by Iris Gower
‘He wants the bottle of wine,’ Arian said quickly, ‘Where did I put it?’
She looked among the dishes on the huge table and picked up the wine, staring at the writing on the label without comprehension.
‘Oh, my good lord!’ Mrs Bob put both hands on her cheeks, ‘you’ve only gone and fetched one of his best bottles of claret and let me use it for the cooking. Duw, there’s a fool I was, I should have warned you not to take anything from the back of the cellar.’
‘Oh, well, it’s all wine,’ Arian said huffily, ‘I can’t see that it really matters.’
Mrs Bob stared at her. ‘If this wasn’t so serious, it would be funny,’ she said. ‘That claret was laid down by Lord Temple’s great-uncle many moons ago. Cost a pretty penny today it would.’
Arian shrugged and returned to the dining room with the bottle. Calvin took it and stared down at the label for a long moment.
‘Mrs Bob must be losing her mind,’ he said at last. ‘This is one of my best wines.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Arian said defensively. ‘Mrs Bob has enough to do without running up and down to the cellar. In fact, I might as well tell you now that we are all overworked. There are not enough hours in the day for a small staff to keep a place like this going. I thought a man like you would have the sense to realize that.’
He stared at her for a long time in silence and Arian braced herself; now she would be dismissed, she would be forced to return to living rough on the hillside. Well, she wouldn’t wait for his scornful dismissal.
She untied her apron and threw down her cap. ‘I was a fool to come here, this work isn’t for me.’ She pointed to her head. ‘I have a brain, I commit the sin of thinking; something not encouraged in the lower orders, is it, Lord Temple?’
‘Sit down.’ He indicated one of the carved ornate chairs beside him.
‘What?’ Arian was taken aback by the sudden turn the conversation had taken.
‘I said sit down,’ Calvin repeated. ‘I thought you had a brain and yet you fail to respond to the simplest of instructions.’
Arian sat down. Calvin looked at her for a long moment in silence.
‘What would you like to be doing?’ he asked. ‘What would you use this famous brain for?’
‘No need for sarcasm,’ Arian said mildly. ‘If you must know, I would like to run a business,’ she spoke without hesitation.
‘I would like to buy and sell leather, I know how to choose the best.’ She laughed bitterly, ‘I learned from a harsh teacher.’
She thought for a moment of Price Davies, so clever when handling skins, able to discern what texture was needed, the correct amount of resilience, how to cost the leather coming from the tannery to the nearest penny.
‘I’m not interested in your past,’ Calvin said in a matter-of-fact way that Arian found strangely comforting. ‘I’m not really interested in you at all – as a woman – but as a business prospect maybe there’s a chance we could work something out.’
‘What do you mean,’ Arian said, ‘work something out?’
‘Do you mind if I eat my dinner while we talk?’ Calvin said lifting the gleaming cutlery. ‘Now that you have used my best claret for sauce, I might as well enjoy it.’
Arian waited in a fever of impatience, oblivious of her surroundings; the elegant dining room, the high chandeliers, the sumptuously curtained windows were all part of a backdrop to her. Here was Calvin offering her a way forward for the future but what was the catch?
‘Through my somewhat disastrous marriage, I became interested in the footwear business,’ Calvin said. ‘If I understand correctly, a supplier brings in the leather wholesale to some warehouse or other and the shoemakers have to buy it in fairly small quantities, is that right?’
Arian nodded, ‘French calf has to be imported of course but most skins are easily available in this country, the trick is in choosing the good stuff, you see.’
‘What is the competition hereabouts, do you know?’ Calvin watched her thoughtfully as he ate his dinner. His manners were impeccable, Arian noted absently.
‘Well, there’s Mr Grenfell of course,’ Arian said thoughtfully, ‘and Emily and John Miller do a bit of buying but I believe they buy just enough for their own use, they don’t have a warehouse as such, not these days.’
‘To whom would you sell, then?’ Calvin asked and Arian smiled. All these details had been worked out minutely by her during many a long hour when she lay awake in some barn, or cushioned in her broken-down shed.
