‘Very good, ma’am.’ Kate couldn’t help wondering how it was that so many babies and children who slept on a straw mattress in Poor House Lane and had never seen a pillow in their lives, grew up round-shouldered, bow-legged and very far from healthy.
‘He will take breakfast at eight with porridge and an egg. Luncheon at one, upon which I have given full instructions to Mrs Petty. Generally chicken or fish, perhaps boiled mutton on occasion, and plenty of fresh vegetables, rice pudding and fruit jellies. Tea with jam and bread and cake at four, then milk or cocoa and biscuits before going to bed. He must also take a little fruit each day.’
‘And not too many sweets, ma’am.’
Amelia gave her a sharp look. ‘Indeed not, of course. His diet must be healthy. And he needs lots of exercise and fresh air.’ And so the list and its accompanying instructions went on till Kate felt dizzy with trying to remember it all. How on earth would she cope?
Chapter Eight
Kate might have been taught the rudiments of domestic labour by the Poor Law Guardians, but the finer, more delicate work was quite beyond her, and she discovered she had much to learn. She must remember to keep Callum’s play clothes separate from his walking-out clothes, for the sake of hygiene, and Kate herself was personally responsible for laundering and ironing all his garments. For all he was now a sturdy toddler who loved to play and get grubby, as children did, he must be presentable at all times, and since his clothes were generally pale in colour, showing every speck of dirt, much frilled and beribboned, this was no mean feat.
There were a multitude of rules to be learned which Amelia would explain to her with endless care and tact: that she must always keep her hands still when being addressed by her betters, and not fidget. She must look at a person directly when being spoken to. Should she be required to walk out with Amelia, or her master, on some errand or other, to always walk a few paces behind.
And most startling of all, she must address her own son as Master Callum. Kate found this dreadfully difficult, as well as oddly distancing and unfeeling, so she only obeyed this rule when Amelia was present.
There were, of course, difficulties and differences of opinion. Kate thought the bath on the stand too small for Callum, and would have preferred to use the bathroom, from where taps jetted streams of hot water. This, however, was not allowed. It was the only bathroom in the house, servants having to make do with the old hip baths, and kept for the exclusive use of the master and mistress. Amelia considered it far too dangerous a place for a child of such tender years.
‘What if he were to slip and drown in that great bath?’
‘I wouldn’t let him slip, ma’am.’
‘But it was forbidden.
Kate maintained that he was often over-dressed, with so many layers of clothing that at times it restricted his movement and he would become frustrated in his play.
‘I will not hear of a single layer being removed, not until May is out, at the very least,’ was her mistress’s stout response.
Putting all the new information and instructions she’d been given into effect seemed fraught with pitfalls. The contents of the nursery medicine cupboard alone were difficult enough to understand, with strange names such as Gregory Mixture and Godfrey’s Cordial, Daffy’s Elixir for Colic, and something called Dr. James’s Powder which claimed to be for ailing infants and looked highly suspect. Kate felt certain the box must have been in that cupboard for fifty years or more. Nothing would induce her to give Callum even one grain of it, though she did administer the prescribed regular doses of castor oil every morning, and as the days slid past, thanked her lucky stars for his robust health.
There was one occasion when Amelia was quite certain that he was starting with a cold and instructed Kate to give him hot blackcurrant tea at bedtime. He was only teething, but enjoyed the juice and perhaps it did help him to sleep a little better.
The routine continued assiduously with twice daily walks, morning and afternoon. There were set times for play and he must be rested on the nursery sofa to strengthen his back, bathed in salt water to keep his strength up. After his afternoon nap he was changed and allowed downstairs to see Amelia in the parlour where he was allowed to colour in pictures, or stick scraps in a book while she read extracts from Sir Walter Scott to help form an appreciative mind. Eliot would come in later and play more boisterous games with him, declaring himself to be looking forward with pleasure to tutoring the boy in backgammon and draughts. Kate thought that her son might turn into a little adult before ever he reached his second birthday.
