‘Indeed, and it’s a great shame,’ said the Governor. He turned back to Nellie. ‘What is your name, child?’
‘I’m Nellie O’Neill, if you please, sir.’ She darted back to the kitchen and returned with soup for her master and mistress, making sure to serve her mistress first. She curtsied again before leaving the room.
Back in the kitchen, Bessie Rudge looked ready to explode. ‘How dare you talk to the guests, girl!’ she hissed. ‘Who do you think you are?’ She drew back and stared at Nellie, a look of disbelief on her face. ‘And what in the Lord’s name do you think you’re wearing?’
‘Begging your pardon, Cook, ma’am, but the Governor himself spoke to me first, and wouldn’t it have been rude not to answer him? And I’m wearing my own dress, as the other one was dirty. It was you yourself who told me to change, ma’am.’
‘Well, you can change right back again. As I remember, I only told you to take off your apron. The idea, setting yourself up to look like a young lady!’
Nellie took a deep breath, and then another one. ‘If you please, ma’am,’ she said politely, ‘it’s the only clean dress I have. Would you want me to go out there in my shift?’
‘Nobody will notice what you wear. Nobody is interested in you. Bog Irish you are, and bog Irish you’ll stay.’
‘It’s proud I am to be bog Irish,’ Nellie said, clenching her fists. ‘And if nobody notices what I wear, they’ll not notice that I’m wearing a fine dress with roses on it, will they?’
Bessie Rudge grabbed her by the arm. ‘For two pins I’d give you a good whipping. It’s what you deserve for such cheek.’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what are you doing?’ Nellie scolded herself. ‘If you say anything more, you’ll be in real trouble.’ She pulled her arm away. ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ she said, ‘but the food is going cold.’ She picked up the platter of fish and almost ran out of the kitchen.
Bessie’s furious words followed her. ‘You’ve not heard the last of this, girl. Not by a long shot.’
‘I’ve had as much as I can take from this one, madam,’ Bessie Rudge said to Mrs Lefroy next morning. ‘First she deliberately breaks my chantilly basket, what took me the whole morning to make, and it was a beautiful piece of work if I say so myself. Then she has the cheek to put on a party dress, like she was the equal of Miss Louisa or Miss Charlotte. Imagine, madam, a kitchen maid pretending she’s a fine lady! What’s more, she answered me back, and for that alone she should be dismissed without a reference.’ She folded her arms and looked at Nellie with dislike.
Mrs Lefroy sank down on one of the kitchen chairs and sighed. ‘Thank you, Cook. Ellie, what have you to say for yourself?’
Nellie held her head up high. ‘It’s not true that I broke the basket, ma’am. It was Cook herself who fell into it and smashed it to smithereens. She fainted dead away, because the kitchen was hot quite beyond bearing, ma’am. I’ve never known such heat. I was all in a muck sweat myself -’
‘That’s complete rubbish, madam,’ interrupted Bessie Rudge. ‘I’m as strong as an ox, and I’ve never fainted in my life.’
‘Why, you did so faint!’ Nellie protested. ‘You went down just like poor Maggie Dooley did when the fever got her!’
‘The child is lying, madam, like the beggar’s brat she is,’ snorted Bessie. ‘How can you trust a word she says? It’d be in her blood, telling lies. I’ll guarantee that her wretch of a father what left her in the poorhouse was nothing but a gipsy tinker, and lying and stealing is all they know about.’
This was too much. ‘How dare you say that!’ cried Nellie. ‘My dada wasn’t a tinker, or a gipsy either, but an honest farmer. And it wasn’t even a bit his fault that we were brought down to begging. He did his best to keep us all alive, and begging was the worst shame to him because the O’Neills are descended from Irish kings. That’s true, too, because he told me so, and he never told a lie in his life!’
‘Kings!’ said Bessie, almost purple with rage. ‘It’s an insult -’
Mrs Lefroy held up her hand. ‘For heaven’s sake, let us forget the sad story of the broken basket, and who is or is not of royal blood. What was wrong with your dress, Ellie?’
