by Anna Jacobs
‘Tell me what you’re reading, Harriet.’
‘The newspaper, ma’am. Mr Joseph is explaining things to me.’
‘And do you understand them?’
‘Not always, ma’am. But I try.’
‘Well, I’d like to chat to my son now …’
Harriet picked up her new books and the newspaper, thanked Joseph for his time and trouble, and was out of the door very quickly.
‘Do you think she should sit down as if she’s your equal, Joseph?’
‘She said that, too, when she first came. But it hurts my neck to look up at her, so I told her always to sit down when we’re talking.’
‘This is the second or is it the third time this week she’s been here? Is it really necessary for you to spend so much time with her?’
He spoke slowly, searching for the sort of argument which would convince her. ‘I can’t do much charity work, Mama, not like you do, but I consider this one way of helping those worse off than myself. It makes me feel a little better about my useless life.’
She looked at him sadly. ‘Is that how you feel? Useless?’
He nodded.
‘Well, then, keep helping the girl. She always seems very quiet and polite, I must admit. I wonder how old she is now?’
‘She was seventeen in June, though she seems older, perhaps because she’s been through some hard times in the past year or two. The other servants made a special tea for her. They always do that on someone’s birthday, apparently. They clubbed together to give her a present. She hasn’t had many presents in her life and the thought of her new box of handkerchiefs made her cry when she told me about it.’ He smiled reminiscently.
‘Seventeen. Yes, and she’s growing fast, isn’t she? She was very childlike when she came here, now she’s a young woman. Just … don’t get too personal with her, Joseph.’
He let out a sniff of bitter laughter. ‘I couldn’t even if I wanted to. She is far more aware of the differences in our stations than I am. She’ll talk about books till the cows come home, and ask dozens of questions about the world, but she’ll hardly say a word about herself. She says it’s not proper.’
His mother looked a little happier. ‘Oh, well, if you regard it as a charity, and she knows her place, that’s all right. I was worried you might start to develop an affection for the girl. You’re a young man at a vulnerable age, after all.’
He flushed and prayed for forgiveness for what he was about to say. ‘Develop an affection for a servant, Mama? I think not.’
Her whole body relaxed. ‘Good. See you don’t change your mind about how you should deal with her. I’d not like to lose such a hard-working maid. And you are, after all, a gentleman born and bred.’
‘Gentlemen raised by you would never tamper with the servants, I promise you. None of my brothers ever did, either.’
She smiled. ‘No. You’re right. Your father and I care very greatly about setting and maintaining standards. Now, what I came to tell you was that we’re going up to London at the weekend. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. You and Mrs Stuart have the house running so smoothly, I shall be perfectly comfortable.’
‘Not … lonely?’
He shrugged and avoided a direct answer. ‘I’m used to being on my own.’
But he was lonely. The better he felt, the more he wanted to do something with his life.
He had the money he’d inherited tucked away in his own bank account and was adding to it bit by bit, because his father gave him an allowance still. Not nearly as much as they’d given his brothers, but every little helped. Since his father still paid for his boxes of books and he’d stopped spending his allowance on anything but necessities, he was adding to his capital.
He didn’t tell them that, of course. He didn’t tell anyone else, either, not even Pollins. Well, he didn’t have any friends with whom he could exchange confidences. Only Harriet, and he had to tread a very careful line with her.
Chapter Six
1903
In the spring of 1903, Joseph’s parents came back from London looking grim. But they refused to discuss what was upsetting them.
His mother stayed at Dalton House for longer than usual, claiming she was worn out by town life. But his father kept going up to London every few days on business.
What business? Joseph wondered. His father usually left that to his man of business or his lawyers.
His mother took him out to meet a couple of young ladies, one of whom turned out to be not so young.
He’d hoped that had fizzled out, but apparently it had been revitalised by whatever was causing his father’s bad temper.
He didn’t like these ladies any better than the previous ones he’d met. Each had some unpleasant traits, or at least it seemed so to him – even if it was only a way of tittering that would drive him insane if he had to live with it.
Of course, the servants were well aware of what was going on.