And each and every bed time, Amelia would come to kiss him goodnight. Kate found this the hardest part of the day. She would stand some distance away with her hands firmly clasped behind her back so as not to be tempted to interfere, watching with an aching heart as Amelia dandled Callum on her knee, kissing and cuddling him, before settling him in the great crib with many soft words and yet more kisses.
It was a week or two later that, quite by chance, or so Charles assumed, he discovered Ned Swainson still in the office one evening long after his shift should have ended.
‘No home to go to, Swainson?’
The foreman had lingered on after work on numerous occasions recently, and was delighted that, at last, his patience had been rewarded. ‘I was hoping to have a private word with you, as a matter of fact.’
‘Problems?’
‘You could say so.’
‘Then perhaps you should discuss them with my brother. He’s the one with power round here, as you well know.’ Charles’s tone was bitter and he did not pause as he made for the door. He, for one, didn’t care to spend any extra hours, minutes even, in this place since he didn’t consider that he received proper remuneration for his work. It shamed him to have to admit to needing to earn money at all. He was anxious to get home, pour himself a large brandy and relax. Besides, the foreman was an odd cove with that permanent leer and his wandering eye.
‘It was about your brother that I wished to speak to you.’ Swainson announced to Charles’s departing figure. ‘And this new addition to his family.’
Charles paused, his hand sliding from the brass door knob as he swung back into the room. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Mr Tyson himself told me that he was going adopt the child. Pardon my presumption, but I thought it were a rum do, like, and it crossed my mind that such an eventuality might put your good self into a tricky position. And I wondered – I wondered what you intended to do about it.’
Charles considered the man with fresh interest, eyes narrowed into a speculative, gaze. What was he getting at? What point was the fellow trying to make? ‘What’s it to you?’
‘Nowt, save fer the fact that lass, the mother of the brat, and her ruffian brother, did their level best to besmirch my name, and I don’t care for that, not one little bit. They nearly had me sacked, with the accusations they were making. If Tyson’s isn’t run quite as it used to be, the fault isn’t mine. I’ve had to learn to look after me own interests, and so should you. I were thinking like, if’n you were needing someone on your side; someone who could keep his ear to the ground and didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, so to speak, we might be able to do each other a good turn. That’s if it should prove necessary like, for you to stand up for your rights, or should you fancy feathering yer own nest a bit more, if’n you catch my drift.’
There followed a short, thoughtful silence, and then Charles said in low urgent tones. ‘Is there somewhere we could enjoy a drink without interruption? I’d like to hear more.’
There was no doubt that Amelia doted upon her adopted son and spoiled him dreadfully. Amelia devoted hours to playing hilarious games with him: tiddley-winks, old maid and snap. The little boy would shout out so loud, whether or not he had successfully matched two cards, that Amelia would hold her sides through laughing so much.
And if having two mothers sometimes caused confusion for the little boy, there were other occasions when he took advant
age of the situation. Kate would recognise when he was ‘playing-up’ and attempt to firmly control his temper. Amelia, however, did not have the heart to chastise him, or listen to his tantrums and would dash to pick him up for a cuddle, despite Kate’s protests.
‘That does him no good at all, ma’am. He has to learn that he doesn’t get his own way in everything.’
‘Oh, but he was so distressed. Look at his scarlet face.’
‘That’s temper, not distress. He must learn manners if he is to be a proper little gentleman.’
‘Oh, he will, he will, but he is so small yet, and still much too thin. Come along now Callum, Mama will find you a nice peppermint, if you promise to be a very good boy in future,’ and off she would go, leading a triumphant Callum by the hand and Kate would sigh with exasperation.
One evening, towards the end of the first month, Callum was not being quite so co operative as usual, resisting all attempts to make him lie down and be still. He kept sticking his legs in the air to push off the blankets, and waving his arms about. Then of a sudden he rolled over and pulled himself to his feet by the rim of the crib, beginning to shake it vigorously, making it rock. Amelia grew quite frantic, certain he was about to turn it over, but paying her no heed he suddenly spotted Kate doing some mending in the rocking chair in the far corner of the room, and cried out to her.
