Everybody's Somebody

by Beryl Kingston

  And Rosie was roaring back, ‘She wasn’t sick. Look at her. She loved it. She ate every last mouthful.’

  Poor Maisie had retreated into a corner with the baby and was watching them anxiously, wishing they’d stop. When she realised who was walking into the room it gave her such a shock, she turned pale.

  But Sister Castleton’s entrance was serene. ‘Is this our other baby?’ she said, sailing towards Maisie and Rachel. ‘It’s little Rachel isn’t it?’

  Maisie dropped a curtsey and said, ‘Yes ma’am’ and Janet and Rosie stopped in mid roar with their mouths open, looking foolish. All three of them watched as Sister Castleton drew up the nursing chair and sat in it so that she and the baby were eye to eye. ‘I can see you’re a good girl Rachel,’ she said. ‘Is that your rocking horse?’

  Rachel was too cautious about this new arrival to do anything more than nod and cling to Maisie’s skirt.

  ‘He’s a beautiful horse,’ Sister Castleton said. ‘I expect you like riding him, don’t you?’ And when the child nodded again, ‘Would you like to ride him now? I could lift you on if you like and push him for you.’

  At which Rachel actually held up her arms to be lifted and Sister stood up and carried her to the horse and settled her in the saddle. Then she rocked her very gently while she turned her equally gentle attention to the others.

  ‘She’s a good weight,’ she said, smiling round at them. ‘I can see you feed her well. Lovely round face and nice plump arms. Just as she should be. No wonder Lady Howard is so pleased with you. And which one of you let out the seams on this pinafore? That’s very neat.’

  Janet and Maisie were very surprised to hear that the duchess was pleased with them because she’d never said as much when she visited, and Janet was happy to confess that she was the needlewoman and blushed when she was praised again.

  ‘How they do like being rocked,’ Sister Castleton observed. ‘Our new baby loves it. In fact between you and me, it’s the only thing that will settle him at the moment, poor little lamb, wrapping him up all nice and warm in his shawl and putting him in his crib and rocking him. He found being born quite a trial. How do you settle this little one for the night?’

  ‘We give her cuddles,’ Maisie volunteered, ‘and Rosie sings her lullabies. She likes lullabies.’

  ‘I’m sure she does,’ Sister Castleton said, beaming at Rosie. ‘We all like singing, don’t we? That’s a sort of rocking too. And you take her for walks too, don’t you? I’ve seen you from milady’s window and thought how pretty you looked out in the fresh air.’ She went on pushing the horse very gently and Rachel patted its mane and smiled at her and got a beaming smile in return and the three girls watched them both. It had suddenly become very peaceful in their pretty white room.

  ‘I went down to the kitchens yesterday to see them about a little matter of Lady Howard’s present diet,’ Sister Castleton said in her quiet way. ‘They were so helpful. But I don’t need to tell you that because I’m sure you know it already. We are very lucky in our kitchen staff.’ Then she changed tack — slightly but alarmingly. ‘The steak and kidney pudding they gave us today was delicious. Don’t you think so?’

  Rosie and Janet stiffened with distress, both thinking the same thing. She’d heard what they were shouting when she came in, and now they were going to be scolded for it. She was smiling at them and didn’t look cross and seemed to be waiting for an answer but that only made things worse because neither of them knew what to say. Their thoughts were too complicated by anxiety to put into words. In the end Rosie swallowed her panic and spoke up. ‘Mr Rossi sent up a little plateful for Rachel,’ she said, hoping it was the right thing. ‘She liked it ever so much. She ate every mouthful.’

  Sister Castleton smiled approval. ‘I’m sure she did,’ she said. ‘It was beautifully cooked. So tender. And of course highly nutritious. But then Mr Rossi has children of his own, so he knows how to tempt them.’ She smiled encouragingly at Janet. ‘You don’t look sure about it, Janet.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to upset her digestion,’ Janet said, defending herself. ‘I mean she’s very little. Mrs Tenbury said I was to feed her bread and milk.’

