starched shirt collar threatened to behead him every time he nodded, prevented them from entering. ‘Ladies only, ma’am,’ he said, staring pointedly at Gertie. ‘Servants are not allowed in the drawing room.’
Mirabel was about to protest when a young woman who had been seated at a table nearby rose to her feet and came towards them, holding out her hand. ‘Forgive me for introducing myself, but I saw you on deck earlier. May I be of assistance?’ Her disarming smile encompassed them all.
The steward had the grace to look bashful. ‘It’s nothing, Miss D’Angelo.’
‘Nonsense, Grimwood. Of course it’s something or this young lady would not look so perturbed.’ She turned her lambent gaze on Mirabel. ‘I’m Jerusha D’Angelo. How do you do?’
‘Mirabel Kettle,’ Mirabel said dazedly. ‘And this is my maid, Miss Tinker.’
‘Well, Miss Tinker, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ Jerusha said in her charmin
g Southern drawl. ‘But might I suggest that you abide by the company’s rules? Even if they are somewhat archaic.’
Mirabel was about to argue but she could see by the implacable look on the steward’s face that he was not going to be moved. She nodded to Gertie. ‘I’ll not stay long.’
Gertie bobbed a curtsey and backed away, shooting a defiant look at Grimwood before turning on her heel and marching off with her head held high. Mirabel was tempted to follow her but Jerusha caught her by the sleeve. ‘Won’t you join me for a cup of tea? I’ve grown quite accustomed to your English habits.’ Without giving Mirabel a chance to respond she turned to the steward. ‘We’ll have a fresh pot of tea, please, Grimwood, and some more of those darling little pastries.’ She led the way to her table and sat down, spreading her magenta silk skirts around her like the petals of an exotic flower. Her slanting green eyes were alight with interest as she studied Mirabel’s face. ‘Do sit down, honey, and tell me all about yourself. I think I saw you with your father earlier. He looks like a military gentleman.’
Mirabel perched on the tapestry-covered seat of the chair opposite her inquisitor and her heart sank. This was exactly what she had feared. People would almost certainly jump to the wrong conclusion. ‘He’s not my father,’ she said in a low voice, sensing that Grimwood was hovering in the background. A waiter had appeared seemingly from nowhere at the single ring of a bell and had gone off to fetch their order. She leaned forward, fixing Jerusha with a steady gaze. ‘Hubert is my husband.’
For a split second Jerusha D’Angelo appeared to be lost for words. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’
‘It’s an easy mistake to make,’ Mirabel said hastily. ‘Hubert is a great deal older than I, but we are very happy together.’
‘I’m sure you are.’ Jerusha’s eyes danced and her lips curved into a mischievous smile. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to others making the same assumption, honey. You’ll be the talk of the first class dining room.’
