The Downstairs Maid

by Rosie Clarke

  Lizzie felt chastened. She’d only spoken a few words to the man and she couldn’t see what the fuss was about. She’d liked the way he looked at her, making her feel she was a pretty girl and not just Amy’s little sister. She wouldn’t have minded talking to him some more if her brother hadn’t come along – but she would probably never see him again.

  Sometimes she thought she would be a child for ever. Would her family never allow her to have any fun? She wanted to be taken to dances and parties like Amy, instead of being stuck at home with her mother and Granny.

  Of course the man she’d met wasn’t a gentleman, but she’d only wanted to talk, perhaps flirt a little.

  Surely there couldn’t be any harm in that?

  Chapter 9

  Emily smiled as she came from the dairy and saw Harry Standen talking to Pa. She knew that Harry had brought his bull to one of their cows that morning. Emily had heard the shouts from the yard behind the cowsheds but hadn’t gone to see what the fuss was all about. She had been busy all the morning, ironing and baking and polishing, and now she’d just finished churning the butter.

  ‘Good morning, Emily,’ Harry said and came to greet her. ‘Your pa asked me to stop for a cup of tea before I go. I’m glad to have seen you alone – I was wondering if you would come out with me one evening? We could go to the cinema or a concert – or there’s a dance on in Cambridge, if you fancied it?’

  ‘When is the dance?’

  ‘Not until next week.’

  Emily thought quickly. She could make herself a skirt and use the bolero from the dress she’d worn at Christmas, and now she had those wonderful dancing slippers.

  ‘Then I’d love to go to the dance,’ she said and gave him a flashing smile. ‘Why don’t you come and have a cup of tea? We’ve been baking all morning – jam tarts and Ma’s famous seed cake.’

  ‘Thank you, I will,’ Harry said. ‘Ma told me to send you her good wishes, Emily. She liked you – thought you were a very pretty young lady. I do too …’ His neck heated as he spoke and Emily felt like laughing but kept her amusement inside. Harry was nice and she liked him.

  Emily hadn’t thought about getting married yet. She was far too young and her ambition was to make something of herself before she settled down to marriage and children. Of course a man like Harry would provide a much better life than Pa had been able to give Ma, but Emily felt she wanted time to grow up, time to learn things and see a bit of life.

  Not that Harry was thinking of marriage, of course. He just liked her – and it would be nice to go out with him sometimes, if her mother and Pa agreed.

  When they went into the kitchen, Emily’s heart sank because Derek was sitting there already, having a cup of tea. He looked at them, his eyes narrowed and calculating, as if he were weighing Harry up and wondering why he was here. Emily felt his eyes on her as she took the can of milk she was carrying into the cool pantry and poured some of it into a jug. She brought it back to the table just as her mother poured fresh water into the teapot.

  ‘Well, this is nice, Mr Standen,’ Ma said. ‘How did things go in the yard?’

  ‘Very well. I’m sure your Annie will provide a decent calf for you in a few months.’

  ‘It was good of you to bring the bull yourself rather than just sending your stockman.’

  ‘I like to see a job done myself,’ Harry replied. ‘Besides, I have to admit that I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to see Emily – and to ask her out. She has said she will come to a dance with me next week – if that’s all right with you and Mr Carter?’

  Ma looked at him, and then sent Emily a coy glance. ‘I’m sure I’ve no objection. We can trust you to look after Emily, Mr Standen. Joe won’t mind, as long as you have her back by eleven.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Harry said and sipped his tea. He’d accepted a piece of cake and ate it with evident enjoyment. ‘If Emily is half as good a cook as you, Mrs Carter, she’ll make someone a good wife one day.’

  ‘She will indeed,’ Ma said and preened. ‘I’ve taught her myself.’

  Derek made a snort of disgust and pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll be off, I’ve got work to do,’ he said and shot a look of anger at Emily as he passed her. He slammed the kitchen door as he went out, but Emily ignored him.