  ‘Weaning these little ones is a delicate business,’ Sister Castleton observed. ‘The trouble is, all our babies are different, and they all grow at their own pace. Sometimes it’s very hard to tell when they’re ready for solid food. It’s a matter of trial and error really, isn’t it? But you seem to be doing very well at it, tempting her with little portions and watching to see if she enjoys it and if she would like more. Isn’t that so?’ The two girls nodded and were relieved to be able to agree with her. Perhaps they weren’t going to be scolded after all. ‘In fact,’ the sister went on, ‘if I were to be asked my opinion, I would say you’re very good at it. And of course you’ve got the sense to ask for advice if you’re not sure about anything.’ More nodding.

  ‘Get down,’ Rachel said, holding out her arms. And then added, remembering her manners. ‘Please!’

  Sister Castleton lifted her down and gave her a kiss. ‘Now you must show me the room where your little brother is going to sleep,’ she said. ‘He’ll be here in a day or two and we must make sure everything is ready for him.’ She looked at Janet. ‘There are five rooms in the suite I believe. I must be quick about it because it wouldn’t do to leave the little man for too long.’

  Janet led the way and the rooms were inspected. Then the sister thanked them and told them everything was in order and left them with a final smile. They were glowing at the praise she’d given them and missed her as soon as she was out of the door. ‘Isn’t she lovely!’ Maisie said. ‘I mean for to say… Lovely. When she smiles like that it makes you feel all warm and lovely. It was like the sun coming out.’

  When I’m grown up, I’m going to be just like her, Rosie thought. Putting people right and making them feel good at the same time. It’s very clever. I shall watch her and see how she does it. I wonder when she’ll come and see us again.

  Sister Sunshine was back in the nursery a few days later and baby Bernard came with her. He was very small and very pale, but he had a footman to carry his crib and two maids struggling with a basket full of his clothes. He was a mere ten days old. Rosie was horrified.

  ‘He’ll starve,’ she said to Maisie when Sister Sunshine had carried him into his nursery, followed by his puffing retinue. ‘Poor little thing. Never mind baskets and cribs, what will they do when he cries to be fed?’

  They were to discover that almost at once when another maid arrived carrying a square basket full of extraordinary things, several bottles shaped like bananas, a dish full of rubber things that looked very peculiar, two kettles, two jugs, a small one made of glass and a large one of blue china, a long spoon, a scoop and a little spatula, and a tin with a blue-and-white label that said ‘Cow and Gate Dried Pure English Milk’. They stood in a circle round the table where she’d put it, with Maisie holding Rachel’s hand, and examined the curious things for some time.

  ‘How can you have dry milk?’ Janet asked. ‘Milk’s wet. We all know that.’

  They couldn’t explain it but that’s what it said on the tin.

  ‘Now,’ Sister Sunshine said, coming up behind them, ‘if one of you will fill one of these kettles for me, we’ll make up a nice little bottle ready for baby when he wakes. There’s a nice fire in his nursery. It shouldn’t take long.’

  So Maisie entertained Rachel with her bricks and Rosie took the kettle into the baby’s nursery where there was a sink with a tap above it and set it on the trivet in front of the fire and then they waited to see what would happen next. It wasn’t long before the baby began to cry, ‘A-la, a-la, a-la.’

  ‘He wants his titty,’ Rosie said knowledgeably.

  ‘He does,’ Sister Sunshine agreed, turning to the basket of curiosities. ‘Watch closely and I’ll show you what we’re going to do about it.’

  They watched as she opened the tin and measured out a scoopful of milk-col
oured powder into the blue jug, poured a measure of boiling water on top of it, stirred them together with the long spoon and poured the resulting mixture into one of the banana bottles, finishing off by fixing a rubber plug on one end and a rubber teat on the other. The baby went on crying the whole time, ‘A-la, a-la.’ Poor little thing.

  ‘Now,’ Sister Sunshine said, standing up with the bottle in her hand, ‘all I’ve got to do is to cool it down under the tap until it’s the right temperature and then we’re ready.’

  It seemed to take her a very long time and the baby cried more and more pathetically all the while. But at last she took the bottle away from the running tap and shook a few drops of milk out onto her forearm. ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Hold it for me Rosie and I’ll go and get him.’

  The baby was lifted out of his crib and settled on her lap before the fire. By that time he was hiccupping with distress and when Sister eased the teat towards his mouth and gave it a little shake so that a few drops of milk fell out onto his lips, he turned his head away from it and began to whimper.

