by Mary Wood
Brambles clutched at her skirt, but she didn’t care. A robin darted out and chirped at her, as if annoyed at the disturbance she’d caused him, as she made her way onto the path and through the fruit trees. Beth clutched her hand when she came out the other side. Here they were no longer visible to anyone in the convent, but could still keep an eye on Sister Theresa. ‘Well, did you get good news, then?’
‘I did!’ She told Beth what had happened, and Beth’s expression drooped. ‘Don’t be worrying, Beth. I’ll be coming for you, so I will, once I’m settled.’
‘How? Agnes hasn’t, and she promised. Oh, I know it ain’t easy, especially for Agnes. How she has to make her living . . . Anyroad, don’t worry about me. I know me time will come.’
‘It will, I swear it will. Haven’t I been for telling you: as soon as I can, I will be getting the money me pappy left for me and will come for you; sure we can find a place to rent and get work?’
‘Thanks, Bridie. Oh, I wish I could walk out of here with you.’
‘’Tis me as is wishing that, too. I’ll be thinking of you every day and doing all I can, so I will.’
Aunt Jeannie didn’t look as she’d imagined. When spoken of, the image portrayed had been of a gentle, loving woman, someone to feel pity for. Bridie remembered hearing her mammy saying, ‘Wasn’t it a shame altogether that Jeannie couldn’t have wee ones? Sure she would make a wonderful mother.’ It had been the tone of this and other comments that had built the picture she’d held in her mind of her Aunt Jeannie.
But before Bridie, with her arms open, stood a tall, thin woman with black hair swept back into a bun and features that didn’t tell of kindness. Her gesture of welcome looked forced. ‘Bridie! Haven’t I been out of me mind with worry for you? Look at you! You have the beauty your poor mammy had at your age. Maybe a tad smaller, but you have the look of her all the same. Come here and let me hold you.’
Bridie went into her arms, but felt no comfort – there was no honest giving of a welcome or of love in the hug. Being released from the bony hold brought relief. But, as they separated, her aunt’s piercing blue eyes – the only thing about her, apart from her accent, that told of her Irish birth – searched her face. ‘It is awful altogether what I am hearing happened. Did your mammy not tell you the way of things, and how a girl such as yourself can have an effect on the men around you?’
‘I wasn’t . . . I didn’t do anything. Pappy was for forcing me . . .’
‘Aye, well, ’tis what I was saying to Mr Bottomley; it never took much to get our Michael going, and if he had the drink on him he could get himself into a confusion as to who he was dealing with. What he did, once he realized it was you, told of that. He has paid dearly, God rest him. Now, let’s leave it there and get you home.’
The gentle swaying of the coach did nothing to soothe the dread settling in Bridie as she watched the smart dwellings and business premises give way to grimy streets. Here, tiny, unkempt houses were built so close to each other that she was sure their occupants wouldn’t have to cross over the road to knock on the door of their opposite neighbour. But worse than the sight of the rotting debris, hungry-looking, grubby children and skin-and-bone dogs and cats was the smell of fish. It clung to her nostrils until every breath became a fight not to heave up the contents of her stomach.
‘’Tis something you’ll have to be getting used to, Bridie. Your Uncle George works on the fish-gutting down on the dock over there, and he has a stench on him worse than this when he is coming in after his shift.’
Bridie looked over to the docks. Huge iron chains divided the area from the road. Ropes thicker than a stout man’s waist lay here and there in snake-like coils on the muddied cobbles. Some men stood in circles mending fishing nets, while others threw fish into huge wicker baskets. Boats of all shapes and sizes bobbed up and down on the angry sea behind them. She looked away. The sight of the waves crashing onto the harbour had jolted the pain of memory back into her, but she could see beauty in the scene. Hadn’t she seen the like captured in the paintings hung on the walls of the castle? Thinking of this brought Seamus to her mind, for wasn’t it he who had lifted her high to take a peek? Her heart took on the extra weight of missing him and she wondered if she would ever feel happy again.
The driver halted the horses outside a building opposite the dock. Its doors stood open. The smell of alcohol and tobacco mingled with that of fish. Men’s drunken laughter came to her, cementing her trepidation.