  Jack was whimpering in his playpen. Emily went over and picked him up, wiping his running nose with a handkerchief. She didn’t know why he seemed so vulnerable to colds and illnesses, and sometimes she thought he wasn’t just as he ought to be – a little slow or backward perhaps – but she hadn’t said anything to her mother, because she didn’t know for sure. Perhaps a lot of babies were this way.

  She could hear the murmur of voices as Ma quizzed Harry about his farm and his mother, and then the scrape of a chair as he stood up.

  ‘That was very nice, Mrs Carter,’ he said. ‘I need to get on, but I’ll call for you Saturday next week, Emily.’

  ‘I shan’t forget. Thank you.’

  Jack had stopped crying. She put him down and fetched his bottle of juice, watching as he sucked at it for a moment before turning away to clear the table.

  ‘You’ll need a new dress,’ her mother said.

  ‘I thought I would make a skirt and use the bolero I had at Christmas.’

  ‘You can borrow my best silk blouse,’ Ma said. ‘I’ve got a pattern. What you need is a nice bit of black wool or heavy satin to make a skirt. I’ll help you get it ready if you buy a length when you go to the market tomorrow.’

  Emily was surprised, but there was a gleam in her mother’s eyes. Now what was she thinking?

  ‘I should like a pale colour rather than black,’ she said, thinking about her dancing slippers. ‘But I’m sure I’ll find something and I’ve got three shillings saved.’

  She smiled to herself as she went upstairs. She hadn’t expected Harry to invite her out so soon, and she was excited – but she hoped Ma hadn’t got silly ideas that she was serious yet.

  Emily did her mother’s shopping first that morning, and then headed towards the stall selling lengths of material. She had a good idea of what she wanted but wasn’t sure whether she would be able to afford the quality material she’d envisaged in her mind. At first glance everything she liked appeared to be too expensive, but then she discovered a length of fine cream suiting. With a pretty blouse it would do for dancing but she could also use it for church on Sunday.

  She asked the stall keeper to measure it and there was just enough. The price was two shillings and sixpence, which meant she couldn’t afford a new blouse as well, but she could borrow Ma’s or wear her own best blouse and trim the high neck with a piece of lace.

  She was turning away when she saw Christopher walking towards her through the market. Waiting for him, she greeted him with a smile.

  ‘Is this your lunch break?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. I don’t often close the shop but I saw you so I thought I’d come out and have a word. I’m going for a pie and chips – would you like to come?’

  Emily hesitated, and then glanced at the clock on the market square. Pa had gone on an errand and told her he would be back in an hour. She had half an hour left.

  ‘I have to meet Pa soon, but I might have a glass of lemonade and pinch one or two of your chips.’

  Christopher laughed and agreed, offering her his arm. They crossed the market square again and went into the café. Christopher directed her to a table and ordered their meal. He ordered her a pie and chips too, because, as he said, it didn’t matter if she didn’t eat them all.

  Emily nodded, feeling pleased with the unexpected treat. She hadn’t expected to see Christopher unless she popped into the shop. He told her that he’d been busy. He’d sold several small things that week and also the set of yew chairs Pa had bought from Harry Standen.

  ‘I was wondering if you might like to go out sometime,’ Christopher said just as their food arrived. ‘Just for a drink or a concert or something.’

  Emily considered. Harry
had asked her out and she’d said yes, but she liked Christopher too, and surely there was no harm in going out with friends? She wasn’t actually courting anyone. She nodded but when he suggested Saturday of the following week, she told him she already had an engagement that night. He looked crestfallen, but she said she would meet him for lunch on the following Thursday and he cheered up.

  Emily found him easy to talk to and enjoyed her meal. She thanked him and left when she spotted Pa’s wagon draw up near the shop.

  ‘I’ll see you next week,’ she said and ran out to meet her father. He turned his head to look at her, arching one eyebrow.

  ‘Where were you, Em?’

  ‘Having pie and chips with Christopher. I’m going to do it again next week.’

  ‘He’s a nice lad,’ her father said and nodded. ‘Ready to leave then?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’ve got all I want …’ She looked in the wagon and saw some scrap metal. ‘Did you buy what you wanted?’

  ‘Some of it. I had another errand …’ He shook his head when she arched her brow at him.