‘There are the small Swansea shoemakers,’ she said, ‘cobblers who know the best and don’t want the bother of going to the tanneries to sort it out. Then there are nearby towns, Morriston, Clydach and Neath and further afield, the whole of the Rhondda valleys, the scope is endless. Eventually even the Grenfells and the Millers would save time and buy from me.’
‘You seem pretty sure of yourself,’ Calvin remarked, ‘but your income from such sources would be small. Surely it should be the bigger towns such as Cardiff and Newport you must aim for?’
‘You forget,’ Arian said, ‘I will be a specialist, anyone who wants the finest kid or pigskin would come to me and pay for the privilege of my expertise.’
Calvin put down his napkin. ‘A child and already you are an expert, amazing.’
‘Let me see your boots,’ Arian said, and Calvin’s eyebrows rose a fraction. Good naturedly, he lifted his booted foot and Arian took it on her lap, her fingers tracing the leather as though her finger-tips could see.
‘These boots are beginning to crack,’ she said. ‘The leather wasn’t treated properly, see how hard it is where it should be supple.’
‘They are almost new,’ Calvin protested. ‘Where are they cracking?’
‘There look, near the instep, where the leather takes the strain of bending. It’s not up to the job. It’s not seasoned leather but cheap, too quickly cured.’
‘You could be right,’ Calvin said. ‘So you know your leather but can you deal with figures? Can you handle the finance, for if I set you up in business I want nothing to do with it, except to rake in some profits. I don’t want you running to me every five minutes with tales of woe.’
‘I tell you what,’ Arian said firmly. ‘Let me do your household accounts for a week or two. I’ll prove I can save you money, you’ll see.’
‘I’ll think it over. Leave me now and ask Mrs Richards to come into the drawing room after supper.’
Arian bobbed a curtsy which for some reason caused Calvin to smile and then she was out in the passageway, leading to below stairs.
‘Duw, you’ve been long enough,’ Mrs Bob grumbled. ‘Get the dishes started there’s a good girl and I’ll take the master his second course. My stomach thinks my throat is cut. I shan’t be sorry to sit down to my own supper.’
Arian moved to the huge sink and stared down at the pots and pans. She sighed heavily. Well, if Calvin Temple didn’t come up with an offer for her soon, she would leave Stormhill Manor anyway. This was not the life for her. Perhaps she could get a room somewhere, find work on a newspaper; she knew most of what she needed to know about the printing business and what she didn’t know, she was confident she could learn.
She had spent much of her time as a child at the offices of the Cambrian with her father. She had watched the operators make magic words in the typeface, every letter being cut by hand on a steel punch, every numeral, every punctuation mark taking time and infinite care to produce.
Now there were new machines from America, the Linotype and the Monotype. These machines made the business of printing newspapers so much more swift and effective, but they also made Arian’s knowledge little short of obsolete, she realized with a dart of disappointment.
Yet how she would love the challenge of a new career, something to work for, a future with prospects instead of the dead-end job of merely existing in the kitchens of the big house. One thing she was suddenly determined on, even if Calvin did nothing for her, she would make a su
ccess of her life. She might never find love, she wanted nothing more to do with men, they only brought hurt and betrayal, but one thing she would have was a career, whatever it cost her.
It was a few days later that Arian learned that there was at least one outcome to her talk with Calvin Temple. Mrs Bob came into the kitchen her face flushed, her eyes shining.
‘We’re to have more staff at Stormhill Manor,’ she said excitedly. ‘Lord Temple is taking on a house steward and a footboy as well as an upper housemaid and a maid of all work.’
‘I thought that’s what I was,’ Arian said ruefully, ‘Bella too.’
‘Well, Bella is going to work as a chambermaid which will be promotion for her, and you, well, girl, I don’t know quite what his lordship’s got in mind for you.’ Mrs Bob sighed. ‘It will be wonderful to have some men about the place again, there’s nothing gives an establishment a bit of class like some male employees.’
Arian was uneasy. ‘I thought a steward’s job involved doing the accounts,’ she said and her heart sank. If that was the case, Calvin had obviously changed his mind about giving her a chance to go into business.
