The Downstairs Maid

by Rosie Clarke

  Emily lay with her eyes closed. Christopher lay beside her sleeping. It still hadn’t quite happened for him but he’d seemed less intense and his lovemaking had made her cry out with pleasure. Tears had trickled down her cheeks as she jerked and held on to him, her mewing cries of pleasure seeming to give him pleasure even though he hadn’t penetrated her. But he had felt something, and afterwards he’d told her that he was sure it would happen soon.

  ‘I thought it was hopeless,’ he said as he held her close, ‘but there was something … enough to tell me the doc was right. It will happen, Em – if you can put up with me.’

  ‘If failing is as nice as that, I shall look forward to the day it happens,’ she said and kissed him on the lips. ‘You are a lovely man, Christopher Johnson, and I’m lucky to have you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he said, but laughed softly as he kissed her. ‘It will happen for me, Em – I know it will. The doctor told me just to relax and enjoy giving my wife pleasure. He says that the rest will happen in time if I’m patient.’

  ‘It was beautiful for me,’ she told him, snuggling up to his body. ‘You don’t regret marrying me now – do you?’

  ‘I could never do that,’ he said. ‘I’m happy enough, Em. If they can put my hand right I’ll be able to help with the shop as well as my job with Sir Arthur. We’ll have a future, Em – and perhaps in time we might even have a child.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re not bitter. I can be happy, Chris, if you can.’

  ‘I am,’ he assured her and held her close. ‘I will be a proper husband to you soon. I promise.’

  ‘You’ve made me happy tonight,’ she said and kissed him. ‘Just keep getting stronger, dearest – that is all I want …’

  ‘Go to sleep now, Em,’ he said. ‘I’m going to dig over the garden this next week or two, then plant some fruit bushes – and I’ll talk to Sir Arthur about starting work soon …’

  ‘And I think I’ll visit Miss Lizzie,’ Emily said. ‘I expect she’s feeling very upset over Lady Prior …’

  ‘Fine,’ Christopher said. ‘I might clean those brass candlesticks for you if I get time.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Whatever you want …’

  ‘You know I love you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I love you too.’

  ‘Goodnight then, Em …’

  ‘Goodnight …’

  Christopher had soon drifted into sleep but Emily lay awake thinking. If things continued to get better for them they might manage to have a good life together after all …

  ‘Granny has been very ill,’ Miss Lizzie told her when she came down to the kitchen to join Emily for a cup of tea and a piece of Mrs Hattersley’s cake. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, but I’ve been sitting with her most of the time.’

  ‘I was very sorry to hear about your grandmother,’ Emily said. ‘I wanted to come last week but couldn’t get away, though I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do …’

  ‘I’m sure you have enough to do and we can manage,’ Miss Lizzie said and then sighed. ‘I do wish you still worked here, Emily. I feel so lonely sometimes and there is no one to talk to – no one I can ask for advice.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I’m qualified to give advice – but if ever you need to talk you are welcome to come to the cottage or I could meet you somewhere.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Miss Lizzie smiled gratefully. ‘I shall write to you in advance, because I know you are busy.’

  ‘To be honest, at the moment I sometimes have time on my hands.’ She wondered what Miss Lizzie would think if she knew that Emily wished she’d never left service at the manor. ‘However, I may be busier soon, because we’re going to open a shop in Ely. We have collected some nice things and we plan to try it for six months to see if they will sell.’

  ‘How exciting! Is your husband looking forward to returning to the job he had before he joined up?’

  ‘Actually, I shall be running the shop. Christopher is going to work for Sir Arthur.’

  Miss Lizzie looked surprised, as well she might, for although more women worked these days, they were mostly in factories or unpaid voluntary positions. It was almost unheard of for a woman of Emily’s class to be running her own business. Emily felt a spasm of nerves in her stomach. Was she stepping too far out of line? Would people boycott the shop, because they considered her to be too forward or behaving in a way that was unbecoming?

