While I stood there thinking, a woman carrying an umbrella and a black bag and wearing a close bonnet on her head come toward me from the other direction. She marched right along as if she were going to fight in the lines with the men, not nurse them. She turned her steps and climbed up to the front door of number fifty-four and pulled the bell. I could hear it tinkling down in the servants’ hall, and knew pretty well how long it would take for someone to interrupt their tea and answer.
I slipped in behind the woman with the brolly so I wouldn’t have a chance to back out of my crazy scheme. She turned and looked down her nose at me like she would at a dog sniffing at her skirts. I sent her my frostiest stare and lifted my chin. Lucky I’m tall for my age. I would have to pass for at least eighteen—maybe twenty, I figured.
She didn’t have time to say anything to me before the butler opened the door.
“I’m here about the expedition to Turkey,” she said, thrusting a sheet of paper at the bloke. Obviously she’d never been in a fine house before. Butlers are for announcing visitors, not taking papers from people who came for jobs. When he noticed me, I put on my best airs and graces, like the fine ladies use at the Abington-Smythes, and looked down at the man. It helped that he was a little shorter than I was. Didn’t I get a surprise when he let us both in!
“Mrs. Stanley will be with you in a moment.” I wondered if all butlers talked alike. He could’ve been Mr. Collins, with his posh accent.
The two of us stood in the vestibule, not talking and not looking at each other. These Stanleys must be very wealthy, I thought. It was a finer house than the one in Cadogan Square. The stairs were swept perfect, and not a speck of dust on anything. The windows were so clear they looked like they weren’t there, and a large mirror doubled all that clean and made it huge. I was still admiring the servants’ work when an old lady opened the door to the parlor—or it might’ve been a morning room—and asked the lady I’d followed in to step inside.
To me, she said, “Please take a seat if you wish,” and swept her hand toward a silk-covered bench that ran along one wall of the vestibule.
I perched on the edge of it once the door closed, but when I heard footsteps coming up from the kitchens I stood up quick. It felt wrong to be on such a fine bit of furniture, and besides, if I stood nearby I could hear muffled voices behind the closed door. I strained to catch what they were saying, but only a few words made it through. “Qualifications,” was one, and it sent my heart sinking into my boots. Another word I heard was “mature.” Didn’t do me a bit of good if that was what they wanted. One voice was sharper and harder than the others. While I waited, I tried to imagine what the lady who belonged to that voice would look like, and conjured up an image of an old crone with a long, curved beak of a nose, her hair all gray and wiry, with a high-necked gown fastened with a hair brooch. This Miss Nightingale must be an old spinster, I thought.
After a bit the door opened and the lady with the paper came out. Her face was in a scowl. She yanked the front door open without waiting for anyone to do it for her, slamming it behind her.
“Please come in, dear,” the old lady with the kind face said to me.
Three people sat at a table that’d obviously been moved into the room for the purpose, since it wasn’t what you’d normally find in a morning room. They each had papers in front of them, and untidy stacks of even more paper were on the floor too. The chairs and sofas had all been moved to the side, and a single straight-back chair sat in front of them. I thought sitting there might be what it was like to be up before a magistrate, and I started to sweat a little. The memory of Mr. Collins’s threat was too fresh in my ears. I was relieved not to see the witch I imagined among them, though.
“This is Mrs. Stanley,” the old lady said, pointing to the younger lady who sat at the table next to an old man. “And this is my husband, Mr. Bracebridge.” She must have seen the question in my eyes, because she added, “Miss Nightingale has asked for our help in finding nurses for her expedition. She has much to do. Mr. Bracebridge and I will accompany her to Turkey.”
She motioned me to sit in the chair.
“Have you brought your references? What are your qualifications?” Mrs. Stanley began questioning me without even asking my name, with the same loud, sharp voice I’d heard on the other side of the door—only now I could feel it right inside my ears.