‘Oh, aye and supervising in the dining room, too.’ Mrs Bob said. ‘Never serves mind, oh, no, a house steward doesn’t demean himself to actually wait at a table, just to watch that others do their duty properly.’
‘Seems a pretty pricey idea, to me,’ Arian said. So much for her plan of impressing Calvin by saving him money.
‘It’s only right, though,’ Mrs Bob argued. ‘I well remember the time when there was not only a house steward in a grand establishment but a butler and under-butler with one or two footmen serving at table and those were the days when there was a tax on male servants.’
Arian was silent and Mrs Bob looked at her sympathetically. ‘Don’t you fret, girl,’ she said kindly, ‘there’s got to be something good in this for you. His lordship is not the kind to dismiss his servants for no reason.’
Arian didn’t reply. Calvin had rid himself of the staff employed to care for Eline and it was quite possible that he’d thought over their little talk and come to the conclusion that she was nothing but a trouble-maker.
It was two agonizingly long days later when he sent for her. He was sitting in his book-lined study, his feet stretched out to a cheerful fire, an open book resting on the table beside him, a picture of how the rich lived – a strange and sharp contrast to the hard work that went on below stairs – and for a moment, Arian resented his position in life, his wealth.
‘Arian,’ he said, ‘I have arranged a room at the back of the house as an office. There you and my new steward will work side by side. It is an unusual arrangement, the books are usually kept by the housekeeper or by the steward alone but in this case, I intend to make exceptions.’
Arian was tongue-tied, she stared at Calvin waiting for him to continue. ‘My new steward will begin on Monday. Before then, I would like you to go over the accounts. If there are discrepancies then you must come to me with them, understood?’ Arian nodded and Calvin continued to speak.
‘The steward, Mr Simples,’ he allowed himself a smile, ‘don’t be misled by his name, will check the books to be sure you have missed nothing. I will give you a three-month trial period and if you prove yourself then we will talk again.’
He waved his hand and Arian bobbed a curtsy and turned towards the door. His voice stopped her.
‘One thing more,’ she looked back at him. ‘I appreciate that the clothes Bella bought for you are not, shall we say, entirely suitable for your new post therefore I would like you to go out and dress yourself properly from top to toe.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Arian’s tongue felt thick in her mouth and it was all she could do to get the words to pass her stiff lips.
‘I know it almost choked you to say it but don’t feel in the least bit obligated,’ Calvin said. ‘You shall receive only your board and lodge for the time being, there will be no more wages until you have repaid me.’ He turned away and Arian was dismissed.
Downstairs, Arian sat at the table with Mrs Bob and Bella and told them a little of what Calvin had decided.
‘So you’re to keep accounts, that sort of thing?’ Mrs Bob said in disbelief. ‘Mrs Richards isn’t going to like that at all, not at all.’
‘I can’t help that,’ Arian said, ‘In any case, I’ll be answerable to Mr Simples, the new steward.’
‘Oh, aye, the new steward,’ Mrs Bob allowed herself a small smile. ‘I think Mrs Richards is having her nose put out of joint in more ways than one.’
The changes that took place at Stormhill Manor caused everyone, with the exception of Calvin Temple himself, tremendous cause for concern. Bella fretted that her rightful place as upgraded chambermaid might be usurped in some way; she was even a little hostile to Arian.
‘You’re sure you will work in the … office?’ she asked uncertainly, ‘cos we’ve never had an office at Stormhill before.’
‘Bella, I’m positive,’ Arian said, ‘I’ve got the day off to go out and buy clothes so that I’ll look the part. Don’t worry so much.’
Mrs Bob was worried about the new maid. She claimed that Bella had taken a long time to train and what if the new maid didn’t pull her weight? But it was Mrs Richards who, predictably enough, was the most agitated of all the staff.
‘I’ve never heard such nonsense!’ She sat for once at the kitchen table with Mrs Bob and the two younger girls, her pointed nose practically quivering with disapproval. ‘A steward to replace me, it’s an outrage. Is his lordship insinuating that I can’t do my job properly?’ She looked at Arian.