  ‘Well, I think that is terrific. You are so brave, Emily. I wish I had your courage – but even if I wanted to leave home I couldn’t while Granny is so ill. It’s my fault, you see.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t …’ Emily began but Mrs Hattersley came back in from the scullery, where she had been instructing her latest help how to shape vegetables to look elegant on the plate.

  ‘Well, then, isn’t it good to have Emily back?’ she said, beaming at them. ‘It’s always nice when you come down for a visit, Miss Lizzie.’

  ‘I like to visit sometimes, especially when there are cakes straight from the oven – but I ought to get back now. I need a fresh jug of barley water for Granny, Mrs Hattersley, if you wouldn’t mind getting it for me?’

  ‘I’ll send June up with it later, miss.’

  Miss Lizzie glanced at Emily as she stood up. ‘It has been nice seeing you.’

  Emily guessed that she’d wanted to say more but Mrs Hattersley had not taken the hint to make herself absent for a few minutes longer. Whatever Miss Lizzie wanted to say was obviously private but must keep for another day.

  ‘Now we can have a cosy chat,’ Mrs Hattersley said. ‘Put the kettle on, Emily, and we’ll have another cup of tea.’

  Emily did as she was bid, though glancing at the wall clock she thought she would soon have to be going home. She’d left Christopher for three hours as it was but the next bus wasn’t due for half an hour so she might as well spend it talking to her friends.

  Just as the kettle was boiling, June came down to join them and then Mary. Mary was married now but her husband had been sent back to Belgium because he’d been passed fit, even though in his wife’s opinion he wasn’t ready. She held forth about the army sending men back to fight too soon and somehow the time slipped away and Emily knew it was too late to catch her bus now.

  She finally left the manor to walk to the village forty minutes later. Emily had enjoyed herself talking to her friends, but she’d left her old life behind and was eager to get back to her husband and her home. When she thought about it, she had a lot to look forward to, especially now that Christopher seemed so much more like his old self. Emily wasn’t going to look back – or think of what might have been.

  She was still lost in her thoughts as she got off the later bus and walked the short distance to her cottage on Sir Arthur’s estate. It took about ten minutes after leaving the bus and it was just beginning to get dark as she went into the kitchen and then stopped short as she saw that both Mr and Mrs Johnson were there and also Sir Arthur – and another man she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Mrs Johnson demanded the moment she got in. The look she threw at Lizzie was murderous. ‘We’ve all been trying to think where to find you but no one knew where you’d gone.’

  ‘Christopher knew I was going to see Miss Lizzie,’ Emily said and frowned as she looked round the kitchen. ‘Where is he – and why are you all here?’ A sliver of ice slid down her back as she saw their expressions. Sir Arthur looked sympathetic but Christopher’s parents were upset, angry with her, especially his mother. ‘Where is he – what has happened?’

  ‘If you’d been here, as you ought it might not have been too late,’ Mrs Johnson said bitterly. ‘By the time Father found him he was unconscious. Sir Arthur sent for an ambulance but they said he was dead …’

  ‘Dead?’ Emily’s heart caught. How could he be dead when last night he’d seemed so much better? He’d told her he loved her, made love to her so tenderly, and she’d thought it was all going to be all right �
�� and now he’d gone. She was swamped with guilt because she’d been sitting laughing with her friends when Christopher was dying. ‘I don’t understand. He was feeling so much better last night, talking of taking Sir Arthur’s job and helping me get the shop started. He told me to go visiting because he didn’t need me.’

  ‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Mrs Johnson said bitterly. ‘My boy didn’t like to be a burden to anyone – and especially you. He loved you, though it was obvious you didn’t feel the same …’

  ‘Now then, Mother,’ Mr Johnson said. ‘There’s no call to say such things to Emily. It isn’t her fault it happened while she was out.’ He looked at Emily and she saw the pain in his eyes. ‘Perhaps he didn’t tell you – but it could’ve happened at any time. There was a piece of shrapnel lodged in his chest and the doctors told him it might move. He knew what to expect if it did but he made me promise not to tell his mother, because he didn’t want people fussing over him.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’ Emily said. ‘When he came back from the doctor’s the other day he said everything was fine … that he could do whatever he liked …’

  He’d come to her bed, made love to her so sweetly … giving her pleasure, and he’d told her it was going to come right for him … but he’d known it was a lie … and that he might not have long to live.