‘I’d marry money in a jiffy,’ Mabel said. ‘Even if it was an old man. Or a cripple.’
‘What if you didn’t like him?’ Harriet asked.
‘I’d console myself with his money. Being rich would make me happy enough.’
The kitchen maid laughed. ‘You’ve got a man. Leave the rest of them for us.’
‘And be careful with that Jack Porter. Got a bit of a reputation, he has.’
As Mabel blushed bright red, everyone smiled – not nastily, though.
Harriet carried on with her work thinking about the rumours. Mr Joseph might be a cripple, but he was so kind and pleasant, what did that matter? Surely there would be some young lady who could see his virtues and be happy to marry him?
In May Harriet would turn nineteen. It was hard to believe she’d been at Dalton House for three years now but she felt quietly happy there. Her sessions with Mr Joseph made such a difference to her life.
Only one thing about her life upset her, but it upset her a lot: her stepmother was still receiving nearly all her wages and she had nothing to buy new clothes with, so Mrs Stuart had had to find clothes for her, and shabby, old-fashioned clothes they were too.
Her shoes, also second hand, pinched because they were too small, and there was a hole in one of the soles. And there were so many darns in her stockings, it was a good job they were black and the darns didn’t show too badly. She might not be good at sewing but she had had to become a skilful darner.
It wasn’t fair. She didn’t feel she owed the wages to her stepmother, who had taken all her dad’s money and possessions. That should have been enough.
Mrs Miller had advised her to wait until she was eighteen to try to change things. But when Harriet had tried last year, Mrs Stuart had refused to consider it, because her stepmother was her legal guardian till she was twenty-one.
Harriet couldn’t face another two years of scrimping like this.
On her nineteenth birthday, she got up as usual, but Mabel stayed in bed. She’d had an upset stomach for the past week and had been sick several times. She’d begged Harriet not to tell anyone.
That had worried her. Being sick in the mornings could be a sign of other problems, and Mabel hadn’t had her monthly courses for several weeks. You couldn’t help knowing something like that when you lived so closely together.
Just as she was finishing pinning up her hair into the bun she now wore, Mrs Stuart came to the bedroom. At that moment Mabel vomited into the slop bowl.
The housekeeper stood by the door, watching, then turned to Harriet. ‘Has she been sick before?’
She hesitated, then nodded.
Mrs Stuart folded her arms. ‘Well, there’s only one thing it can be and she can’t hide it any longer.’
Mabel turned white as a sheet, her eyes rolled up and she crumpled on the floor in a faint.
‘Let’s get her on the bed.’ Mrs Stuart took Mabel’s feet and they lifted the unconscious young woman up.
As she began to recover, Mabel saw the housekeeper’s grim expr
ession and burst into tears.
‘I’d have thought you’d have more sense, Mabel Ashton!’
The sobs grew louder.
Harriet backed towards the door. ‘I should leave you and—’
‘No, stay. I shall need your help.’ Mrs Stuart turned back to Mabel. ‘Whose is it? Will he marry you?’
‘It’s Jack Porter’s and we’re engaged. I’d not have done it otherwise. I was going to give notice at the end of the month on quarter day, to leave at the end of September, so that I could earn some more money.’
‘Well, you’ll have to leave earlier now, won’t you? You couldn’t have hidden it until then, anyway. You’d have been too big. The mistress won’t want a pregnant maid staying on, let alone opening the door to people. You’d better write a note to your Jack and I’ll send Billings over to the Porters’ farm with it. Ask your young man to come and fetch you straight away.’
Mabel mopped her tears and nodded, seeming suddenly resigned.
‘In the meantime, Harriet will help you pack and, since the mistress is away, we’ll skimp on the housework for once. Your wages will be paid up to yesterday.’
They waited till her footsteps had faded on the stairs, then Mabel sat up, spots of red in her cheeks. ‘Miserable old devil. She might have let me work a month longer, at least.’ Her stomach rumbled loudly and she looked at Harriet pleadingly. ‘Could you get me something to eat, do you think? Now I’ve been sick, I’m ravenous.’
‘But you’re all right? About marrying Jack and everything, I mean. He will marry you?’
