by Anna Jacobs
“Oh, what a lovely room!” exclaimed Annie involuntarily. She went across to the window and stared out. “This is the first time I’ve seen the sea,” she confided. “I didn’t think it’d look like that!”
“Like what?”
“So big – and – and stretching so far away.”
“You should see it in the winter. Waves as high as houses.”
“No!”
Patsy smiled at Annie in a friendly way, feeling superior, for once. “I’ll see if we can some time get off together an’ I’ll take you paddling on the beach,” she offered.
“Will we be allowed to do that?”
“Who’s to stop us? Besides, it’s fun.”
“Is it safe?”
“Of course it is! The gentlemen go out in a bathing machine and they dip their whole body in the water, but not many ladies do it.”
“But they’ll get wet through. They’ll spoil their clothes and catch their death of cold!”
Patsy giggled. “No, they don’t! They wear special clothes, just for bathing, an’ take them off afterwards. They reckon the sea-water does them good. My brothers go swimming sometimes. Not in a bathing machine, though. And not in special clothes.” She giggled again. “They just wear their under-drawers – or nothing, if it’s after dark! It’s all right for men. They can do what they want.”
The boy and the cab driver panted into the room with the rest of the luggage.
“We’d better start unpacking,” said Patsy. “I’ll help you, if you like. They’ll have their tea and a natter, then they’ll both be up to change. If she’s anything like Mrs Dwight, your Mrs Lewis will expect her things to be ready for her, then. They never think whether you’re tired or not, do they?”
With Patsy’s help, Annie unpacked the gown that Mrs Lewis had told her she wanted to wear the first night. A flatiron, brought up from the kitchen by the obliging Patsy, soon got the creases out of it. There was even time for Annie to be shown her own room. It wasn’t at the front of the house, to her disappointment, so she hadn’t got a sea view. It seemed strange to be given a room all to herself, though it was just a tiny cupboard of a place. The only time she’d slept alone before had been when Bet was dismissed. She wasn’t sure she liked it. If only Ellie were here, it’d be such fun. Still, Patsy was nice. How funny that she’d had time to spare to help get Mrs Lewis’s things ready! Annie’s limited experience of domestic service did not include mistresses who staffed a house lavishly and left their servants to get on with things unsupervised.
After she’d got Mrs Lewis ready for dinner and cleared up the bedroom, Annie went down to the kitchen, tiptoeing past the dining-room, because there were no back stairs for the servants to use. She was ravenously hungry by now. Patsy introduced her to the cook, Mrs Fitton, and told her that the boy’s name was Billy. Patsy couldn’t spare much time to talk to the visitor, because she was helping the parlourmaid, whose name was Maud, to get the next course ready and carried up. Maud was now wearing a very pretty lace cap and apron, and was just as condescending as before to Annie.
“Can I do anything to help?” Annie asked the cook, who looked a bit flustered. “I help our cook sometimes at home.”
“Thought you was a lady’s maid?”
“Not really. Mabel broke her arm, so I had to come with Mrs Lewis instead.”
“Well, it’s nice of you to offer, I must say,” said Mrs Fitton. “You didn’t need to. Could you just keep an eye on that pan of sauce? Give it a stir and don’t let it stick. Billy! Where are you, you lazy young devil?”
Billy’s head appeared round a door at the other side of the kitchen.
“You get these dirty things into that scullery and give ’em a wash.”
The head disappeared and Billy came out with a wooden tray and took the dirty dishes away.
“Can’t take your eyes off him for a minute, that boy. Bone idle, he is!” grumbled Mrs Fitton. “Thank you, dear. Just don’t let it get lumpy.”
When the meal had been served upstairs, the servants ate theirs, consuming the left-overs with careless abandon. It would have made Mrs Lewis go mad to see such extravagance, thought Annie, enjoying the food. Mrs Fitton was a good cook and even Maud unbent a little and confessed that she was dead tired and her feet were killing her.
