The Downstairs Maid

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘Open this door at once.’

  ‘I’ve taken a tisane for my head. Please go away, Mama.’

  ‘Very well. I shall speak to you in the morning. This sulking is not becoming, Lizzie.’

  Lizzie didn’t answer. She counted to fifty after her mother had gone, then slipped a velvet evening coat over her dress, picked up her purse and peeped out of the door. The coast was clear and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her family would be in the drawing room having a pre-dinner sherry. If she slipped down the back stairs, after locking the door to her room, she might make her escape without being seen.

  Her heart was racing as she ran along the landing and down the stairs to the servants’ hall. They were all busy in the kitchen and she could hear the sound of pans clattering and voices raised in laughter as they went about their work. A delicious smell of dinner permeated the air, making her feel hungry. Tight with tension, she slipped past the kitchen and out into the back courtyard. It was dark outside apart from the light spilling out of the house. Lifting her skirts high, and taking off her satin dancing shoes, Lizzie ran past the old water butt, through the rose gardens to the front of the house.

  She had brought a handkerchief, which she used to dry her feet before slipping on her shoes and disposing of the dirty handkerchief behind a rose bush, then walked sedately to the end of the drive just as Jack Manning’s automobile turned in at the gates. He halted, opened the door for her to get in and then turned to look at her. Lizzie knew he was surprised to see her waiting for him here rather than at the house. She could hardly look at him as she made her excuse.

  ‘Mama had a headache and the house was too warm,’ she said. ‘I thought I would take a little air.’

  He accepted her explanation without question as she slid into the passenger seat. Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief. She’d made her escape, though if her parents discovered what she’d done she would be in trouble. Yet they already kept her almost a prisoner so what more could they do to her?

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Jack said. ‘I’m really looking forward to this evening, Lizzie. Unfortunately, it will be the last time that I shall see you for a while. I’ve been passed as fit and they’re sending me back to the Front after Christmas.’

  ‘Oh … I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shall miss you.’

  ‘Yes, I shall miss seeing you at the home,’ he said. ‘But I’m glad to be going out there again with the lads.’

  Lizzie nodded, hoping he might ask her to write to him, but he didn’t and she wondered exactly what she meant to him – was this just a pleasant way to spend an evening? She’d hoped he might be starting to care for her.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening. We must do it again sometime – when I’m home on leave.’

  Jack leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and then got out of the car and opened the door. Lizzie slid from the seat. She thanked him again for her lovely evening, waiting, hoping, he might say something more. When he didn’t she turned away and walked up to the house, entering by the front door.

  The dancing had been wonderful and Lizzie had enjoyed every moment, but if she’d expected it to be a romantic interlude she’d been disappointed. Jack had met some of his friends at the hotel, a group of three couples; the men were army officers and the ladies were friends. Lizzie was the outsider, but they’d made her welcome and she’d danced most of the evening, either with Jack or one or other of his friends. They had all enjoyed a delicious dinner, which was served between dances and Lizzie had felt very grown up. These people treated her as if she were a woman with a responsible job, laughing and talking about the war and life in general.

  They spoke about women working in factories for a wage of thirty shillings a week, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Jack and his friends discussed Mr Churchill’s resignation, and they spoke of the terrible reverses inflicted on the Allies at Gallipoli – and of the certainty that conscription would come in very shortly.

  The women seemed as knowledgeable as the men and Lizzie felt very gauche and ignorant, because there was so much she didn’t know – wasn’t allowed to know. Somehow she’d managed not to show her innocence too openly, discussing the convalescent home with first-hand knowledge of the men’s suffering. Because of that they accepted her and she was feeling content when Jack said it was time to leave – but she’d hoped that he would say something, show that he wanted a relationship and it hurt that he hadn’t. He hadn’t even said he would write or asked her to write to him.

  Perhaps it was because of that vague disappointment that she forgot she had sneaked out and went in at the front door. She was halfway up the stairs when her mother’s voice called to her from the landing above. Lizzie looked up, catching her breath as she saw the expression in Lady Barton’s eyes.