  Emily wondered where he went when he left her to shop alone. He wasn’t seeing another woman? No, not Pa. He might not love Ma but he wasn’t a cheat. Still, there was some mystery, unless … she wondered if he’d been to the doctor. Glancing at his coat pocket, she saw the bulge and knew she’d solved the puzzle. Pa had been to get something for that cough.

  It was spitting with rain as they left the market and drove past the shops in the High Street. Emily caught sight of Derek. He was talking to a young girl, arguing with her. She couldn’t see the girl’s face but she was almost sure it was Carla Bracknell …

  ‘I like Christopher,’ Pa said. ‘He hasn’t got much to offer yet, but one day he’ll do all right. You’ll see, Emily. He’s a bright young man.’

  Emily smiled and nodded. She liked Christopher too and she was glad she’d arranged to meet him again.

  Chapter 10

  Derek Black was in a temper. He was helping out at his brother-in-law’s farm, as he often did these days, replacing a rotten fence. He hammered the wooden fencing stakes into the ground with a fury that almost split the thick wood. If that stupid girl opened her mouth he was going to be in trouble. She’d loved what they did together at the beginning and vowed she would never tell another soul, but the little bitch was getting greedy, always demanding more and more from him. She was always at him, wanting him to give it to her. Not that he minded that, but she’d been dropping some worrying hints recently … asking what he felt about being together for always and putting her hands on her stomach suggestively. He’d tried to buy her off with presents, giving her a silver locket she’d coveted in the window of a jeweller in Ely, and some chocolates, but the previous night, when they’d met outside her father’s pub, she’d whispered something in his ear that terrified him.

  ‘I’m having your baby,’ she’d said. ‘My da will go off his head when he finds out – so you’d best think on what we’re going to do.’

  She’d broken from him then before he’d had a chance to question her and had run across the road to her father’s pub. He would have followed her but the door opened and a group of men came out, laughing and calling to her. Derek had held back because he didn’t want anyone to know he’d been seeing her.

  Josh Bracknell was a big, strong man with a fearful temper and Carla was only just eighteen – seventeen when Derek had first had her. If she was telling the truth, Josh was going to knock his head off – worse than that, he might be forced to marry the girl.

  In a way that wouldn’t be so bad, because her father owned the Golden Hen pub in Witchford and that must be worth a bob or two, but Carla was greedy and demanding and he’d already begun to tire of her. Besides, he wasn’t ready to marry yet. He wanted to travel a bit. His smallholding brought him in a decent living for a single man and his brother-in-law paid him a few bob for helping out at his farm, though Stella thought he did it for free. He’d had his eye on a nice motorbike, green it was with big shiny wheels. That would be a thing of the past if he were forced to marry the girl – and if her father turned ugly and refused to give them anything he’d be stuck with a wife and kids and nothing to show for it.

  There were a lot of pretty girls. Derek’s expression lightened as he thought of the girl he’d met coming from the village a couple of weeks earlier. Her clothes looked so odd that for a moment he’d thought it was Emily and his heartbeat had gathered pace as he anticipated seeing her. His niece avoided him whenever she could and he knew she was seeing someone, which made him angry. When he’d realised the girl was the youngest of Lord Barton’s daughters, he’d been amused. She was pretty and though he didn’t find her as sensual as Emily, he’d been conscious of his dick stiffening in his breeches. Yes, there were a lot of pretty girls about and he wasn’t about to get caught by that scheming bitch Carla.

  Swearing, Derek hammered the last of the thick wooden stakes into place and then turned in time to see Emily enter the dairy. The thought of his niece made him harden instantly. God, how he would like to stick it into her! He’d only taken up with Carla because the thought of Emily haunted him day and night. Stella would have him boiled alive if he touched her daughter, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

  He was torn between remorse for having feelings for his niece, because obviously he couldn’t have carnal knowledge of his own sister’s daughter, anger because of the scorn in Emily’s eyes as she looked at him – and regret that she was such a close relative. If Emily had not been forbidden to him, Derek knew he would have tried to court her – he might even have married her. There was something about Emily Carter that turned his guts to water, making him ache with need. It might have been her dark eyes, which sparkled with laughter or the thick luxuriant hair that tumbled over her shoulders when she let it hang loose. He thought his feelings for Emily came closer to love than anything he’d ever felt for anyone else and it tore him apart, knowing that he would never be able to have her.

