Everybody's Somebody

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘Good,’ Rosie said. ‘Then we’ll give our Rachel some pie or whatever it is and see how she likes it. That’ll be good won’t it Rachel?’

  Maisie giggled. ‘I’d better show you your uniform,’ she said, ‘bein’ that’s what I’m s’posed to be doin’.’

  It was folded up in the clothes press and was exactly the same as Maisie’s, a pale blue cotton dress, a white cotton apron with ruffles round the bib and a ruffled cap. She even had a new pair of shoes and some garters, as well as several pairs of woollen stockings and a collection of bodices and drawers. ‘I shall be quite the lady in all this,’ she said, when she was dressed.

  That afternoon they took their baby for a toddle through the gardens, where she picked the head off a tulip and fell in the vegetable patch twice, once by accident and once deliberately, and enjoyed both tumbles very much, especially when Rosie picked her up and tickled her and told her she was a bad lot.

  Maisie was lost in admiration. ‘You’re ever so good with her,’ she said, as they walked back towards the castle.

  Being admired raised Rosie’s spirits, which was just as well because, although she hadn’t said anything, she’d been feeling rather down after Hoity-toity’s disapproval. ‘I’m used to babies,’ she said. ‘I looked after my brother and sisters.’ That wasn’t strictly true, because she’d only been three when Tommy was a baby, but she’d looked after Tess and Edie every day. ‘It comes natural when you do it a lot.’

  ‘You know what to say,’ Maisie said, rather mournfully. ‘An’ how to pick her up an’ get her to do things. You’ve got a real knack for it. I wish I could do it.’

  ‘Didn’t you have no brothers and sisters then?’

  ‘They was all older than me,’ Maisie explained. ‘I mean I never looked after them or nothing. They’re all out at work now. I was the baby.’

  They’d reached the steps. ‘Oh well, that accounts,’ Rosie said, picking Rachel up and carrying her into the castle. ‘Tell you what, watch what I do and do the same. It’s easy when you know how. I done the same as my Ma. Now then Rachel, can you manage these ol’ stairs d’you think? I’ll hold your hand.’

  Which she did, leading the child on until they were standing in the long corridor, where the gentle deer still gazed in soft-eyed reproach above their heads.

  There was a strong smell of baking wafting towards them from the other end of the corridor. Maisie sniffed it happily. ‘Sponge cake for tea,’ she said.

  That was a surprise to Rosie. ‘Tea?’ she said.

  ‘They brings us tea in the afternoons,’ Maisie explained. ‘Pot a’ tea, milk an’ sugar, bread an’ butter, cake. All laid out lovely. It’s our treat.’

  ‘Um,’ Rosie said, thinking about it. ‘Does Rachel get any?’

  ‘She has a cup a’ warm milk. They make it ever so nice for her.’

  ‘But not cake?’

  ‘No. Janet says she’s not to have cake.’

  Rosie snorted. ‘Ho, does she!’ she said. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Her face looked so determined that Maisie was alarmed. ‘Don’t say I told you,’ she began. ‘I mean for to say…’

  But Rosie had settled Rachel on her hip again and was walking towards the kitchen. She’d been secretly afraid of Janet’s sharp tongue and this was a chance to fight back.

  ‘You can’t go in there,’ Maisie warned, trailing after her. ‘We’re not allowed. Mr Rossi don’t like it. He’s ever so fierce. Oh Rosie, please don’t!’

  She was wasting her breath because Rosie was already opening the kitchen door and walking through it. It was a nasty moment for poor Maisie because she knew she would have to follow her, otherwise Janet would give her what for. But it took several seconds of fluttering hesitation before she could pluck up enough courage to walk in.

  They were in an enormous room that seemed to be full of women in grey dresses and cream-coloured caps and aprons, and men entirely in white, all rushing about doing things. There were three huge ovens on one wall, with a row of kettles steaming on the hobs in front of them and in the middle of the room a long table where a group of women were cutting up bread and arranging little cakes on paper doilies and setting out cups and saucers on pretty trays. And standing at the far end of the table, watching over them, was a man in a dazzling white apron and a floppy white hat. He had such an air of authority about him that Rosie knew at once that he had to be Mr Rossi. She settled the baby on her hip, lifted her head, stuck out her chin and walked towards him.