‘He’ll be in there, no doubt. I told him I’d be back after his shift finished, so your introduction to Mr Bottomley will give you a side of him that you’ll become familiar with. He likes a drink, so he does. And I’m partial meself at times.’
They climbed out of the coach. Bridie caught her breath against the onslaught of the salty wind as it tingled on her cheeks and whipped her skirt round her legs. Her aunt shouted above it: ‘Wait on the steps. I’ll just be having the one drink and then we’ll get you home.’
The chimes of a distant clock marked the passing of an hour. The cold had numbed every part of her, shivering anger through her. Just who did the woman think she was? Sure you wouldn’t be for treating an animal in this way. Her temper had her barging into the pub.
Whistles shrilled the air in the smoke-filled bar as she stepped inside. A loud voice silenced them. ‘Shut youse faces. Now then, hun, you can’t come in here. You’re not of an age. Besides, this bar is just for the men.’
‘But me Aunt Jeannie was for coming in over an hour since. I’m fair freezing waiting out there for her.’
‘What’s her name? She’ll be in the other bar, if at all.’
‘Mrs Bottomley.’
‘Right, hun, step outside and I’ll give her the nod.’
Aunt Jeannie came out within a few minutes. ‘What is it you think you are doing? Don’t you ever be calling me out of the bar again, Bridie! You fair embarrassed me.’
‘I’m sorry, so I am, Aunt, but I wasn’t for standing the cold any longer.’
‘Aye, well, cold it may be, but it is another lesson you have to learn. Did not Michael be telling you: a young lady does not go into a bar and fetch out her elders. Come on now, before your uncle comes out. He’s raving, so he is.’
Bridie let the tear leave her eye and drop unheeded down her cheek. Loneliness shrouded her. During the few days she’d been in her aunt’s care, it had been anything but clear as to whether or not she was welcome. One moment her aunt was full of the blarney, saying how good it was to have her, and the next telling her, ‘’Tis a hardship you’ve brought on us, so it is, Bridie.’
She put her head under the covers and wished she had a room separate from theirs, but this fisherman’s cottage near the docks of Liverpool only had one room and it was the living and sleeping quarters for them all.
Her bed, a shake-me-down next to the iron stove, stood only feet from where her aunt and uncle slept in a curtained-off alcove. A sick revulsion settled in her at the memory of the noises she’d heard coming from there the night before. She tried to put it out of her mind and let her body relax into the sleep it demanded of her, but just as she felt herself begin to drift away a loud breaking of wind disturbed her. Her aunt’s indignation came out in a high-pitched protest: ‘George Bottomley, ’tis disgusting you are. Will you hold the blanket down and trap it in.’
‘Shut it, woman! You do your fair share.’
Bridie’s tears dried and she had to stifle a giggle at this, but what her uncle said next stiffened her body and had her straining to hear his whispered tones. ‘Have you done anything about her yet? Cos I’m telling you, hun, if it weren’t for what you say she has stashed away and the fact we’ll be in for a piece of it, I’d have her out. With you being an Irish, folk are connecting her to that murdering cousin of yours. There’s talk . . .’
‘You watch how you are with her. I’ve told you enough times. Our Michael put plenty by. He was for putting me in the picture when he was over last. He said he had put a
stash in one of the banks.’
‘Aye, blood-money, I’d say, knowing him. But what I want to know is when we’ll see any of it.’
‘Be patient, and be leaving everything to me to deal with.’
‘Just see as we do profit, Jeannie, as I’m telling you: if there’s nothing up front soon, I’ll have her out.’
‘Oh, ’tis the big man you are now, is it? Go on with you, George Bottomley. Shut your fecking face and give us a cuddle.’
Bridie pulled the covers over her head once more, in an effort to shut out the grunts and groans of her uncle and the sighs of her aunt that had replaced their conversation. Their words had put a new fear into her. Hadn’t she known from the outset that she wouldn’t stay with them long? But the knowledge of her money had helped – it had provided hope for her and for Beth.
Her instant dislike of George Bottomley had been stopping her offering to pay for her keep or even mentioning what her pappy had put by for her. A big man with a stomach that rolled fat almost to his knees and with the smell of his work embedded in his every pore, he repulsed her. And didn’t the same fear she’d had of her pappy visit her every time she caught his eye? But now she had to contend with him knowing of the money, and it being his motive for having her here.