“I … I’m afraid I haven’t brought any with me. You see, I just heard when I was in the City, and I wanted to come right away.” By comparison my voice came out small and whiny. They’d see right through me, I was sure, but I couldn’t think what else to say.
“Perhaps you could begin by telling us about your nursing experience?” That was Mr. Bracebridge. He had a kind face, like his wife, with wrinkles that came from smiling.
“Mostly … I’ve nursed in domestic circumstances.” At least I wasn’t lying outright.
“Never in a hospital?” Mrs. Stanley said. “I’m afraid that won’t do at all. Miss Nightingale was very insistent that only experienced hospital nurses were to be taken. Besides, you look too young.”
She sat back in her chair and nodded to Mrs. Bracebridge. My interview was over.
“I’m sorry, dear. There are so many applicants, and all of them very qualified.”
“But you don’t understand! I’m a very good nurse. I’m meant to be one, I’m certain, and those poor boys, wounded out in the field. Please, please take me! I think I could’ve cured Janet of her diphtheria, if only they had let me tend to her more.” I don’t know what made me beg. I wouldn’t ever have begged for a parlormaid’s position. But something about this adventure, the whole idea of going off and doing something different—it suddenly seemed as if I would die if I couldn’t go.
“Truly, I am sorry.” Mrs. Bracebridge took hold of my arm, gentle but firm, and I stood up. Mrs. Stanley rifled through papers and Mr. Bracebridge just looked down at the table, tapping his pen. I saw there was nothing else I could do.
I held out my hand to Mrs. Bracebridge to say good-bye and I had an idea all of a sudden. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bracebridge,” I said. “My heart will be with the party that goes. When is it?”
“We leave Folkestone for Boulogne on October twenty-first.”
“I shall be thinking of you. God go with you.”
God and me, I thought. If I couldn’t get there honestly, I’d find another way. And I thought I might know someone who could help me—if he would.
Before I lost courage, I continued west toward Cadogan Square. Will had whispered just as I left that I was to come to him if there was something I needed. And I needed somewhere to stay for a week or so and a way to get to Folkestone after that. There was another thing, too, that I realized I would have to face: I’d have to have my letters. I’d learned the ABCs when I was just a wee thing, but my dad didn’t see that it was fit for me to spend time learning to read and write proper once I was big enough to help with the chores and cooking. Not with all the young ones at home needing caring for. I always meant to learn anyway. Now I’d have to.
Chapter 4
I knew it for a dangerous folly to show my face at the Abington-Smythes. Mr. Collins said he’d summon the police if I dared. But I couldn’t see any other way. I went by the back road, down the alley that led to the mews. There was an entrance there the servants used if they came back late and wanted to sneak in without Mr. Collins knowing. It led directly into the pantry, and no one in the servants’ hall or the butler’s office could see you.
The servants’ tea would just be ending and Cook’d be getting supper ready for upstairs. I had to catch Will before he went to the master’s room to bring his sherry and help him dress. I figured that Mavis, who no doubt had stepped straight into my shoes as parlormaid, would be up tending the drawing room fire and helping to prepare the dining room.
I let myself into the dark, cool room, hung with hams and cheeses, dozens of eggs in trays on the shelves, and preserves in jars all labele
d. The sight made me realize I was ever so hungry, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I heard Cook in the kitchen ordering someone around—not Mavis, I hoped!—and waited for the sound of Will’s steps coming toward the back stairs that led up to the bedrooms.
I timed it just right. The smart click-clack of his polished shoes came nearer. An instant before he got there, I opened the door.
At first he looked startled, then pleased, then a cloud passed over his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he whispered, pushing me back into the pantry and closing the door behind us.
“You said if I needed anything …”
“Yes, but they’ll hand you over to the police if they find you,” he said. He took my shoulders and turned me toward him. “What is it, Molly? What can I do for you?”
“Do you really believe I’m innocent, or were you just saying it to be nice?” I asked. I needed to know if he really trusted me.