  Oh, Christopher, why didn’t you tell me?

  ‘He didn’t tell you the truth, Emily,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘Christopher was a very proud man. He asked me what would happen if he died, whether you could stay on here. Naturally, I told him the cottage was yours for as long as you wish …’

  ‘I was always against him marrying a serving girl …’ Mrs Johnson said bitterly. ‘Have you no sense of loyalty? It was your duty to be with your husband …’

  ‘That’s not fair, Mother …’

  Emily felt the tears burning. She felt so ashamed. She deserved Mrs Johnson’s anger, because she ought to have sensed that Christopher wasn’t telling her everything. She should have been here with him and she couldn’t bear to think of him dying alone. She might not have been in love with him, but he was her dear friend and she was going to miss him.

  ‘He felt guilty for marrying you knowing it might be for just a short time,’ Sir Arthur went on, ‘but I know you made him very happy …’

  Yes, just for a little time the previous night … Christopher had been happy then before he went to sleep.

  Emily couldn’t bear to look at anyone as she asked, ‘Where is he?’

  ‘They took him to the hospital. I tried to explain that the death wasn’t unexpected but they insisted there would need to be an investigation into the cause. You might be able to see him if I took you now …’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Emily raised her head. ‘I would prefer to think of him as he was when I left him.’ As he’d been in her arms the previous night.

  She saw the accusation in his parents’ eyes but turned her face aside. Inside she was weeping.

  Oh Christopher … why didn’t you tell me?

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, I think I should like to be alone for a while.’

  ‘There’s the funeral to think of, lass …’

  ‘Time for that another day,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘I think we should leave Emily to grieve in her own way. I shall be happy to arrange things for you if you wish, Mrs Johnson?’

  She realised he was looking at her. Emily nodded, grateful for his support. ‘If you could ask the vicar to call tomorrow, I shall feel more like discussing things then – thank you for all your help, sir.’

  She stood up and walked upstairs. As she reached the landing she heard the kitchen door open and then close again, and then silence descended. Emily sat on the edge of the bed as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. Why hadn’t Christopher told her he might die at any moment? Had he refused to admit it even to himself, hoping that he would make a full recovery?

  Remorse and grief tore at Emily. He’d died alone and she should have been with him.

  Her guilt hurt too much for her to find relief in tears. For a long time she sat on the edge of the bed, hugging herself. She felt so cold and numb.

  If she’d been here he might still be alive …

  After a while she lay down on the bed and pulled the coverlet over her, but she didn’t sleep. Her tortured thoughts wouldn’t let her. It was too soon to know what she wanted to do.

  One thing was certain. She couldn’t go back. Emily had enjoyed visiting the manor but she knew she wouldn’t want to work there again. Whatever she did in future, she wanted to make something of herself. Being a servant for the rest of her life would be a waste of that life. Christopher had wanted more for them both. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to open the shop alone but she didn’t know what else she could do.

  She could almost hear him telling her to be happy …

  Chapter 41

  Lizzie thought that Emily looked very pale. Her widow’s weeds didn’t suit her, taking the colour from her face, and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. She walked alone behind the coffin. Mr Johnson had been one of the coffin bearers and his wife was with a woman Emily had never seen before, perhaps a sympathetic relative, because she made a show of supporting the stricken mother – but neither of them looked at Christopher’s widow.

  The service was quite brief and when they followed the coffin from the church to the open grave, Lizzie went to stand by Emily, touching her arm in sympathy.

  ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she whispered. ‘If I can help at all …’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m not certain what I wish to do yet,’ Emily said. ‘Will you come back for tea afterwards?’