After the meal, Annie helped to clear away, then she and Patsy got the water jugs ready to fill and take up later for their mistresses to have a wash. She popped in to lay out Mrs Lewis’s night attire and to put a towel to warm by the low fire that was burning in the grate, in spite of it being a warm June night. She yawned as she did this and wished Mrs Lewis would hurry up. Annie was exhausted, even if her mistress wasn’t.
Two weeks went past in Brighton in the most delightful way, with never a word of visiting Mrs Parton. Mrs Lewis remained in a good mood nearly all the time and Annie managed not to make too many mistakes. Mrs Lewis rapped her knuckles once or twice for brushing her hair carelessly and once she smacked Annie’s face for dropping a bowl of pins. Annie accepted these chastisements philosophically. She was getting used to Mrs Lewis and her little ways, and had lost a lot of her awe of her mistress, though not of her mistress’s temper. You didn’t rub Mrs Lewis the wrong way if you could help it, however human you now knew her to be.
Once or twice, Mrs Lewis asked her to mend something and seemed pleased by the results. Annie loved handling the fine materials and beautiful clothes. She also proved adept at pinning up the shining mass of blond hair, which was washed twice a week and polished with a piece of silk, to keep it looking perfect. Annie had never heard of anyone washing their hair so often, but had to admit that it was worth it. She began to take more care with her own and to try out a few new ways of pinning it up. Annabelle noticed, but said nothing, because the girl was not aping the fashions of her betters, just keeping herself smart. Annie also altered one of the dresses she had been given, changing the trimmings, which had seemed wrong to her, though she could not have said why. That, too, was noticed and commented on, but favourably, thank goodness.
Mrs Lewis and Mrs Dwight went out a lot and sometimes, while they were away, Patsy was allowed to take Annie for a walk down to the beach or round the town. Mrs Fitton was a kindly taskmistress, as long as you did your work properly. Annie had never known such freedom and comfort since she went into service. She loved watching the sea, though she didn’t like walking on the beach. All those pebbles hurt your feet! She was fascinated by Brighton and told Patsy that she’d never seen a place like it. As for that Pavilion, well, it was the strangest looking building she’d ever seen and why old King George had wanted it built like that she’d never know. That roof was just plain silly!
She’d never seen so many grand people walking or driving about, either. “Are there no slums in Brighton?” she asked Patsy one day.
“Oh, yes, but we don’t need to go near such parts of the town. Most of the people you see here are visitors, even though the season really hasn’t started yet.”
“How wonderful to be able just to go away on visits whenever you like!” sighed Annie. “I never realised before what interesting lives some people have.” She was even beginning to feel a sneaking sympathy for Mrs Lewis’s complaints about Bilsden.
One day Annie was taken to tea at Patsy’s home. Patsy’s father had lost one leg in an accident and now made a living by making things to sell to the visitors. He was good with his fingers. He gave Annie a little box, all covered in tiny pearly shells, and she spent a precious penny or two on one of his shell ladies to take back to Ellie. If she had bought her dad anything, it would only have wound up in the pawn shop.
Annabelle Lewis was having as wonderful a time in Brighton as her maid. Barbara Dwight was a dear creature; they’d always got on well. Women were so much more comfortable to live with than men. And then there were all Annabelle’s old friends, giving dinner parties for her and inviting her round to tea or taking her out for drives. It was quite fashionable now to take ‘carriage airings’ an
d to drive up and down the front from Kemp Town to Brunswick Terrace. She read the ‘Fashionable Chronicle’ in the local newspaper every day to see which notabilities were in town, and then she and Barbara would try to spot them among the visitors.
There were endless things to do in a town like Brighton. Even if one only walked into the centre to do a little shopping, one was sure to see a face one knew or to have a celebrity pointed out. Annabelle listened eagerly to the talk of building a railway to connect Brighton and London. She was not yet sure whether she approved of the railways or not. Frederick Hallam admitted that they were smelly and noisy, but assured her that their convenience and speed would ensure that they spread across the face of England. Coaches, he insisted, had seen their day. Dear Frederick had several times ridden from Manchester to Liverpool on the train and was talking about raising the money to build a spur line to Bilsden now.
