The master and mistress had already dined, having been joined by Mr Tyson’s brother Charles and his wife, Lucy. Kate had bathed Callum, dressed him in a warm nightshirt she found in a chest in the nursery, and given him his supper; delicious hot cocoa which she’d warmed over a spirit lamp, with an arrowroot biscuit. It had been wonderful to see the little boy drink every drop, smacking his lips with pleasure over the good food. Kate had been about to put him to bed in the big ancient crib which stood in the night nursery when Amelia had come bustling in to collect him, ‘so that I can show him off to my dear sister-in-law.’
Kate didn’t dare point out that it was already past his bedtime and meekly, if rather reluctantly, handed him over, agreeing that it would allow her the opportunity to eat with the other servants in the kitchen, on this her first night.
A long deal table ran the length of the kitchen, around which they were now gathering, taking their seats preparatory to eating supper. Kate could hardly wait, for, apart from sharing a few sips of Callum’s cocoa, she’d eaten nothing all day and her stomach ached with hunger.
Mrs Petty took her place at the head of the table, grace was quietly recited in unison, and then the food was placed before her, thick slices of roast lamb, a mound of mashed potatoes, heaps of peas and carrots all drenched in a delicious rich gravy. Kate just sat looking at it in wonder, not daring to even lift her fork in case she should puncture this dream and it would all vanish in a puff of steam.
‘Eat up, nobody’s trying to poison thee, tha knows.’
Kate cleared her throat. ‘Is this all for me?’
A bark of laughter. ‘Well, I don’t know what you do in Poor House Lane, but we can afford to have a plate of us own here. We certainly don’t all share t’same one.’
Everyone was tucking in with great gusto, and, glancing surreptitiously around the table, Kate saw that they were casting equally curious glances in her direction. The old codger at the end with the white whiskers must be the gardener, Askew. She recognised the handsome young man with the dark brown curls as Dennis the coachman. Fanny was seated close beside him, constantly nudging his elbow and whispering in his ear. Next to her sat a snotty-nosed girl who she understood to be Ida, the skivvy. The girl smiled kindly across at Kate, revealing a mouth full of blackened and broken teeth, and Kate smiled back, sensing a kindred spirit. Perhaps she too had lived in Poor House Lane, or up at the Union Workhouse.
The ache in her stomach had turned to a dull pain now, and still she didn’t pick up her knife or fork. Just looking at all this food was doing funny things to her insides. Kate suddenly knew that she couldn’t eat a morsel. It was all far too exciting and terrifying. She’d bring the whole lot up again, she was sure of it. She was worrying far too much about Callum and this shocking decision she’d made. Where was he? Was he behaving himself? Was he wondering where she’d gone? Was he crying for his mam? Did he imagine that she’d abandoned him completely? ‘Perhaps I should go and find Callum.’ She half rose from her seat but Mrs Petty waved her down again.
‘The missus is taking good care of the little lad. He’s your brat, I take it, so you should be grateful for her care. She don’t usually tek on girls lumbered with a bairn, with or without a father. Mind, we could do wi’ a bit more help round here, so we won’t complain. They’re hard come by, these days, is a good housemaid. And our Fanny is fair whacked.’
Kate’s first reaction to this was a fierce desire to defend her son, to insist that he wasn’t a brat and that he’d had a father once, one she’d been legally wed to, but, mindful of her place and that she was a newcomer, she swallowed her pride and said nothing. Instead, just to set the record straight, she haltingly explained that she wasn’t going to be a housemaid. ‘It’s Callum she really wants, not me. Mr and Mrs Tyson mean to adopt him, but I’m to be employed as his nursemaid.’
The silence which fell upon the assembled company at this, was deafening. Knives and forks were stilled, mouths stopped chewing as every pair of eyes turned to stare at her, bringing a stain of colour to her cheeks over the embarrassment of being the focus of so much attention. Had she said the wrong thing? Let the cat out of the bag? Not that Callum could rightly be called a cat, or kept quiet. She’d been seen arriving with him, after all, and he was all too evidently her son, a pauper’s child, thin and scraggy, copper haired and pale. And Mrs Tyson could hardly keep it a secret, what she planned to do. So why were they all looking at her with this strange, condemning disapproval on their faces?