  ‘And where have you been, miss – as if I didn’t know?’

  Lizzie felt the ice at her nape, but she stood her ground and looked her mother in the eyes. ‘I kept my appointment, Mama. I’m almost nineteen, old enough to go out with a gentleman alone if I wish. This isn’t the Victorian age. Young women are doing all kinds of work these days – and doing a better job than the men are in the factories, according to the newspapers. You cannot keep me a prisoner just because of what Amy has done. It isn’t fair …’

  ‘How dare you defy me? You wicked, wanton girl!’

  Lady Barton’s hand snaked out, slapping her hard across the cheek. Lizzie recoiled as she felt the sting but she refused to cry. Instead, she stuck her head in the air and walked on past her mother.

  ‘How dare you walk away from me? I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  Lizzie ignored her and continued to walk to her door. She found it open and realised that her mother had suspected something and found another key. Lady Barton caught hold of her arm, swinging her round roughly.

  ‘If you dare to ignore me you will be sorry.’

  ‘I refuse to be treated like a child. If you stop me working at the home I shall run away – go to London and join the VADs …’

  ‘Give me the key to your room. I shall lock you in and you will not come out until you beg my pardon.’

  ‘Never!’

  Lady Barton’s hand shot out, slapping Lizzie again even harder.

  ‘Stop it, Helen,’ Lady Prior said, coming down the landing towards them. She walked haltingly with her stick, but her voice carried the ring of authority. ‘Lizzie has been foolish, but she has a point. You do try to keep her a prisoner and she isn’t to blame for what her sister did. It is hardly any wonder if she disobeys you.’

  ‘You will please allow me to chastise my daughter in my own way. I may have to live in your house but Lizzie is still my daughter and …’

  Lady Barton would have said more but at that moment the older lady’s face turned purple and she gasped for air. She tugged at the high neck of her nightgown, seeming to choke and then, with a little sigh, she collapsed onto the floor.

  ‘Granny …’ Lizzie flung herself down on the floor, untying the strings of her grandmother’s nightgown. ‘She’s ill … Please, Mama. Granny needs help. She needs the doctor …’

  ‘Now see what you’ve done,’ Lady Barton said and looked angry. ‘You are a wicked girl, Lizzie Barton – and if your grandmother dies it will be your fault …’

  Chapter 40

  ‘I had to come and tell you,’ Mr Johnson said as he entered the kitchen that morning, two weeks after Christmas. ‘Lady Prior has been taken ill and they aren’t sure whether she will live.’

  ‘Miss Lizzie will be very distressed, I must find the time to visit soon,’ Emily said and got up to set another cup and saucer on the tray. ‘You will have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thanks, lass,’ he said and sat down at the table. ‘What’s this I hear about the two of you opening a shop in Ely? I thought Christopher was going to work for Sir Arthur?’

  ‘Well, he was but the shop came vacant and we’re renting it on a month by month basis. Christopher seems interested in setting it
up, though I’m not sure he knows what he wants.’

  Emily frowned. Things had improved in the bedroom, because instead of trying to make love to her, Christopher merely held her and kissed her before saying goodnight. He had been silent and thoughtful for a few days after their wedding night, but then he’d started to work in the garden again, and he’d fetched down the box of bits and pieces he’d told her about. There were candlesticks, a pair of Worcester vases with pretty rural scenes, a tray set with mother of pearl, an inlaid wooden trinket box, a brass pen tray and inkwell and several other vases and jugs, also a cut-glass dressing table set. All of them had some age to them, though nothing was as special as the air twist glass Emily had discovered at the bottom of the box of junk she’d brought home.