  He moaned with need, closing his eyes as he thought of having her in his bed all night, of being able to turn over and touch her – have her every time he wanted her. Once a night would never be enough. He thought he could be at it all night with her.

  ‘Damn and blast …’ Clenching his hands at his sides, Derek forced his tormented thoughts to the back of his mind, as he finished his work for the morning. Time for a break and a cup of tea in his sister’s kitchen. He’d better stop lusting after a woman he could never have and think about what he was going to do about Carla.

  He didn’t want to marry her. She would just be a millstone round his neck, tying him down. Surely she was lying? Girls didn’t get pregnant every time they did it and he’d only been with Carla a dozen times or so, because she couldn’t always sneak out to meet him. He’d done it with tarts in Ely on scores of occasions and none of them had claimed to be pregnant, though he’d once caught a dose of the clap. That had been damned painful and the treatment even worse; it had cured him of going with tarts, which was why he’d snapped up the chance to take Carla down. She’d been a virgin but ripe and ready for the taking.

  ‘Stupid bitch,’ he muttered as he approached the dairy and glanced in. Emily had taken off her coat because she was warm churning the butter and her washed-out green dress strained against her breasts, outlining the nipples. He was so hard he could burst his breeches. Against his better judgement, he went into the dairy, swallowing the saliva in his throat as it tightened with lust. ‘Butter taking its time to come? Want a hand there, Emily love?’

  ‘No thanks, I can manage,’ she said, her eyes sharp and suspicious.

  ‘No call to be like that,’ he said. ‘I was only asking.’

  She set her mouth and didn’t answer.

  Derek felt the anger surface. She was proud but so beautiful and so desirable. She didn’t flaunt herself like Carla but the sex appeal just oozed out of her – even in those dreadful old clothes she was forced to wear. Her lovely d
ark hair smelled like flowers and her skin was as soft as velvet. If Emily were his he would dress her in silks and satins. God, how he wished he could have her for his own!

  ‘Suit yourself. I was just being friendly.’

  Turning, he left her at work and headed for the kitchen, where his sister would have the kettle on the boil and fresh cakes waiting on the table. Derek was twelve years younger than Stella and he’d always looked up to her, which was why he would never dare to step too far out of line with Emily. If Stella guessed what was in his mind she’d throw him out and never speak to him again.

  Derek’s temper wasn’t improved when he went up to the house only to discover Harry Standen already there, sitting with his feet under the table and drinking tea.

  He scowled into his mug of strong tea as he listened to the lively chatter around the large pine table with its eclectic mix of odd chairs, some oak, some elm, others pine like the table. It was like the rest of the stuff in this house, old rubbish Joe Carter bought cheap; the things other people threw away. As if the old skinflint couldn’t afford to buy Stella a decent modern set the way other men did! Derek knew he’d got a few bob put away even if Stella didn’t.

  Rage was boiling up inside him and it was all he could do to keep it inside. What was Harry Standen doing here, poking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted? Damn the man! Just because he owned one of the largest holdings in the district, apart from Sir Arthur Jones’s estate, so he thought he could lord it over the rest of them. Now he was after Emily and the jealousy inside him was so bitter that Derek could taste it on his tongue. He wanted to take the rotter by the throat and squeeze until he choked to death.

  ‘Something wrong with your tea?’ Stella asked. ‘I made that seed cake special for you, Derek, and you’ve hardly touched it.’

  It would choke him to get a morsel down, Derek thought. He was holding his temper by a thread but he couldn’t raise an objection to the idea of Emily going to a dance with Harry Standen. Stella was smiling and looking pleased. She’d got her best blue and white cups down from the dresser for the occasion and that showed what was in her mind. She was already making plans for her daughter’s wedding, down to the hat and shoes she would wear.