Even Mabel’s accident had been providential, Annabelle decided, for Annie Gibson was not doing at all badly as a lady’s maid. She was quick-witted and nimble-fingered, and possessed of a surprising degree of natural good taste. Jeremy had been right about the girl, though he was right about very little else. Whenever she thought about the way Jeremy had thrown away their chance to live here and remembered that she must eventually return to him and to Bilsden, she grew furious and at those times she would speak sharply to Annie, criticising whatever the girl did. Mostly, however, Annabelle managed to forget her husband and to enjoy herself.
Her plans for the future were rather vague as yet, but it was time to start taking a few preparatory steps. “Can you recommend a good lawyer, one who specialises in buying and selling properties?” she asked Barbara casually one day early in her stay.
“A lawyer! Is something wrong?”
“Of course not! Quite the contrary! I’ve had a small legacy from an aunt, only a hundred or two, but I thought I might like to invest it in a small piece of property here in Brighton.” She smiled wrily. “It won’t buy much, I know, but I’d like to think that I owned a bit of my beloved Brighton.”
“I didn’t realise that you were such a businesswoman. What does Jeremy say about it?”
“Oh, you know Jeremy. He’s so impractical! Well, you’ve seen for yourself. Utterly immersed in his work. No, he’d be of no help. He just said I must spend it as I pleased.”
Her hostess smiled. Poor Annabelle! It must worry her to have such an unworldly husband. And to have to live in a place like Bilsden. Barbara had been horrified by the place on her one and only visit. She was glad that her own husband had been more sensible and worked hard for the future. He had left her very comfortably provided for, even if not as rich as she would have liked. It was much more pleasant to be a widow with independent means than to have to humour a man’s whims or (far worse!) share his bed. She cooed her sympathy and offered to introduce Annabelle to her own man of business who was not a lawyer, exactly, but such a sensible person and so understanding of one’s needs.
Annabelle took to Mr Minton straight away, because the two of them were birds of a feather. During a surprisingly frank exchange, he was shrewd enough to see the frustrated businesswoman behind Annabelle’s fragile exterior, and to sense her lack of scruples and her greed where money was concerned.
“Should you object to purchasing a row of four slum cottages?” he asked.
“Not if they gave a good return on my money.”
“Oh, they’ll do that, all right. The best, for the amount you’ve got. They’ll pay back your capital in a few years, then you can knock them down and sell the land. They’re in a good position if you look at how the town’s expanding – which most people don’t bother to do. It’ll be prime land within ten or fifteen years, that will. You’ll sell it easily and for a good deal more than you’ll pay now.”
“If that’s so good, why haven’t you bought the cottages yourself?”
He grinned. “I’ve bought one or two places in the same area. I’m not stupid. But I’m not made of money, either. It takes time to build up one’s capital.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He pressed her hand sympathetically. “I do understand, dear lady. I’ve got a good rent-collector in my employ, as well. We only charge five per cent and we’re very reliable when it comes to collecting the money. My man won’t stand any nonsense from tenants. If they can’t pay, they’re straight out.”
They went to see the cottages the next day.
“They look ready to fall down,” Annabelle commented, holding her skirts carefully out of the dirt. “Are you sure they’ll last ten years?”
“Oh, yes,” he reassured her. “No need to spend much on maintenance, either. The sort of tenants who live in such places wouldn’t appreciate good clean housing if you gave it to them. And there is a water tap. They’re very lucky there. Not that such people are concerned about cleanliness.”
Annabelle inspected the four dwellings very carefully, ignoring the tenants and their sullen glances. After that, she asked Mr Minton to drive her round the area. Only when she was satisfied that he’d been telling her the truth on all points did she agree to buy the cottages.
By the end of their fourth week away from Bilsden, the contract was signed and sealed. Mr Minton undertook to manage her properties and to deposit her rent money in a bank. He advised her to introduce herself to the bank manager as a widow. “Less fuss about getting your husband’s permission, that way.”
“Excellent idea! And if I should acquire any more small sums?” She raised one eyebrow.
“I’ll be happy to invest them for you, Mrs Lewis. And you won’t lose by it.”