  Christopher told her he’d bought the things from the auction in the market and saved them for her. She could keep what she wanted and the rest would go into the shop as stock. Emily kept the dressing table set, because there was a tiny chip on one of the trays. She liked all the bits and pieces, but they needed stock to open their shop, which they were planning to do very soon. Emily had given it all a good clean but nothing else much needed to be done other than transport a cabinet and some bits and pieces from the barn to furnish it. The last tenant had put up several shelves, which would be useful for displaying their bits and pieces. They were both excited about the shop and if only things had been better in bed, she was sure they could have been truly happy.

  ‘Nothing wrong between you two, is there?’ Mr Johnson asked. ‘Christopher seems a bit quiet and you don’t smile as much as you used to, Em. If I can do anything to help – if it’s money …’

  ‘No, thank you. We both had some savings and you’ve been more than generous as it is,’ Emily said. ‘I dare say we’ve both had a lot on our minds.’

  ‘Christopher isn’t worse, is he? You would tell me?’

  ‘Sir Arthur took him into Ely this morning to see a doctor. He should get his final discharge from the Army on grounds of medical unfitness to serve, but as far as I know he is improving all the time.’

  ‘They ought to look after the lads better,’ Mr Johnson grumbled. ‘Give them compensation or a pension …’

  ‘Christopher has been receiving part of his pay until now. I’m not sure what will happen when he’s discharged completely.’

  ‘Sir Arthur would have paid Christopher a decent wage. This business of yours is a bit dicey.’

  ‘Sir Arthur says Christopher can change his mind if he wishes. He has been so good to us, Dad. They send us vegetables and eggs from the estate – and we had a lovely chicken last Sunday.’

  ‘Sir Arthur is a decent man. I thought he was going to marry the elder of the two Barton girls, but from what I hear of her behaviour it may be just as well he didn’t.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m not one for gossip, but I heard that she’d run off with some man – a foreigner by the sound of it. Bell Vane or something of the sort.’

  ‘Belvane,’ Emily was shocked. Surely it couldn’t be true. She knew Amy had liked him. She’d gone out with him a couple of times when they were in London just before the war started – but to run off with him? ‘Why would she do that? Surely the tale is just a wicked rumour?’

  ‘It came from someone connected with the manor – can’t repeat the tale word for word, but the way I understand it is that he was married and she went off to live with him abroad somewhere.’

  ‘If that is true – poor Miss Lizzie.’ Emily felt a wave of sympathy for the girl she’d come to think of as a friend. ‘Her mother has always kept her at home, giving her very little freedom. What will happen now, I don’t know.’

  ‘You can never be sure if these tales are true, but it sounds bad. Reflects on the whole family. As I said, Sir Arthur is well out of it as it turns out.’

  Emily made no reply. Had Sir Arthur not been involved in scandal himself, Amy would have married him. She might never have met Belvane and she certainly would not have run off with him.

  If the tale were true, Amy had ruined herself. She would be an outcast from society and her family would probably cut her off. Miss Lizzie was going to suffer and it would make things uncomfortable for the whole family.

  For a moment Emily let her thoughts dwell on what might have been. If she’d listened to Nicolas that night, and turned her back on Christopher and walked away with the man she loved … what would have happened then? There was no point in dwelling on it. She’d had her chance and she’d turned it down. Having made her bed she must lie in it.

  Just as Mr Johnson was preparing to leave, the door opened and Christopher walked in. His expression was serious but as he saw his father he nodded to him, making an effort to appear cheerful as he did whenever one of his parents came to visit.

  ‘How are you, Dad?’ he asked. ‘And Mum?’

  ‘We’re pretty fair. How did you get on with the doctor, lad?’

  Christopher frowned at Emily, then he said, ‘He says I’m probably as fit as I shall be – which isn’t fit enough to return to service. I’ve been classed as disabled and I’ll be getting a discharge, and perhaps a few shillings a month as a pension.’

  ‘I was saying to Emily, they ought to do more for our lads. You gave everything for the country and you deserve a better life.’