  The noise in the kitchen shushed to silence as she walked, and Mr Rossi’s face looked more thunderous with every step she took. It was making her heart jump to look at him, for he really was a stern-looking man with all that thick dark hair curling out from under his hat and those sharp brown eyes and that great black moustache curving above his mouth like the wings of some fierce bird. But she’d started this now and she had to go on with it. She couldn’t back down. She walked until they were an arm’s length away from one another and the kitchen was completely quiet.

  ‘What-a this?’ he said, glaring at her. ‘Who this person? You don’ hear what I say? I don’ allow other staff in my kitchen. I make-a my point quite clear. No other staff!’

  Rosie planted her feet firmly in the flagstones and stood boldly in front of him, ‘If you please Mr Rossi, sir,’ she said, keeping her voice steady with an effort. ‘I’m Rosie Goodison from the nursery, sir. I come to ask you please, if you will send up some cake for Rachel today, what she’d like very much.’ And she looked down at the baby, who smiled up at her rapturously.

  ‘Cake is it?’ he said. ‘You think I bother my ’ead with cake?’

  ‘Yes sir. If you please sir.’

  He looked at her for such a long time that she was afraid he would see that she was shaking. But when he spoke again it was in a gentler voice. ‘What you sayin’, eh? Don’ she get no cake when I send it?’

  Rosie heard Maisie drawing in her breath and flashed a quick eye message at her that she was to keep quiet. Then she turned back to Mr Rossi and tried to be diplomatic. ‘Not always, Mr Rossi sir,’ she said. ‘But if you was to send up a plate special for her, she would then.’

  He put a finger over his red lips and stroked his moustache, pondering. His staff were completely still and silent, watching him and waiting. Rosie’s heart was beating so violently it was hurting her. The kettles bubbled and boiled and tossed their lids in the air and were ignored.

  Eventually he looked up and beamed. ‘Missis Taylor,’ he said, looking at one of the women at the table, ‘please to put out liddle plate for liddle cake for the liddle milady.’ Then he turned and beamed at Rosie. ‘How that do, eh?’

  Rosie was so relieved she felt sick, but she managed to control her feelings and dropped him a curtsey and said, ‘Thank ’ee kindly, Mr Rossi.’

  At which he beamed again, and Rosie noticed with relief that his face was quite transformed now that his mouth was lifted, and his eyes were smiling. ‘Qui’ right,’ he said, winking at her. ‘All-aways feed bambini good.’

  And that seemed to be that. The two girls carried their baby out of the room and headed for the stairs and the nursery. Halfway up the first flight Rosie burst into tears.

  Maisie was most upset. She took the baby and sat her on the step beside them and then she put her arms round her new friend and cuddled her. ‘Please don’t cry,’ she begged. ‘Not when it’s all over an’ you done so well.’ But Rosie had to weep away the fear that had followed her up the stairs like something from a nightmare and it took her a long time to do it.

  ‘We won’t tell Janet what we done,’ Maisie said, when they were climbing back to the nursery again. ‘She don’t need to know till she has to.’

  ‘She’ll know when the cake arrives,’ Rosie said.

  After so much unexpected excitement and such torrential weeping, to be back in the quiet of the nursery felt almost like a homecoming. Janet was sitting by the window, letting out a seam in one of Rachel’s pinafo
res and looking sour. ‘I thought you was the tea,’ she said. ‘You been a long time.’

  ‘We went a bit further today,’ Maisie said. ‘It was ever so nice out.’ Then she turned to the baby. ‘Let’s wash those little hands, shall we. We shall have tea presently.’

  Tea and a newly washed baby arrived in the day nursery together.

  To Rosie’s relief, the moment was delicately handled. ‘There’s a little plate with a little cake on it for the baby,’ the kitchen maid said. ‘Nice soft sponge. Mr Rossi said to tell you he thought she might like to try it.’

  Janet thanked her. What else could she do? But when the maid had left them, she was quick to amend her gratitude. ‘Well, we shall have to see, won’t we,’ she said. ‘She might not like it at all.’