“Of course I believe you! You’re just not the type. I can see it in your eyes.” He smiled. I liked when he smiled at me. His whole face looked happy and it made me want to smile too.
“Then I have to ask you something,” I said. I had to trust him; I had no choice. He could have just ignored me, told me he had to get on with his duties, but that wasn’t Will. He had a heart big enough for the likes of me. “I need a place to stay, Will,” I said, deciding I wouldn’t put everything on him all at once, but take it in steps.
“What about home? Your mum and dad and brothers and sisters?”
He said it so sincerely. His eyes were a clear, honest blue that always gave me a little start in my stomach when I looked into them direct. So it pained me to know I’d have to lie a little at first. “I—I just can’t face them.”
He let his breath out in a sharp sigh. “I know it’s been a blow to you.” He thought for a moment, then said, “My sister lives in Marylebone with her husband.” He took a piece of paper and a pencil out of his pocket and scribbled a note. “Here. Give this to her. She’ll put you up for a couple of nights. She’s a good soul.”
“I’ll help her clean and such,” I said after he told me her address. “I can’t thank you enough, Will.” I meant it, so I looked right at him.
This time he turned his eyes away. “You’ll have to take an omnibus to get there. It’s a long way.”
I nodded, knowing I’d walk. “Thanks, Will.”
“Go to the pantry and get me half a dozen eggs!” Cook’s voice broke through our hushed conversation, and I heard footsteps coming toward us.
“Go now!” Will said, and before I knew it he’d pulled me to him and kissed me quickly on the forehead.
I ran back out the way I came, my feet so light I couldn’t feel the ground. I didn’t know for sure whether it was because Will had found me a place to stay or because of the warm spot on my forehead where he had kissed me, but it reached right down inside me so I didn’t feel the chill all the way to Marylebone.
It was after seven by the time I knocked on the door of the small house in the north of London where Will’s sister lived. In no time a woman who looked like Will but with gray eyes opened the door. A little tyke clung to her leg, and I could see she was far along in the family way with another. Her forehead creased in a frown.
“Who is it, Luce?” came a man’s voice in a room behind her.
“Dunno!” she called back.
“I’m Molly,” I said, and handed her the note from Will. I could smell the remains of their tea—mutton stew, I thought—and when my stomach growled I was certain she could hear it. She read the note quickly, looking not very pleased.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Only I didn’t have nowheres else to go. I can clean and help with your boy, and I won’t stay long.”
Her face relaxed into a smile just like Will’s. “Come in. If Will says it’s important, I’m sure it is. I’m Lucy, this is Arthur.” She patted her boy on his curly head. As we passed through into the small parlor she said, “And this is my husband, Jim.”
I curtsied to him. “Pleased to meet you.”
“See how thoughtful Will is!” Lucy said to her husband in a tone that reminded me of how Mum talked to Dad when he came home from the pub and she wanted him to go to bed without beating any of us. Jim was seated in the only soft chair. Two other chairs were wood, and there was a bench and a table too. The fire crackled along, and my fingers began to thaw out. “He’s sent a girl to help me while I’m so big, to get the house cleaned up and all for the baby.”
“We can’t afford no serving wench.” Jim stared at me, disapproving.
“Oh, you don’t need to pay me wages,” I said. “I’ll work just for a bed and a bit of food.”
Jim turned away and shrugged, tapping his unlit pipe in his hand. There was no smell of tobacco in the room, which made me think it was a while since he could afford any.
“Come along into the kitchen, then I’ll get you settled.” Lucy led me to a room off the parlor, the only other one on ground level. A narrow stairway led to the upper floor. “Have you eaten any tea?” she asked. I could have kissed her.
“Not a bite since breakfast, ma’am,” I said.
“Call me Lucy. Here’s some stew left over, and a potato.” She dished me out a generous dollop. I wanted to say I wouldn’t take that much, but I was so hungry I could’ve eaten the wooden spoon. “Soon’s you’re done I’ll take you upstairs. You’ll share a room with Arthur—hardly more than a closet, I’m afraid. Tomorrow you can tell me what this is all about.”