  ‘This may take some time,’ Sister said. ‘We’ll get there in the end, won’t we, my little man, but we might be better if we were on our own.’

  They took the hint at once and went to get on with their work in the day nursery. But Rosie was brooding and thinking dark thoughts as she worked. That poor baby should have been fed and comforted the minute he cried, the way Ma had fed and comforted young Edie. It wasn’t kind or natural to make him wait. She’s not much of a mother that ol’ duchess, she thought, an’ someone should tell her so. But when Lady Howard came into the nursery two days later to check on her children, she was so grand that Rosie was speechless at the sight of her. She was dressed in the most elaborate dressing gown Rosie had ever seen, all pale blue silk and lace, her hair was piled up on her head in such a complication of curls that Rosie wondered if it was a wig and she spoke in such a drawling voice it was quite hard to understand what she was saying. Not that she had anything to say to her nursemaids. She spoke directly to Sister Sunshine and didn’t even look at them, although they bobbed curtseys to greet her. Rosie felt aggrieved to be so carelessly ignored and was quite glad that the illustrious lady didn’t stay for long. Just time enough to satisfy herself that her son was gradually learning to take his bottle and that her daughter was ‘doing nicely’ and then she swept out of the room, leaving her perfume behind her.

  Nobody’s going to tell that one anything, Rosie thought, glaring at the door. She wouldn’t listen, leave alone hear. Pa was right. If you’re a servant, you ent allowed to have an opinion. You just have to say, ‘Yes, me Lord,’ an’, ‘Yes, me Lady,’ an’ do as you’re told. And that’s not natural. We’re humans same as she is.

  But at least they had their dear Sister Sunshine to look after them all and she was doing it wonderfully. As soon as she discovered that Rosie had been out on her own on her first afternoon off and hadn’t enjoyed it very much, she arranged for her day to be changed so that she could go out at the same time as Maisie, ‘and leave your work behind and just have a bit of fun together, which you’ve earned.’ It changed the colour of her week.

  It took the two of them a little while to work out what they were going to do about Rosie’s lack of money. Maisie said at once that she’d pay for things until Rosie got her wages, but Rosie was adamant that she would only borrow money if she could pay back every penny and insisted that they keep accounts in a little notebook. So it was agreed and on their first afternoon they went to the post office and bought a pen and a bottle of ink and four stamps and a little pocket notebook for their accounts. Then, having satisfied Rosie’s conscience, they explored the town.

  There were so many shops to see and exclaim over and so many grand ladies in their fine clothes drifting in and out of them that it was four o’clock before they realised how hungry they were and how much they needed tea.

  ‘I know just the place,’ Maisie said. ‘It’s my favourite.’ And she turned into one of the side streets, where there were lots of general stores selling jams and biscuits and walked until she reached a little tea shop. It was a little low room, a step down from the street, with dark oak beams striping the ceiling and an oak shelf all along the walls where there were blue plates and jugs, and tables and chairs everywhere they looked — most of them noisily occupied — and even a clock, ‘so’s we can keep an eye on the time an’ not be late.’ Rosie was very taken with it. They found themselves a seat in the chimney corner and ordered tea and sticky buns.

  ‘What a day we’ve had,’ Rosie said, taking her pencil out of her pinafore pocket and making a note of her share of the tea.

  ‘An’ we can do it again next week,’ Maisie said, licking the end of her finger so that she could pick up the last crumbs of her sticky bun.

  ‘What a lot I shall have to tell Ma,’ Rosie said happily.

  Her letter ran to two tightly written, excited pages and was posted the next day, so it was rather a disappointment when a week passed without an answer. And an even bigger one when the answer finally arrived. It was put beside her plate at breakfast time, but she didn’t open it until she was back in the nursery because she wanted to enjoy it privately. It was written on half a sheet of notepaper in her mother’s painstaking handwriting and very brief.

  ‘Dear Rosie,’ it said. ‘Thank you for yours. I am glad to see you are goin on orl right. we are well. Your loving Ma.’

  And that was all.