‘I thought you all knew,’ she mumbled, wishing Mrs Petty’s clean flagged floor would open up and allow her to fall right through it. ‘I – I assumed word would have got around. Or that Mr Tyson would have mentioned it.’
Mrs Petty was the first to speak. Laying down her knife and fork and rubbing a rough hand over her plump cheeks, she said, ‘By heck, I’ve heard of some wheezes to land a job, but this one just about takes the biscuit.’
‘And what would ye be meaning by that, may I ask?’ Kate burst out, feeling bewildered. The tension in the room was such now that her skin felt ice cold, despite the heat in the kitchen. What was happening? What had gone wrong?
‘Nay, to give away your own son in order to get a job and escape Poor House Lane, that’s a bit rich that is. I’ve never heard the like in all my days.’
‘That’s not how it is. I didn’t give him away. It’s for his own good, not mine.’
‘Oh aye? And do I look fourpence to the shilling to believe such a tale?’
‘Tis so. It was Mr Tyson’s idea, not mine, and Mrs Tyson just loved him on sight. Everybody does love Callum. Isn’t he a grand little chap?’ Kate demanded, gazing around at them all, and her eyes filled with a gush of tears. How could she even begin to explain what it felt like to give him up, so that he could have a decent future, to survive even? Nobody noticed her distress as they’d all turned their faces away from her, picked up their knives and forks again and were steadfastly concentrating on their food. Only little Ida gave her a half-hearted smile.
‘I were abandoned by me mam an’ all.’
‘I’m not abandoning him. I’m not! I’m staying right here.’
For the length of the entire meal, no one spoke another word to her. Kate did her best to ignore them, and to eat the wonderful food set before her but somehow she couldn’t chew the tender lamb; and the potatoes tasted like dry flour, clogging her mouth. In the end, she gave up the effort and left it largely untouched. Even the hot apple pie and custard which followed was too much for her, and she was relieved when the endless meal was finally over.
‘Can I help with the washing up?’ she offered, but Mrs Petty gave a loud sniff and turned away. ‘Ida can manage. That’s what she gets paid for. It’s her job, and she at least come by it honest.’
The rest of the servants settled down for the evening, happily chatting to each other and relaxing after a hard day’s work. Mrs Petty was showing Ida how to knit, Askew contentedly snoring, and Fanny and Dennis doing a bit of canoodling on the settle under the window. They all continued to ignore her. Whatever their liberal views of employing pauper girls in general, those who gave away their sons were obviously beyond the pale.
Kate crept quietly back upstairs. She wasn’t sure if this was allowed, having seen the lengthy list of rules stuck up on Mrs Petty’s larder door which included such items as:
No maid to go into the still room, china closet or larder without permission.
The linen cupboard will at all times be kept locked and freshly folded linen cannot be returned until it has been properly checked.
Requests for soap, oil or candles must be made direct to the housekeeper’s room by seven-thirty a.m.
There were various others of a similar ilk, concluding with a lengthy instruction on how waste was an abomination, with precise details on how various items such as rabbit skins, old tea-leaves, dripping and the like, must be dealt with.
But, since no one had brought Callum down to her, Kate felt she’d no
choice but to go looking for him. Perhaps the Tyson’s were waiting for her to collect him and put him to bed, the ways of the upper classes being a bit of a mystery to her. She was ready to go to bed herself, come to think of it. What a day it had been. She was quite worn out. Things might look better after a good night’s sleep, but if they didn’t, she would leave first thing in the morning, taking Callum with her, to be sure. This whole idea had been crazy from the start. She must have lost her senses to agree to it. They’d just have to take their chances with all the rest at the Union Workhouse, but at least they’d be together.