‘And you, are to help him, to work alongside this new steward. It isn’t quite proper, if you ask me.’
Arian saw no point in replying. In any case, she was too excited about the prospect of going to town to buy her new outfit to worry about the housekeeper’s traumas. Mrs Richards had always been standoffish; she had eaten from a tray in her room, being far too good to break bread with the likes of Arian Smale who had been brought in from the streets, so to speak. And now, in a stroke, Arian had been elevated to a higher position in the household than even the housekeeper, it wasn’t proper.
Mrs Richards stared pointedly at Arian, ‘Perhaps it’s his lordship’s bed you are interested in, serving his special needs, so to speak,’ she said icily. ‘High ambitions you have, my girl, you’d better watch your step. I’ve heard enough about your background to make a decent woman’s hair curl.’
Arian took a deep breath. ‘Of course,’ she said carefully, ‘you’d know all about the needs of men, wouldn’t you Mrs Richards?’
The woman’s colour rose, it was common knowledge that her title was merely a courtesy one, Mrs Richards was a spinster down to the last little fingernail.
‘At least I don’t throw myself at all and sundry,’ she said, her cheeks suddenly pink.
‘It wouldn’t do any good, if you did,’ Arian said coolly. ‘I find that men are usually much more discriminating than they are given credit for.’
She rose from the table. ‘Well, I’m off out to spend his lordship’s money on a new outfit,’ she said intending and succeeding in shocking Mrs Richards even more. She leaned forward, speaking to the housekeeper in confidential tones. ‘I’d be careful, if I were you. You have already been demoted. If I’m warming his lordship’s bed, your next move might well be out the door.’
She left the room then, aware that Bella was suppressing a giggle with her plump fingers while Mrs Bob busied herself pouring more tea. Mrs Richards was as red as if she was suffering a fit.
Serve the spiteful old biddy right, Arian mused. What did she know about Arian’s background? How could she know what Arian had gone through? The pain and outrage and sheer loss of self-respect were more than anyone could understand, certainly not a dried-up spinster like Mrs Richards. Still, Arian had made an enemy and she was well aware of it.
She strode out from Stormhill at a brisk pace, determined to forget wha
t the woman had said, determined to forget Price Davies and her sordid past. She must live now for the future and the future was looking brighter than it had done for a long time.
Her first stop would be the shoemakers in World’s End; Will Davies’s shop was becoming known as the place where fine individually designed shoes could be bought at a price a working man could afford.
Eline, it seemed, far from being brought down by her husband’s rejection of her, was beginning to flourish as she’d done in the days when Arian had worked for her. She was rebuilding her reputation as a designer, selling her more expensive footwear to the gentry of Swansea.
There might be some element of curiosity in the minds of her customers, the desire to see the woman who had cuckolded Lord Temple and then had the effrontery to set up an illicit relationship with a poor cobbler but her fame as a shoemaker was spreading, of that there was no doubt.
Eline was a talented woman and Arian envied her, she was in love with Will Davies and had found the necessary courage to live with him in spite of the gossips.
Arian’s spirits rose, it would be good to smell the leather again, good to talk with people who worked it. Eline always had a fund of ideas and Will – well, Will Davies was a cobbler who had trained with the famous Hari Grenfell.
Arian walked purposefully towards World’s End, her footsteps light. Suddenly life was opening up for her, she was filled with hope for the future and if there was an irony in the fact that it was Eline’s husband who was the source of that hope then Arian had little choice but to ignore the fact.
Eline heard the sound of the door opening with a dart of delight, her heart began to beat so fast she could almost hear it. She looked up from her drawing and saw Will framed against the pale sunlight. She rose to her feet uncertainly and then he was coming towards her, his arms open, ready to enfold her.
She closed her eyes and felt him draw her close, the scent of him, the familiar touch of him, it was all so dear that tears rose to her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m the worst kind of fool to be jealous of you. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you being anywhere near Calvin Temple. I’m afraid I’ll lose you again, Eline, so afraid.’