  Tears filled Rosie’s throat and tumbled out of her eyes. She had to run into the night nursery, or she’d have been weeping in front of the others. I sent her that lovely long letter, she mourned, as she sat on her bed reading the note again, and I told her everything I could, and this is all she can send me back. It made her feel as if she’d been forgotten. But no matter how sad and angry she felt there was a day to get on with and work to be done. She dried her eyes and squared her shoulders and got on with it.

  It was over a week before she could bring herself to write another letter home and this time she wrote to Tommy. At least he knew how to read and could write a bit more than Ma if he stirred his stumps enough to do it.

  The stumps were stirred the very next day.

  ‘Dear Rosie,’ Tommy wrote. ‘Got yours this morning. what larks your having We got a good crop of apples coming along Ma says to tell you we will save some for you when you come what she’ll store away. One of Pas ol cows was took sick but she is better now. Tess say to send you her love. We are orl well. Charlie and me been fishing Chichester way an I cort a eel. Didden half riggel. youd ha laffed. Your loving brother Tommy.’

  She wrote back to him that evening, and, from then on, they kept up a cheerful if rather disjointed correspondence through the summer, the autumn and the winter. It was still a long way to Mothering Sunday, but the days passed, and she intended to enjoy whatever pleasures came her way. Sister Sunshine left them; the new baby grew plump, sat up, crawled and began to gabble towards speech; the old one continued on her serious way; Rosie and Maisie took tea in their favourite shop every week, and once they’d saved up enough money from their wages and found that the castle dressmaker would run things up for them cheaply, they bought material to make new clothes for themselves, in Maisie’s case a pretty blouse with puffed sleeves, in Rosie’s a red skirt that swirled when she swung her hips. They wore their new finery at Christmas dinner and were much admired. But it was still a long way to Mothering Sunday.

  January passed quietly: Maisie celebrated her fourteenth birthday and woke up to find the world was white with snow: Spring arrived cautiously: and at long, long, achingly yearned-for last, it was the twenty-first of March and Mothering Sunday and they were standing in line to be given a Simnel cake and a little bunch of violets to take home to their mothers.

  It seemed to Rosie that it took a very long time to travel home although in fact it was a quicker journey than the one she and her father had undertaken all those months ago, because this time she travelled on a trai
n, from Arundel to Chichester and from Chichester to a little stop called Lavant which was just across the fields from the church of St Mary’s at East Lavant where she’d always gone with her parents.

  It was such a joy to walk through those familiar wooden gates under that familiar lantern and stroll through a crowd of her neighbours along the winding path to the church door. I’ve come home, she thought. This is how things ought to be. And then, with a rapturous lift of her heart, she saw Ma and Pa and Tommy and the littluns, waiting for her in the sunshine. She ran towards them with her hands full of gifts and Ma caught her up in her arms and hugged her tight until they were both crying, and Pa gave his gruff, embarrassed cough and kissed her cheek.

  Then they were all inside their familiar church with the great east window, blue and white and full of sunshine, smiling down upon them and the organ pipes rising before them like golden reeds. Oh it’s so good to be home, she thought, as she settled in her familiar pew between her parents. And so good to be sitting round the same old table in the cottage and talking in almost the same old way. It was a very short visit, but she savoured every moment of it, Sunday dinner, village gossip, Simnel cake and all. She even enjoyed the walk to the station to catch her train back to Arundel because they all came with her.

  ‘See you next year,’ they called as she leant out of the window to wave goodbye.

  She blew kisses at them until they were out of sight. Oh yes, yes, she thought, I will see you next year. It was all right. She still had her family.

  Maggie Goodison was very quiet on the walk back to Binderton. John gave Edie a piggyback all the way home and joggled her and made her laugh and Tommy and Tess skipped along behind them telling one another what a lark it had been to see their Rosie, but Maggie was torn with misery. It had been such a short visit. They’d hardly had time to say anything to one another and there was so much that needed to be said. There’s this baby coming, she thought, rubbing her swollen belly, and it’ll be seven months old before she sees it. And she’s grown so tall I hardly knew her. What a weary world we live in. It wasn’t like her to give in to misery but when that hateful train had gone steaming off to Chichester in its nasty heartless way, she felt so lost she wanted to cry.