The small parlour was empty, so Kate decided to head for the upstairs drawing room, but as she passed the dining room she became aware of loud voices coming from within. Perhaps they were all still in there. She tapped on the door, hopping from foot to foot with impatience as she waited for the invitation to enter. Pressing her ear to the door panel, she tried to hear what was being said. A man’s voice, loud and booming, and very angry.
‘You’re damned well being taken advantage of. Surely to God, Eliot, you don’t seriously intend to go through with this madcap scheme?’
This must be the brother, Charles. Perhaps, after all, the two ladies had retired to the drawing-room for coffee, since Eliot Tyson and his brother were apparently in the midst of one almighty row. And it wasn’t difficult to guess the subject of their argument.
‘For God’s sake, you’d risk putting a workhouse brat in line to take over the factory, just because your own wife is barren? You must have taken leave of your senses.’
A furious mumble, which she couldn’t quite make out beyond a few firm opening words. ‘How dare you accuse my wife . . .’
‘Well, however you like to dress it up, don’t think, for one minute, that you’ll get away with this. Father’s will made no provision for such an eventuality, and I’ll see you live to regret it if you insist on going through with this idiotic scheme. I’ll not see my inheritance lost to some tart’s bastard.’
At which point the door was flung open and, losing her balance, Kate fell into the room.
Chapter Six
‘I’m sorry you had to hear all of that, Kate. Most unfortunate. My brother is not an easy man to understand. He has a different set of moral values to my own. Money is his driving force, I’m afraid, with not a charitable bone in his body. Other people are of no account to him, so long as he has what he wants: power and wealth. We operate by different standards in this household. I hope his words won’t make you have second thoughts about our agreement. My wife has already taken little Callum to her heart. It would break it now, were you to remove him.’
Eliot was standing with his back to the fire, gazing down upon the top of his new maid’s head. Pity for the girl had caused him to offer her a restorative glass of port, which she’d very properly refused. Nevertheless, he’d seated her on an upright chair, where she remained as still as a statue, hands clasped, head bowed in abject misery, which he did not wonder at. To be caught eavesdropping at her employer’s door on her very first night was not a good beginning. Charlie, praise be, had stormed off after a few choice words on the subject of servants getting above their station, calling for Lucy, and his carriage, in one single breath.
Eliot had dealt with him calmly, as was ever the best way, telling his brother to get off his high horse, reminding him of how their own origins had been humble enough, their father possessing nothing but faith in his own abilities when he’d set about starting the business all those years before.
Nonetheless, Eliot was beginning to have doubts: to wonder at his folly, far too impulsive at times for his own good, and think that perhaps Charlie might have a point about the wisdom of taking this waif into his home and adopting an unknown child. It was a somewhat reckless act on his part, with possibly more repercussions than he had at first anticipated. And for all he knew, the infant could be carrying all manner of unknown ailments, and have a temperament quite unsuited to the life before him. Yet simply to see the joy on his wife’s face told him that he’d done the right thing.
So long as he could deal with the consequences of having the child’s mother live on the premises too, which was something he had not anticipated. Kate O’Connor was undoubtedly attractive; a rare beauty with that indefinable quality of sexual allure that any man would find hard to resist. Not that this cut any ice with him. Eliot felt himself impervious to feminine charm, however tempting, as he would never betray a wife he adored. If he defended the girl, it was out of common humanity because she seemed so fragile, and because, deep down, he admired her spirit. She’d displayed amazing strength and resilience in the face of adversity, for all she was at times far too quick to stoke herself up into a temper.
No, young Kate O’Connor was like a high-tensile wire about to snap, and he really didn’t have the patience to deal with any histrionics on her part. Conflict over who the child truly belonged to was the last thing he needed. The boy must be entirely theirs. Eliot made a mental note to get the papers drawn up by his solicitor with all speed, and duly signed.
He was beginning to wonder if she would ever speak again when the girl suddenly got to her feet and stood before him, her face parchment pale but with her chin set characteristically high.