‘It’s Nellie, ma’am. And there was nothing wrong with my dress except it was the pretty one with roses on it. I spilt cream on my plain one, and I didn’t wish to be wearing anything dirty when I was after serving you and the Governor, ma’am.’
‘Roses, indeed!’ sniffed Bessie Rudge. ‘Next she’ll be wearing rubies. Why, she even thinks it’s proper for her to learn to read and write, and fills her head with such nonsense! A kitchen maid should know her place. Above all an Irish kitchen maid who’s no better than she ought to be.’
‘I do know my place,’ Nellie cried, appealing to Mrs Lefroy. ‘Cook thinks I’m an Irish pig in a dress, but the Governor himself is half Irish, and you’d not call him a pig in a top hat, now would you? He’s as fine a gentleman as ever there was.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I tried my best to do what was right last night, and if I did something wrong it was only out of not knowing any better. You must believe me.’
‘Her best, my foot!’ said Bessie Rudge. ‘The child has no idea of what’s right and wrong. With a temper like hers she’ll end up on the street, mark my words.’
‘Very well,’ Mrs Lefroy said. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Cook. Ellie, I’ll forgive you this once for stepping out of line. But if there are any further incidents of any kind, you will leave my employment. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly, ma’am.’ Nellie felt weak with relief. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘You are too kind, madam,’ said Bessie Rudge. ‘If it was up to me I’d be showing her the door, quick smart.’
‘Well, how lucky Ellie is,’ said Mrs Lefroy smoothly, ‘that it’s not up to you, Cook.’
But Bessie’s words stayed with Nellie like a curse. Was her temper really so bad that it would one day put her out on the street? The thought made her blood run cold.
In the weeks that followed, Nellie was a model kitchen maid. She practically wore off the tips of her fingers scouring pots, and she swept floors and scrubbed tables and polished silver and black-leaded the stove till it gleamed. She made sure that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Bessie Rudge could find fault with.
At night, when she wasn’t studying her spelling book by candlelight, she was carefully sewing a set of clothes for Vanessa. She loved imagining Mary’s delight in her gift. How beautiful Vanessa would look, dressed in pink roses, and with her new little bonnet. Nellie couldn’t wait to dress the doll in her finery, but she wanted to do it secretly so it would be a surprise for Mary. She needed to find a time when the nursery was empty.
Nellie hoped very much that the gift would make her friend happy. She was worried about Mary. It wasn’t right that she was so pale and thin, and never seemed to put on any weight. After all, there was plenty of good food to be had. She, Nellie, had grown so much that even her new dresses were now a little too tight in the bodice.
Something else was worrying Nellie, too. It was a long time now since she’d written her letter to Tom, and she still hadn’t heard back from him.
‘I’m sure my letter had the right address on it,’ she said to Mary, sitting down with her at the nursery table. It was their Sunday afternoon off, but Mary was still at work, stitching away at something Nellie hadn’t seen before. ‘Maybe Li didn’t send it, after all. D’you think he could have forgotten?’
Mary concentrated on threading a needle. ‘Goodness knows, Nell,’ she said.
‘But what if Tom did get my letter and he didn’t want to answer it?’ Nellie went on. ‘Or what if Will and Hetty got hold of it, and hid it from him! They’d do anything to tease.’ She broke off. ‘What’s that you’re working on, angel?’
‘Did you ever see anything so beautiful in your life?’ Mary held out a bundle of white silk and lace, a froth of flowers and leaves and butterflies held together by the
finest netting, like cobweb.
Nellie looked at it, her head on one side. ‘My dada would say it’s a whim-wham for a goose’s bridle.’
‘It’s a christening gown, you daft eejit,’ Mary said with a little laugh. ‘Master Henry is to be christened in a great big ceremony at Holy Trinity Church. The master himself was christened in this gown, when he was a baby, of course. Feel the underskirt, Nell – it’s pure silk.’
Nellie put her hand out and stroked the soft fabric. ‘It’s lovely.’ She sighed, and tried to put the letter out of her mind. Tom would write to her soon, of course he would.
‘And just look at the stitchery of the flowers.’ Mary put the gown on the table and spread it out so Nellie could see it properly. ‘The mistress knows I can do fine sewing, and she’s asked me to mend the skirt. When Miss Charlotte wore it, she caught the lace in her toes and kicked it to pieces, see? I shall make it all good again.’