‘Mammy!’ When she didn’t come to him immediately, he cried out again. ‘Mammy, Mammy. Want Mammy!’ And as Amelia hushed and shushed him, he refused to be comforted and began to cry.
‘Kate, you’d better see to him tonight. He’s perhaps teething and feeling fretful.’ So, on this occasion, Kate was allowed to put her own son to bed.
Afterwards, when he was happily settled and drifting into sleep, Amelia turned to Kate, a smile on her face which looked somehow stiff and awkward, and very slightly embarrassed. Kate was soon to discover why.
‘I know it can’t be easy for you, my dear, but I think it’s time we settled one little matter between us. I believe it would be best in future if Callum were to learn to call you Nurse. I am his Mama now, after all. Could you please see that you teach him to do this. Better to start as we mean to go on, don’t you think, and that we do things correctly in order to avoid confusion later. You do understand that I’m not trying to shut you out? It is Callum I am thinking of, and his future.’
‘Y- yes, ma’am. Of course.’ Kate was startled. She knew she should have expected this, but somehow it came as a shock, like a bolt from the blue.
‘It wouldn’t do, would it, were you to meet up with the other nurses when out on your walks, if he were to call you by the wrong name.’
‘I – I understand.’
‘Good, good. I believe we will suit very well.’ And having settled this most sensitive matter, she swept out of the nursery, leaving Kate to sink into a chair and quietly sob into her apron.
As spring changed to summer, Amelia began to take him out on railway trips to Grange-Over-Sands or Arnside, with foot-warmers and waterproofs in case the day turned inclement, once as far as Morecambe where, armed with bucket and spade, shrimping net and sailing boat he was indeed as happy as a sand-boy. At home he was allowed to run about the house and garden in plimsolls and with bare legs, teasing Amelia to chase him and giggling ecstatically when she succeeded in catching him.
Sometimes the entire family would visit Charles and Lucy’s mansion on Lake Windermere, where they would take a picnic on a steamer trip, and find a quite cove to enjoy it.
‘We really should have our own private yacht,’ Lucy would frequently be heard to declare. ‘Then we would no longer be obliged to endure the proximity of all these other people, the riff-raff.’
‘Oh, but that’s part of the fun,’ Amelia would maintain.
They would boil tea on a spirit stove, enjoy jam and bread and an assortment of delicious cakes which Mrs Petty would make up for them. Kate had never known so many treats, or such contentment. Every day brought new pleasures, and was a wonderful journey of discovery for her. And if sometimes she thought herself overworked, being left to mind Lucy’s two offspring on these occasions in addition to Callum, a mischievous duo to say the least, she shouldered the chore with good will and gratitude. Wasn’t she the lucky one?
The weeks and months flew by and Kate grew used to the nursery routine, discovering in it a security she’d never known before. She took increasing pride in the newly painted nursery, keeping it immaculately clean and tidy, and came to love living in this fine house, revelling in her new status. And if what Mrs Petty said was true, that other girls were starting to look down upon domestic service and wish for more freedom, Kate thought them wrong. To her it felt like paradise.
Dermot was the only blot on her horizon. She worried about her brother a great deal, had written him several letters but received not a single reply to any of them. Once, she asked Amelia if she might call upon her friends, Millie and Clem, in order to make proper enquiries about him. But her mistress wouldn’t hear of it.
‘Who knows what diseases might be lurking in those yards? I’m surprised you even ask, Kate.’
And because Amelia was so kind and showed the patience of a saint in every other way, Kate felt obliged to let the subject drop. She would simply have to trust in Dermot’s ability to survive on his wits, as he’d certainly done thus far.
Mrs Petty’s attitude remained obstinately immovable, and, faced with the stone wall of her resistance, Kate wisely decided not to make a fuss, as she felt sure this would only make matters worse. If the woman chose to think the worst of her, then there was little she could do to change her mind.