“You’re so kind, Mr Minton!”
“It’ll be a pleasure to earn my commission from you, Mrs Lewis.” He bowed in a very gallant manner.
“As long as you earn it, I’ll be happy to pay it.” Sweet words were all very well, but money was what counted.
After that was settled, Annabelle reluctantly prepared to visit her mother, before returning to the north. She’d already stayed away for longer than planned, but she didn’t suppose that Jeremy would be missing her. He’d be only too happy to have the chance to spoil Marianne. He was a ridiculously doting father.
Annie was just as reluctant to leave Brighton. In spite of missing Ellie and Matt, she had enjoyed her stay there enormously. She felt quite a woman of the world now, after all her travel. The trip had opened her eyes to another world, one neither dominated by mill chimneys nor populated by pale, stunted people, who rarely saw the daylight.
She carried the wonder of it all in her heart for a long time afterwards – until other troubles intervened.
10
September 1837 to January 1838
It was strange to be back in Bilsden again. Annie found it very hard to settle down to the routine and restrictions imposed by Mrs Lewis.
“That Mrs Dwight,” she told Ellie, “lets her servants eat what they like. You wouldn’t credit the meals we had.”
“Really?”
“And,” Annie paused for effect, “we could go out sometimes for an hour in the afternoon. If the ladies were out, that was.”
Ellie sighed. “Eh, that’d really be something. I’d love to go out for a little walk sometimes.” They both sighed. “Tell us about the sea again,” Ellie begged. She was never tired of hearing about it. She fondled her shell lady, which stood in a place of honour next to Annie’s shell box on top of the rickety old chest of drawers in which they kept their clothes.
Annie described again the wonders of the sea and went on to catalogue the marvels of London and Brighton.
“I’d give anything to see it!” Ellie said longingly.
“Maybe she’ll take you with her next time.”
“Why should she?”
“If she took Miss Marianne, she might. She wouldn’t want to look after a child all the time. She knows hundreds of people down there. She’s always out visiting and if she isn’t, they come to see her. I’ve never seen her in a good tempe
r so often.”
Ellie sighed again. “Just think of it!” Annie’s words had given her a plausible-enough basis for dreaming of such a wonderful trip.
On her first Sunday off, Annie had the full attention of even her stepmother and her sister Lizzie, as she retold the tale of her trip. Men sometimes left Bilsden on the tramp for work, and sent for their families if they found it, but the idea of travelling for pleasure was strange indeed for people from the Rows. Several other people from the street found an excuse to pop in and listen to Annie’s tales. It was all very flattering, but it meant that she had less time to spend with Matt.
“You want to think about what you’re doing, Annie,” Emily told her before she left.
“What do you mean?”
“Me an’ your dad’ve been talkin’ about it.” Emily looked at John for corroboration and he nodded at them both.
“About what?” Annie was bewildered.
“About your future.”
“I don’t know what you mean!”
“About you gettin’ wed.”
“But I’m not getting wed yet!” Annie was impatient at being delayed when Matt was waiting at the end of the street for her. He usually walked her back to Park House on her days off.
“You might do better for yourself stayin’ in service, makin’ a life there. No, you listen to me, girl! I’d tell t’same to me own daughter an’ I’ll do no less by John’s.”
John nodded. “You give it some thought, our Annie. There’s a lot of sense in what our Em’ly’s tellin’ you.”
Annie repressed a sigh and resigned herself to listening. Her dad didn’t like being interrupted by his children.
“Your Matt’s a good lad,” began Emily. “I’m not sayin’ anythin’ against him. But sometimes a girl can do better for herself in service. You could even get to be a housekeeper or – or a cook. You could have yer own money an’ you could get to travel. An’ you’d not have to worry about whether t’mill were on short time or not. Nor you wouldn’t have to risk having childer.” She looked down at her own swelling belly and smothered a sigh. She’d never thought John Gibson would give her so many babies. It fair wore you out. “Think about it, eh? We’re only sayin’ that it’s worth thinkin’ over, that’s all we’re sayin’.”