‘And it’s a grand job you’ll do, I know,’ said Nellie. ‘When shall you finish it?’
‘It’s hard to say, because the work is so fine. It must all be done by Thursday, though, so I can iron the gown when Li is here. The christening is to be on Sunday morning.’
‘But surely Li will do the ironing?’
‘No – the mistress has asked me to do everything myself. She says she trusts only me. It’s a great honour, Nell, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed it is, angel,’ said Nellie.
Mary glowed with pride, and Nellie was thankful that at last her friend seemed happy again.
Perhaps I shall hear from Tom by Sunday, she thought. But what if he doesn’t want to write to me after all? What if he no longer thinks of me as his friend?
On Thursday morning Mary brought the mended christening gown to the kitchen to show Nellie.
‘I sat up for three nights altogether to finish it. He’ll look so handsome, the darling.’ She turned her head to gaze fondly at little Henry, who was asleep on her shoulder.
‘It’s beautiful, angel, but you’ve been working too hard,’ Nellie scolded her. ‘Look at the shadows under your eyes! And you’re as white as a sheet.’
‘I am a little tired,’ Mary admitted. ‘But I didn’t mind doing the work, really I didn’t.’ She swayed as she spoke. Henry woke and immediately began to grizzle.
Nellie pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down, Mary,’ she said. ‘Shall I fetch you a cup of tea? I’ll put some honey in it to give you strength.’
‘No tea, Nell, I haven’t the time. But here, give me the honey pot.’ She took it, dipped her little finger into the honey, and rubbed it on Henry’s gums. ‘He cries all the time now because he’s getting teeth,’ she explained. ‘He’s kept us all awake these last few nights, me and the children too.’ She coughed, a tight, hard cough, and Nellie suddenly felt afraid. What if Mary were really ill? Quickly she put that thought out of her mind.
‘I’ll take the gown to the ironing room now,’ Mary went on. ‘Then that task will be finished, at least.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Nellie. ‘I must ask Li if he did post my letter. I still haven’t heard back from Tom. Here, give me that baby. Oof, what a heavy boy he is, to be sure!’
She lifted him up, nuzzling his soft neck. He must be about the same age Patrick had been when he died, she thought. A sudden lump came into her throat at the memory of her little brother. How she missed him! How she missed all her family! Their faces crowded into her mind: lively, freckled Katie; little Grace, so afraid of the dark, with her big serious eyes; Mama, thin and tired, and growing ever thinner because whenever she had anything to eat, she shared it with the children. And Dada, the strongest of all of them. He’d willed his family to stay alive, to keep going one day at a time, but in the end even Dada had given up hope.
She shook her head. What was she doing, brooding on such things? Sure, it had all happened a lifetime ago. Nothing in the world could bring her family back to her.
The ironing room, a small room off the main laundry, smelled of hot, freshly ironed linen. Li was busy pressing pillowslips with the big coal-fired iron, but he put it back on the hob when the two girls approached.
‘Nellie kitchen maid want lesson in ironing now?’ he teased her.
‘I already know how to iron,’ said Nellie with a toss of her head. ‘It’s Mary here who needs to use your little small silk iron on Henry’s christening gown.’
‘Of course.’ Li reached into a large straw basket and brought out a tiny iron not much bigger than a teacup. ‘I show you how it work.’
As he filled the little iron with glowing coals, Mary breathed in the sudden blast of smoky heat, and her thin body was racked with coughing.
Nellie was really afraid now. It sounded as if Mary was choking to death! Pushing baby Henry into Li’s arms, she grabbed the water jug used to dampen the linen and held it to Mary’s lips. Henry, suddenly finding himself in the arms of a stranger, burst into loud wails.
Mary drank from the jug and then leaned against the ironing table, breathing hard. ‘I’m all right now, Nell,’ she whispered. ‘It was the smoke catching in my throat, that’s all. Don’t fuss about me.’
‘I shall indeed fuss, and you can’t stop me,’ Nellie said. She tried to speak firmly, and to stop herself from trembling. ‘It’s a sick old man you sound like, coughing up your lungs like that.’