Following the housekeeper’s example, the servants held fast to their unwillingness to speak to Kate and the atmosphere, whenever she ventured into the kitchen, remained cold and strained. Kate resolved to deal with the problem by tackling each of them one by one.
She first approached Ida, who was only too eager to make friends and tell her own sad tale of being ill treated; a far worse story, Kate felt, than her own, as the girl had been frequently locked in a cupboard for hours at a time and kept on starvation rations. She was saved one day when the local vicar called and heard her crying. The woman of the house was prosecuted but, following her dreadful experience, Ida had been too scared to venture out of the workhouse again until Mrs Tyson personally called while carrying out her charitable duties, and taken pity on her.
The gardener, old Askew, Kate found to be no trouble at all. He hadn’t so much sent her to Coventry, he assured her, as not realised what was going on. She needed only to show a little interest in his tomatoes and he was her instant friend.
Fanny was more tricky, blowing hot and cold, some days willing to exchange a few chill words, generally comprising the relaying of instructions from Mrs Petty or the mistress; at other times her mouth would be pursed so tight it looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon. Kate just kept smiling and agreeing with her, hoping for the best. And she kept a wide berth from Dennis who was only too ready to smile and wink at her at every opportunity. He’d once caught her on the back stairs, told her what a pretty little bird she was and how about a kiss. Kate had made a joke of it, managed to wriggle from his grasp and fled.
He was a pert, cocksure sort of fellow who knew everything there was to learn about the workings of the internal combustion engine and was evidently hoping to persuade his employer to abandon the carriage and buy a motor. He also appreciated the value of polished brass and shining paintwork and was frequently heard to declare that if he didn’t get proper treatment and promotion with the Tyson’s, he would move on somewhere more forward-looking and amenable, and of course take Fanny with him.
According to his adoring fiancé, he would easily pass muster as a gentleman’s gentleman, since he knew how to be discreet.
‘Not that our Mr Tyson would ever stray, any more than my lovely Dennis would, so don’t you cast an eye in that direction either, madam.’
‘Huh, as if I would,’ Kate tart
ly replied, but the comment made her consider her employer in a different light, and if he passed her on the stairs, or was reading at his desk when she took Callum into the drawing room before dinner, she would cast covert glances in his direction and wonder what kind of man he was, what sort of husband he made. Was he loving and kind, or firm and dictatorial? Kate knew very little about marriage, not having any memory of her mother, and her own had been too short-lived to teach her anything save that men had their own view of the world, their own way of looking at things which wasn’t necessarily the same as a woman’s. This meant that they were not always easy to understand, or bend to your own will.
But she remembered also, from those few blissful short weeks that a man and woman could have a deal of fun together. And so Kate would look at Eliot and wonder what kind of bed-mate he might make.
Eliot Tyson had certainly turned out to be very different from Kate’s expectations. Far from being the unyielding tyrant she’d been led to expect, with his quiet brown eyes and winning, slightly diffident smile, he’d proved to be a pleasant, easy-going sort of employer who was prepared to discuss matters with his servants as if he truly valued their opinion. Kate had personally witnessed him thanking Dennis for keeping the harness and other trappings clean and neat. He would ask the gardener if he would mind feeding the pigeons, or politely request a sandwich from Mrs Petty, should he feel hungry after an hour or two of work pruning his trees, or if he’d come home late from the factory.
He was liberal in his views, a definite individual, and not in any way a man to ignore.
If he had a fault it was that his approach to life, and to business, was perhaps a touch too casual. In Kate’s humble opinion he seemed to spend less time at the factory than he properly should, spending hour upon hour with his beloved wife and with Callum, much of it in the garden. Kate thought all of this rather strange, for how could he possibly manage to keep a proper eye on things when he was so often absent from the factory? No wonder the likes of Ned Swainson got a bit above themselves and took advantage, with a largely absentee boss.
The Girl From Poorhouse Lane Page 10