Trying to block out what was happening across the room, she held her hands over her ears and concentrated on the ideas she’d been mulling over for herself and Beth. She’d to find a way of sorting it all out without her aunt and uncle knowing.
A final groan, louder than all the rest, came from her uncle, then a giggle from her aunt as her uncle said, ‘That shut you up, didn’t it?’
‘Aye, and you. Great lump of a man that you are, George Bottomley, you’ve still got it in you, so you have. Now get yourself away to sleep.’
Within moments snores reverberated around the room. Bridie curled up into a ball. Once more the tears threatened, but she swallowed hard and allowed the spirit in her to rise. For sure she couldn’t be standing it here. She wasn’t knowing what to do or how to do it, but she’d find a way. She’d not stay in this cottage a moment longer than she needed to.
9
Issy
Hartington House, 1875
The wedding event
Issy Harman stood with the rest of the staff of Hartington House listening to Mrs Baxdale, the housekeeper. There had been a buzz in the air ever since the announcement a few weeks back informing them of Miss Dvina’s betrothal to Mr Harvey. And now here they were discussing the arrangements for their forthcoming marriage, and that of Mr Harvey’s mother to Mr Eastland of Hensal Grange. It had taken time for it to sink in among them all, especially how someone as handsome as Mr Harvey could ever fancy their lovely but plain-Jane Miss Dvina!
‘A marriage of convenience, if you ask me. And it will all end in tears for Miss Dvina, mark my words. Things ain’t how they should be, thou knows,’ Gertie had said at the breakfast table this morning. Gertie worked as an upstairs maid and saw and heard more of the goings-on of the household. She often repeated things she’d happened to hear or had speculated on with the other upstairs maids. You couldn’t set store by a lot of it, but Issy thought there was some truth in this.
‘Now, I am looking for volunteers to help out,’ Mrs Baxdale continued. ‘The venue for this double event is Hensal Grange manor. They need extra catering staff, dining-room staff and scullery maids for the dinner and ball that is to take place in the evening. Some of you are already familiar with the layout of Hensal Grange, as you have assisted at functions before. Isabella, I am hoping you in particular can offer your services, as I will need someone with your experience in the kitchen. There is a bonus payment of a shilling at the end of the month for senior staff, and sixpence for maids.’
‘Of course, Mrs Baxdale. I could do with the extra, as I’ll be planning me own wedding soon.’
Mrs Baxdale’s eyes opened wide. Gertie dug Issy in the ribs and gave her one of her beaming smiles. Giggles and murmurs and oohs and aahs disrupted the proceedings, until Mrs Baxdale brought order once more with her stilted, ‘Congratulations, I am sure, Isabella, but this is not the time to discuss your own private affairs.’
Issy allowed herself the good feeling of having won a small victory by knocking the stuffing out of Mrs Baxdale. Granted, she had a high position as housekeeper, but she thought herself better than the rest of them and had more airs and graces than the family did. It irritated Issy how Mrs Baxdale insisted on always calling her Isabella, while everyone else used her pet name, but nevertheless she thought it better to apologize. ‘Sorry, Mrs Baxdale, I’m just so excited, I can’t hold it in.’ But she did manage to stop herself saying what came to her as a comparison to the feeling she had, and kept to herself the thought, ‘It’s like having me first kiss all over . . .’, as Mrs Baxdale had pulled her up on more than one occasion for her coarse way of speaking.
Issy blamed her ma. She had some sayings, did her ma, and they had sort of rubbed off on her. Something always popped into her head and came out of her mouth, no matter to whom she was talking. Look at the time Mr Harvey had surprised her and Denny as they walked across the field. She still blushed when she thought of it. Fancy saying a word like ‘knickers’ to him! Denny took ages to forgive her for that.
‘Jane,’ Mrs Baxdale now addressed the trainee lady’s maid. ‘You are to become Miss Dvina’s personal maid. Mrs Portland has asked especially for you to take the position, as she was very impressed with you when you looked after her during Dorothy’s illness.’