‘I take Master Henry for walk in garden,’ said Li. He patted the screaming baby on the back. ‘Walking work with my little brother. He never sleep, make my mother crazy.’
Mary picked up the iron and turned to Nellie. ‘I’m perfectly well now, as you see,’ she said. ‘Oh, Nell, I was going to give Miss Charlotte’s party frock to Li to iron, the blue watered silk – could you do me a kindness and bring it down for me, please? It’s on the nursery table.’
‘Of course, angel,’ said Nellie. ‘I’ll fetch it straightaway.’ She turned to Li and lowered her voice. ‘I do hope Mary will be all right. It gives me the skitters to see her so poorly.’
‘Maybe she just tired. I bring herbs next time, make some tea. Good for tired blood.’
‘You are a kind friend to us,’ Nellie said. And then she remembered. ‘Li, you did post my letter to Tom, didn’t you? You didn’t forget?’
Li grinned. ‘I forget my head if I forget your letter. Of course I post it.’ He tickled Henry on the cheek with the end of his pigtail, and Henry, still sobbing, grabbed it in his fist. ‘I take little master for walk now.’
Back in the house, Nellie realised that at last she had a perfect chance to prepare her special surprise for Mary. She’d take Charlotte’s frock to the ironing room afterwards.
She went to her room, gathered up Vanessa’s beautiful new outfit, and raced upstairs.
The nursery was silent: Nellie could hear the two little girls playing in the garden below. She looked through the window and saw them batting a shuttlecock back and forth, calling to each other and giggling.
Kneeling beside Mary’s bed, she reached beneath it and pulled out the bundle that contained all her friend’s possessions. Carefully she untied it.
Vanessa was wrapped in one of Mary’s shifts, her faded wooden face peering from the folds.
‘You’ll look like a wee princess in your new dress, Vanessa,’ Nellie whispered.
As she unwrapped the fragile old doll, she realised that something else was hidden inside the shift: a folded bit of paper. She picked it up and looked at it.
It was a letter, still sealed.
So Mary had received a letter, after all. But why had she lied about it? And who was it from?
On the front of the letter were two heavily inked postmarks: one round, the other diamond-shaped. Nellie traced them with her finger. There were words inside the postmarks. She sounded them out under her breath: KOORINGA. BURRA BURRA.
Nellie felt cold, and then hot.
The letter was from Tom.
Her heart racing, she studied the address. Miss Mary Connell, the first line said.
Mary was Nellie’s best friend in all the world. They had promised each other faithfully that they would be friends forever, and that they would always care for each other. I’d have trusted Mary with my life, thought Nellie. How could she do such a thing to me?
Nellie knew that Mary had been unhappy for a long time, but she didn’t know why. Could it be that carrying such a big secret had made her unhappy? And was it unhappiness she felt, or guilt?
Surely it’s the guilt, thought Nellie, as her surprise started to turn to anger.
With shaking fingers, she broke the letter’s seal and unfolded the paper.
Dear Mary, she read. I am … writing … At the bottom of the page she saw the writer’s name: Tom Thompson. In between there was little she could make out. The loops and swirls of the letters tangled in her head. Oh, why wasn’t she better at reading? Frustrated, she let the letter fall onto her lap.
‘Oh!’
Nellie looked up. Mary was standing there, holding the freshly ironed christening gown. Her eyes, as she gazed at the letter, were like dark holes in her white face.
‘I made new clothes for Vanessa,’ said Nellie. ‘It was to be a surprise for you. And look what I found.’
‘Nell, I’m sorry -’
‘I don’t understand. You knew I was waiting and waiting for a letter. How could you keep this from me? How could you?’
‘I don’t know what’s in it, Nell. I didn’t read a word of it.’
‘Of course you didn’t. But you must have known that the letter was from Tom.’
‘I did guess that. But it has my name on it, doesn’t it?’
Nellie shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter whose name is on it. You told me you didn’t have a letter. You lied to me. You should have told me about it.’
‘It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it’s just that … I didn’t know what to do. All I can say is that I’m sorry, Nell.’
Nellie and Secret the Letter Page 4