  She was quite cross when Rachel ate up every last crumb. ‘We shall have to watch you,’ she said to her, ‘or you’ll get greedy.’

  But Rachel was drinking her warm milk and didn’t pay any attention to her.

  Later that night, when Rachel had been put to bed and Rosie had sung one of her mother’s lullabies to settle her, and they’d had supper and tidied the nursery and were finally off duty, Rosie lay on her back in her unfamiliar bed and gave herself up to the homesickness she’d been pushing away from her all through the day. She yearned to be back in Binderton and missed her mother with an ache that was so strong and painful that the tears began to roll out of her eyes again. No matter how well she did in this job of hers, she didn’t want to be doing it, not if the truth be told. She wanted to be back at home with Ma and Pa and the littluns. But it would be ten months before she could see them all again and ten months felt like a very long time. Oh a very, very long time. It was going to be a job to keep cheerful all the time. But she’d do it because she’d made up her mind to it.

  The next day their midday meal arrived on a rather larger tray than they expected and when they lifted the linen cover, what they found made them both grin. Mr Rossi had done them proud. As well as two ample portions of cottage pie and vegetables for them, there was a third dish for the baby with a portion of mashed potato and pie and lots of gravy, and as well as two plates full of spotted dick and custard there was another smaller dish containing a little pink blancmange with a note beside it, ‘To tempt the little milady’s appetite.’

  ‘My stars!’ Maisie said. ‘D’you think he’s done it deliberate?’

  Rosie had no doubt. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Course he has. He knew what we was telling him. He’s a clever man.’

  ‘D’you think she’ll eat it?’ Maisie said. ‘It’s a big portion.’

  ‘I ’spect so,’ Rosie said, noticing that the baby was licking her lips. ‘Put her in her highchair an’ we’ll try her. Come on little milady. Come an’ see what our nice Mr Rossi’s sent for you.’

  The little milady ate everything that was set before her, using her spoon more or less accurately and her fingers when the spoon was too cumbersome and smiling at them rapturously all the time.

  ‘Well I never!’ Maisie said. ‘Who’d ha’ thought it?’

  ‘I would,’ Rosie said. ‘Well I did, didn’t I?’ And she grinned at their triumphant baby. ‘Look at the state of you,’ she said, affectionately. ‘Your face is all over blancmange. I’ll have to take a flannel to you.’

  Unfortunately she was out of the room getting the flannel when Janet came back from her dinner and Janet was not pleased at what she found. ‘Now what’s she been eatin’?’ she said crossly. ‘It’s not cottage pie surely to goodness. Whatever were you thinkin’ of? An’ what’s all that pink stuff on her face? Where’s her bread an’ milk?’

  ‘It’s blancmange,’ Maisie said, answering the question that seemed least likely to lead to a row. ‘Mr Rossi sent it up special.’

  ‘What he’d got no business doing,’ Janet scowled. ‘She’s supposed to have bread and milk. Mrs Tenbury said so.’

  Rosie had come back with her damp flannel in the middle of the conversation. ‘When was that?’ she said. ‘Put your little face up Rachel.’

  ‘When I came here,’ Janet said. ‘She was most partic’lar about it.’

  ‘But that would ha’ been months ago,’ Rosie said, reasonably. ‘You can’t keep babies on slops for ever. They needs more nourishment when they gets older. Don’t you poppet?’

  ‘Well don’t blame me if she gets the bellyache,’ Janet said.

  ‘There’s no sign of it yet,’ Rosie said, happily. It was so good to get the better of Hoity-toity. High time somebody did.

  ‘How would you know?’ Janet persisted.

  ‘Well it’s obvious. She’d cry.’

  At that, Janet flounced out of the room in a temper. ‘Oh you’re so clever!’ she said. ‘Well we’ll just see what Mrs Tenbury has to say, that’s all. That dreadful cake was bad enough, but this beggars belief.’ And she was gone.

  Maisie put her hands to her mouth in distress. ‘She’s going to make trouble,’ she said. ‘I seen that look afore, many and many’s the time. What are we going to do, our Rosie?’

  Outside their window the lawn was bright with sunshine and the sky was summertime blue. ‘Well I don’t know about you,’ Rosie said, ‘but I’m going to take Baby for a nice walk in the fresh air. You’d like that wouldn’t you Rachel? Let’s get our hats, shall we.’