  ‘I’m fit enough to work according to the doctor so I shan’t get much. He’ll put his report in and we’ll see – but I don’t want their money. If the shop doesn’t work out I’ll be working for Sir Arthur. I might not be able to work with wood the way I used to but I can keep accounts and collect rent – and, if I decide to take his offer, I’ll be getting a bike. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.’

  Mr Johnson nodded and took his leave. After the door closed behind him there was silence in the kitchen. Christopher had bought a paper and he sat down with it, not speaking to Emily.

  ‘He asked where you were. I didn’t think you would mind me telling him you were visiting the doctor to get your discharge.’

  ‘I didn’t …’ Christopher put the paper down and stood up. ‘I asked the doctor about down there – my wedding tackle. He says there’s nothing wrong physically and it’s just in my mind.’

  ‘Really?’ Emily felt a sense of relief. ‘Then it will be all right … when you’re ready?’

  ‘If it’s a mental thing I should get over it, Em – if you can put up with me a bit longer? I know I’m not easy but … I feel I’m letting you down. It wasn’t meant to be this way. I’d a bright future ahead of me and I wanted to give you so much. I do love you …’ He grinned at her in his old way and her heart swelled with love, because he was trying so hard to overcome his disability and he was her dearest friend.

  ‘I know – and I love you,’ she said, her eyes wet with tears, because she so wanted to make things better for him. She knelt at his side, looking up at him. ‘Is it me – am I doing something wrong?’

  ‘No, of course you’re not, Emily. Perhaps I’ve been in too much of a hurry.’

  ‘There’s no hurry. I do love you, Christopher, and I want to make you happy.’

  ‘You have, of course you have.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I think we’re together too much, Em. I was talking to Sir Arthur – and I think I’ll go for that job. We’ll take the shop for six months. You can look after it yourself. You don’t need me for that, Em. You know as much about these things as I do. Try it and see how you get on – and if it doesn’t work I’ll still have my job and you can just give a month’s notice on the shop.’

  Emily got to her feet, turning away as she tried to sort out her feelings, which were mixed. She’d planned on working with him in the shop, making it a joint venture. Christopher was good at selling and she wasn’t sure how she would manage it alone. Besides, there was the house – and she was his wife; she was supposed to look after him.

  ‘I thought … What about the housework and cooking?’

  ‘You can open the shop four days a week.
There’s not much to do here – and I can manage to put the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea. If you prepare supper before you leave, I can put the pot on the stove ready for when you get back. It would give you an interest – and I’ll still be here to help in any way I can.’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  Christopher was offering her a life she would enjoy, but it wasn’t one most men would accept. His parents would be horrified; they would say her place was at home and perhaps it was – but without a proper marriage and children … Yet perhaps if the doctor was right and it was all in his mind they could try again.

  ‘If things sort out as I want and we do have a child, you can employ someone to take over in the shop,’ Christopher said as he rustled his newspaper. There was a story on the back about some trouble in Russia and a rumour that the czar might abdicate soon. ‘Besides, it might lose money and then you’ll know it wasn’t a good idea.’

  Emily’s throat felt tight. She’d tried to hide her disappointment that they might not have a family but he’d known, he’d known and it had hurt him. She’d never wanted to hurt him. He was her friend and she cared for him. She moved towards him, putting out a hand to touch his cheek.

  ‘You’re so good to me, Christopher. I want it to be right for us – I truly do.’

  ‘I know, Em. None of it is your fault. I have to find my own way. There’s not much I can’t manage now – except for this damned thing.’ He looked at his injured hand with disgust. ‘The doctor thinks they might be able to do something for me in time. I’ll never be as good as new, but maybe I’ll be able to use my hand a bit if they can separate the thumb from the fingers.’

  ‘It would mean another operation I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, but I’d do anything to be right … for you.’ He smiled and reached out, touching her cheek. ‘We’ll try again … tonight, if you’re willing?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am.’ She gave him a loving look and reached up to kiss him. ‘You know I love you, Christopher. All I want is for us both to be happy.’