‘By, you’ve got your work cut out, Jane. It’ll be like trying to turn a pumpkin into a golden carriage . . .’
‘Isabella, that is very rude of you, and the rest of you are no better, laughing at such an uncalled-for remark.’
This time, when she apologized, Issy really did feel mortified. She shouldn’t have poked fun at Miss Dvina. You couldn’t meet a nicer person, and she couldn’t help how she looked. Though that wasn’t true, not altogether, as Miss Dvina didn’t care about such things. She always had second helpings at every meal, and often sent down to the kitchen for little snacks. And the chores she did alongside the lads in the stables! It was no wonder she had muscles on her in places she shouldn’t.
The meeting over, Mrs Baxdale asked Issy to accompany her to her office. She stood just inside the small room waiting for a further telling-off, but apart from a short speech asking her to watch what she said, the housekeeper simply wanted to discuss the menu.
‘Now, Isabella, Mr Eastland has asked for quails’ eggs with ham. And pressed salmon and asparagus parcels with herb butter for hors d’oeuvre. Then beef consommé followed by game pie with root vegetables. After that there will be cheeses, fruit and biscuits, and finally a selection of hot puddings and trifles. It is these desserts that the Hensal Grange cook wants you to be responsible for. Oh, and the pastry for the game pie, and the biscuits for the cheese. So I would like a list of your suggestions as to suitable puddings to complement the other courses. And of course the ingredients you will need for them, as soon as possible. They are expecting three hundred guests to sit down for the meal at around six-thirty in the evening prior to the evening ball.’
‘What’s happening following the wedding, are the guests to be fed then?’
‘There is to be a luncheon following the actual service, but for far fewer guests. They may need your assistance with it, but they haven’t specified. But you will need to be in the kitchen very early anyway, so you can do as directed on the day.’
‘I’ll need more than a day to prepare all those puddings for three hundred folk.’
‘Yes, it is thought you might incorporate a lot of cold puddings, and make them here in the days leading up to the event, so they can be transported over on the day. If this is the case, there will be an extra payment for you, as I have already mentioned. More pennies for your own planned nuptials, which you did not see fit to discuss with me before announcing!’
‘I know I should have done
, and I meant to, but all this talk of weddings set me off.’
‘Very well. Just make sure you keep me informed of any further arrangements and discuss with me when you intend to marry. I need to make sure it all fits in with the house schedule. We will need to engage a new cook. I won’t inform Mrs Portland until after the wedding. I can’t have her concerned with domestic matters, with everything else going on.’
Issy bowed her head and went back to the kitchen. She hadn’t really thought of having to give her job up, but she supposed she must. Married staff – well, the womenfolk anyway – could only really stay on if they wed others who worked for the estate. Then they had a cottage allocated to them.
Hartington House stood some ten miles from Breckton, making it impossible for her to travel over on a daily basis. She’d miss it, though. She enjoyed the work and the company of the others, and they could do with the money. Denny didn’t make much, and the miner’s cottage she’d have to live in wasn’t up to much, either.
Standing on the edge of Breckton, all the cottages in the Miners’ Row had one room downstairs. This served as a kitchen-cum-living room, and as a bedroom for the miner and his wife at night. Over this there was a sort of half-loft, a huge stone shelf reached by a ladder, where the young ’uns slept. Her ma had made theirs nice and cosy, though, with the rugs she’d made, and the pretty curtains for the window and a matching daytime tablecloth. Her da had whitewashed the walls and, being handy, had put up a rail across the beam supporting the loft, so Ma could partition off their bed with a nice thick curtain. Issy had many similar plans for the cottage she knew she and Denny were getting. They’d been lucky in that. Most young couples had to squash in with their parents until one came vacant, but as it happened, a couple stood empty at the moment. Issy had pondered on this, and the rumours it had caused of things not being so good at the mine. Usually, once someone left or died, a new man took the position within hours and his family moved into a cottage, but though her da had said they were stretched at the mine, no one had been taken on of late. Not grown men anyroad. All of which gave truth to what Gertie had said about Mr Harvey marrying Miss Dvina for her money. She hoped not. She’d have liked Miss Dvina to find someone who loved her, like she had found Denny.