  Lizzie hesitated, and then nodded as the vicar began the burial service. She watched as Emily went forward to throw a single flower into the grave. It was an early snowdrop and looked as if it had been plucked from a garden that morning. Emily looked tired and almost ill but she didn’t cry. When she heard the whisper behind her, Lizzie could hardly believe her ears.

  ‘She hasn’t shed one tear, the little hussy,’ a woman said spitefully. ‘She made my poor boy miserable and now she has everything he owned – I dare say it amounts to more than a hundred pounds. And all she gives him is a snowdrop from the garden. She should be ashamed of herself.’

  ‘Be quiet, Mother,’ Mr Johnson said sternly. ‘Now isn’t the time – and you’re being unfair to the girl. She did her best. It’s not her fault that the boy died.’

  Emily came back to stand beside Lizzie. Feeling angry and protective of her, Lizzie reached for her hand and took it. She held on tightly as the older Mrs Johnson stepped up to the grave and threw in a bunch of shop-bought flowers.

  Lizzie wanted to defend Emily but she couldn’t cause a scene at a funeral. Emily would never forgive her.

  As they went out of the churchyard, she saw her brother Jonathan waiting for her. He asked her if she wanted him to take her home and she shook her head.

  ‘I’m going back to Emily’s for a while.’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘Ask her if she would like a lift – but I suppose they have cars to take them.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Lizzie said. ‘Look, they are beginning to walk. I must go, Jon. I promised Emily I would go back.’

  ‘I’ll come and pick you up in an hour, all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you …’

  Glancing round, she saw someone she hadn’t imagined would be here. Her heart jolted as he looked at her and frowned. He was wearing a cheap dark suit and had been staring at Emily. Seeing Lizzie he looked angry, then turned and walked away.

  What was he doing here, Lizzie wondered and then forgot about him as she ran to catch up with Emily and the small group of people walking just behind her. She took Emily’s hand again, giving her a shy smile.

  ‘I wanted to come before but Granny was still very unwell. She seemed a little better today and told me I should go to the funeral if I thought it right.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,
’ Emily said and held on tightly. ‘It has been an ordeal and I need someone to talk to.’

  ‘I’m glad I came,’ Lizzie said. ‘I haven’t been anywhere much for ages, because of Granny. Mama blames me for what happened, though Granny says it could have happened at any time. Her heart is a bit weak and this attack was a warning to be careful. It was my fault that she was upset, though.’

  Emily asked why and Lizzie explained. Emily frowned but made no comment, because they had reached the cottage. The door opened as they arrived and a young woman looked at Emily.

  ‘I hope everything is as you would wish, Mrs Johnson.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be. Sir Arthur was very good to send you down, Clarissa.’

  ‘He thought it best if someone was here to look after things for you.’

  A tea of sandwiches, cakes and biscuits had been laid on the big scrubbed pine table. A pile of plates, cups and saucers were set ready for people to help themselves and a kettle was just about to boil. Only three people had followed them back to the house other than Christopher’s parents. Sir Arthur was one and the other two were a couple, the woman being the person who had comforted Mrs Johnson in church.

  ‘Please help yourself to the food,’ Emily said and made a pot of tea. She brought the pot to the table and Clarissa asked people whether they took milk and sugar, handing them the cups and then taking plates to each of the guests. The older Mrs Johnson accepted a cup of tea but refused the food, though Mr Johnson ate some sandwiches and a couple of buns. Lizzie guessed that Emily had made them herself, which was perhaps why her mother-in-law had refused them.

  ‘I was surprised but pleased to see you here, Miss Barton,’ Sir Arthur said as Lizzie stood by the window looking out at the aconites and snowdrops, which were blooming well. ‘How is your grandmother now?’

  ‘Better I think,’ Lizzie said, and lifted her head to look at him. ‘I’m sorry about what Amy did, running off like that. I know it must have hurt you.’

  ‘A little but I always knew she didn’t love me. It was the money and the freedom she would have had as my wife that appealed. I assure you that I am over it now.’