  So they walked in the gardens again, and Maisie did her best not to worry and failed, and Rachel fell in the flowerbeds and rolled about on the lawn and covered her pinafore with grass stains and squealed with delight when Rosie told her she was a terrible bad lot and they didn’t get back until it was nearly teatime.

  The day nursery was very quiet, and Janet was sitting by the window again with her sewing in her hands. She looked up when they were all in the room and put her work aside and stood up. Her face was so full of importance that Rosie could feel her heart sinking. I’m for it now, she thought, and stood quite still ready for the blow that was sure to come.

  But Janet had something else to tell them. ‘Mrs Tenbury’s with milady,’ she said, ‘They’ve sent for the nurse. We’re to make up the crib. The footman will be coming for it presently. They’ve just sent up to tell me. Look sharp. I’d like to see it done before tea.’

  Maisie and Rosie took Rachel into the night nursery at once to find the sheets and blankets for the crib. How quickly things change in this place, Rosie thought. We came creeping up those stairs thinking we were going to be scolded and now this.

  ‘D’you think it’s the baby coming?’ Maisie whispered.

  ‘Sounds like it, if they’ve sent for the nurse.’

  They spread the little sheet over the mattress. ‘Do you think she saw Mrs Tenbury?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Rosie whispered, ‘or she’d’ve said. Where’d you put the little bedspread?’

  They’d only just finished the job when the footman appeared and carried the crib away. And after that the tea arrived. It was a subdued meal although Rachel ate her cake very happily and drank her warm milk and allowed the two girls to take her off to lullabies and bed as good as gold. Then they waited. Supper time came. And they waited. The nursery clock struck ten. And they waited. Eventually, when it was nearly midnight, Janet announced that she was ‘for her bed’ and left them. So the two girls went to bed too.

  Rosie had been trying to remember how long her mother had taken to birth young Edie. She had a hazy idea that she’d gone to bed in the morning and the baby had come in the afternoon, but it had been a long time ago. ‘We shall hear in the morning,’ she said, as they settled to sleep.

  But the morning brought no news and the day went quietly on. It wasn’t until they gathered for their supper that they heard anything at all and then Mrs Tenbury stood up at the foot of the table and held up her hand for quiet.

  ‘I’m sure you will all be pleased to know that milady has been safely delivered of a son. He will be the sixteenth Duke of Norfolk and is to be called Bernard Marmaduke.’

  There was a ripple of caref
ul applause around the table and Mrs Tenbury inclined her head towards it, smiling right and left. ‘I am sure you will all want me to convey your congratulations to the duke and milady. It is a happy day for the family.’

  ‘We shall see some changes now,’ the second footman said to Rosie. ‘You mark my words.’

  Chapter 3

  Change arrived in Arundel castle four days later in the cheerfully stout and rather flat-footed person of Sister Mary Castleton. Within twenty-four hours the dining table was buzzing with news of her. The second footman said she was ‘a good egg’, the kitchen maids said she’d come down to the kitchen with milady’s tray and she was lovely, and the lady’s maid told them she’d done wonders with the new baby.

  ‘I wonder if she’ll come an’ see us,’ Maisie said as she and Rosie climbed back to the nursery.

  ‘Bound to,’ Rosie said, ‘being we looks after baby Rachel. I mean that’s her job, ent it. Looking after the babies. I expect they’ll send this new one up to us an’ all, when he’s a bit older. They don’ seem to look after their own children these ol’ dukes.’ She’d been in the castle for over a week and wasn’t impressed by the fact that neither duke nor duchess had come near the nursery once.

  In fact the much-talked-of Sister Castleton arrived there three days later. Unfortunately she chose a very inopportune moment for her visit because Janet and Rosie were in the middle of furious argument about a dish of steak and kidney pudding, which Mr Rossi had sent up for ‘the little milady’s dinner’ and which Rosie had happily fed to her while her adversary was in the staff dining room and safely out of the way. Both of them were shouting and red-faced with anger.

  ‘You had no business feeding her such a thing,’ Janet was roaring. ‘You could ha’ made her sick.’