‘I’d just like to point out that I never asked you to take my child. Nor would I ever give him away in order to put food in me own mouth. I’d die sooner than lose him.’ Kate was still smarting from the treatment meted out to her by the other servants. It seemed excessively cruel for them to jump to the wrong conclusion, and a worse insult for Mr Tyson’s brother to brand her a tart without ever having met her.
Eliot nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘I hope you do. Your servants have a different opinion. I want you, and them, to understand that I’m doing this for Callum, for his future, not mine. Nor is my son a bastard, and I’ll not have him so addressed. I’d be obliged if you’d make that clear to your esteemed brother, among others.’
Again he quietly agreed, inwardly smiling at her use of the somewhat emotive description. It was not an adjective he would use to describe Charles. But then, sensing she had more to say, he urged her to relax and to be seated again. She ignored his instruction, treating it as a request, not an order. The set of her shoulders remained stiff, the grey eyes meeting his with a barefaced stubbornness which he knew Charlie, for one, would call insolence.
‘I’m wondering what you mean to do over me brother. If you recall, Dermot was unjustly given the sack by your foreman, who’s own practices are clearly in doubt. I’m thinking that mebbe it would be a charitable act for you to reinstate him.’
He had to hand it to her, she had guts, and the most outrageous cheek. There was more courage in her little finger than most people could summon up in a lifetime. Whether that was a good thing or a bad, rather depended on how she chose to use it. Given the wrong slant, her audacity could prove to be obstinate pigheadedness. So far, she was employing it for the good of her nearest and dearest, fighting for her son, and her brother, which he supposed must be commendable.
But however much he might privately admire her robust spirit, he’d be damned if he’d be bullied by a slip of a girl, a mere pauper from Poor House Lane. He wondered what would happen if she ever needed something for herself. What tenacity would she display then? She might have tantalising charm as well as captivating beauty, but these attributes were quite at odds with her tempestuous nature. And her brother was another matter altogether. No, Eliot decided that he’d done what he could, and that was an end to the matter.
‘You were badly used by Swainson, I agree, but I’ve already spoken to him on the subject. The boy was blatantly cheating me. My foreman assures me that the leather he used on those boots was not of the same quality as that which was issued to him. He’d clearly sold it at profit to himself, and no doubt gambled the money away. Swainson says this is not the first time.’
‘If that’s true, and I’m not saying it is, I’ll speak to Dermot about
it. He’ll have learned his lesson, to be sure. He’ll not do it again.’
‘I can’t take the risk, I’m sorry. If I let him off everyone will see me as soft, and likewise attempt to take advantage. Then the standards, for which Tyson’s are famous, will be seen to fail and I can’t risk that. We have our reputation to think of. Besides, I feel our arrangement is a fair one. Your son will be well cared for, and you yourself have been given a position in my household to allow you to continue to be close to him. That seems more than fair to me.’
‘But what am I to tell Dermot? I cannot allow me own brother to starve.’
‘He should have thought of the consequences of his actions before he attempted to cheat me. And now, I think we are both tired. It has been a long day and perhaps you are not thinking too clearly. Go to bed.’ As he turned from her, intimating that the subject was closed, Kate had no choice but to comply.
For Eliot, it was a long time before he felt able to retire. He smoked a second cigar and chided himself for all kinds of a fool for embarking on this dangerous venture, before he finally went to his wife’s bed.
Despite the troubles in the kitchen, and her failure to secure any hope for Dermot, Kate passed a blissfully contented night sleeping beside her child in a deeply comfortable bed. She’d gone straight from the difficult interview with Eliot Tyson to collect him from the drawing-room where he was again being fed sweets by Mrs Tyson. No doubt in an effort to keep him quiet, Kate suspected, because the poor little mite was worn out, his eyes big and wide and dark from lack of sleep.
‘I know it must be well past his bedtime but we couldn’t resist playing with him, could we not Lucy? He’s so full of beans, quite the life and soul of the party. Though of course he must have a proper routine in future, as my dear sister-in-law has quite rightly pointed out.’
The Girl From Poorhouse Lane Page 7