I wondered if kindness is something that runs in families. So many of the people I’d met up with were cold and hard, only concerned about their own selves. Like Mavis. And Mr. Collins. Today Will risked his position to help me, and his sister, who I could see couldn’t afford another mouth to feed, took me in, no questions. My eyes overflowed with tears before I could stop them.
“There now, Molly. You’re safe here.”
I knew I was. For a bit, anyway. In a few days, I’d leave that safe hiding place and take a crazy chance for something that would change my life forever.
Chapter 5
On the fourth night of my stay with Lucy and her family, she came in and woke me up after midnight.
“I’m sorry, Molly, but I think the baby’s coming.” She doubled over right then. I took the lamp out of her hand so she wouldn’t drop it.
“Where’s Jim?” I asked.
“He’s taken little Arthur to his mum’s. They’ll both stay there tonight. This is no time for men.”
I took her hand and led her back into her bedroom. In spite of the fact I’d helped the midwife when my little sister Ann was born, I couldn’t recall exactly how it was done.
“I know what to do. I’ll tell you,” Lucy said, reading the doubt in my face.
“Have you sent for the midwife?” I hoped I’d soon have a helping hand.
“Can’t afford one.” Lucy’s breath was squeezed. Another sharp pain welled up and sweat broke out on her forehead in beads that looked like crystals in the light of the oil lamp. As soon as the cramp passed I helped her onto her bed. With the next pain, I let her squeeze my hand. It was all I could think to do. She didn’t make a sound, only breathed real fast.
Once the pain slacked off again, she said, “Fetch a basin of water and a clean towel. And you’ll need a knife and a length of string. Get the sharpest one from the kitchen. You’ll find the twine by the stove.”
I did as she told me. Everything was right where she said it would be. I took a deep breath and climbed the narrow stairs with all the tools of birthing.
After that there was only Lucy, me, and the pain for five long hours. In between pains she tried to talk to me. I told her she didn’t have to, but I guess it helped take her mind off things.
“How is the reading going?” she asked. With all her other kindnesses, Lucy had taken time to help me learn how to put the letters I knew together into words, but I still struggled.
“All right. But I don’t th
ink I’ll be ready in time.”
“Ready for what?”
I forgot I’d not told her my plan. Since I’d been there I helped her clean and cook and take care of Arthur. And in whatever spare time there was she taught me, patient and slow. I didn’t even have time to explain it all to Will when he came yesterday on his half day. The worst was that I needed to borrow money from him to get myself to Folkestone so I could catch up with the nurses.
“Aarrghhhh!” Lucy’s scream startled me out of my thoughts. “I don’t know what’s happening. I think it’s too soon. Molly, help me!”
She let out a sound like a cat being swung by its tail. I looked at her hard, swollen belly, wishing I could take the pain away from her. Then I remembered how Janet seemed soothed when I put my hands on her neck. “It’s all right, Lucy,” I said. Then I laid my hands on her belly, gentle and calm.
Her breathing slowed, and the sharp sounds she made settled down to a whimper, then faded away. “What did you do? How did you warm your hands so?” she whispered.
“Hush. Everything’s all right now,” I said. She closed her eyes, and I think she might’ve slept a few minutes. That was good. She needed her strength.
My arms had just started aching from holding them on Lucy’s belly when all at once I felt a hard, strong cramp grip her. Lucy pushed herself up again.
The pains came back stronger than ever. I began to be afraid for her. I kept mopping her brow and feeling where the baby was when her belly wasn’t tight as a copper kettle. I’d not done that part for my mother. The midwife took over when it was so near to time. Now it was just me to do it all.
“It’s … going … to be … soon,” Lucy panted. “It’s all right now. I’m ready. Get the water and the knife. Where’s the string?” I showed her. “Mind you tie it tight before you cut.”
In the Shadow of the Lamp Page 2