Mabel shrugged. ‘We’re engaged, aren’t we? His parents won’t be best pleased at us having to get married in a hurry, but they’ll cheer up when I present them with their first grandchild.’
In the kitchen Cook swung round. ‘Is it true?’
Harriet stopped in surprise. ‘Is what true?’
‘That Mabel’s in the family way and has been dismissed.’
How had they found out so quickly? ‘She’s leaving to get married, yes.’
‘Well, it’s one way of catching a husband who’s younger than yourself. He’ll inherit the farm one day, that Jack will, so she’s done well for herself in one way, at least.’
‘You sound as if you don’t like him.’
‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots. He likes the women too much, that one does. He’ll give her grief.’
‘Can I take Mabel something to eat, please? Then Mrs Stuart says I have to help her pack and stay with her till she leaves.’
Jack arrived within the hour, plonked a cheerful kiss on his betrothed’s cheek and got Billings to help him get her trunk down the back stairs.
Mabel turned at the bedroom door, grinned and pulled off her maid’s cap, screwing it up into a ball and throwing it at Harriet. ‘Here. You take it. I’m never wearing such a horrid, old-fashioned thing again. Slaves, that’s what servants are. Nothing but slaves!’
Some would say Mabel had disgraced herself, but Harriet envied her. Mabel would have a husband and family. She wouldn’t be on her own in the world.
Then Harriet squared her shoulders. She was doing all right, wasn’t she? Earning her living, had the respect of the rest of the household.
But now it was time to take a stand about her wages. Only then would she feel right about her life here.
Harriet raced through her tasks, doing as much of Mabel’s work as she could, wondering if her sessions with Mr Joseph would be cancelled till they found a replacement maid.
When it came time to go to the library, she went to see Mrs Stuart first. ‘Do we have time for me to talk to Mr Joseph today? There’s still a lot to do.’
‘Since Mr and Mrs Dalton are in London, and it’s Mr Joseph’s needs we’re serving, I think it’s more important that you see him.’ Her eyes were twinkling as she gestured towards the fancy, lace-trimmed aprons hanging ready for those serving the family. ‘Wash your hands and change. Don’t keep him waiting.’
Mr Joseph was standing by the window staring out at the gardens. He turned as Harriet knocked and went in. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘Thank you. How did you know?’
‘Mrs Stuart told me.’ He looked at her hair and nodded. ‘I see you’ve decided you’re grown up now.’
‘I think I’ve been grown up for a while, but I couldn’t be bothered to change. My hair will only slip out of the pins.’
‘You’re always very correct, aren’t you?’
‘I try to be.’ But she thought of what she intended to do tomorrow and her heart lurched in her chest.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She tried to smile.
‘There is something. Tell me. You know what they say – a trouble shared …’
She hesitated, then couldn’t help it. She desperately needed to talk to someone. ‘It’s about my wages.’
‘What about them? Don’t we pay you enough?’
‘Oh, no, no. It’s not that. It’s my stepmother. She takes all my wages except for a shilling a week, and she’d take that too if she knew about it. Mrs Miller suggested to Mrs Stuart that I keep just a little back.’
‘That explains it!’
She looked at him in puzzlement. ‘Explains what?’
‘Why you never wear any other clothes than your uniform, even when you’ve got your day off, and why your stocking are more darns than original stockings.’
‘Oh.’ Shame sent heat into her cheeks.
His voice was gentle. ‘I can’t help noticing things. I spend a lot of my time watching people. Don’t you have any money apart from that shilling a week?’
She shook her head. ‘Just the tips, only there haven’t been as many of those lately, because it’s been very quiet here.’
‘That’s not fair, them leaving you so little money when you work so hard.’
‘I was thinking …’ Once again she hesitated, then the rest of it tumbled out. ‘I thought I’d ask Mrs Stuart if she could pay all my wages to me from now on, then I could buy new clothes and save something for a rainy day.’
‘It seems very reasonable to me.’
‘Really, truly?’
‘Yes. Really, truly.’ He limped across to the desk and picked up a parcel wrapped in brown paper. ‘Anyway, I bought you a present.’
‘Oh! You shouldn’t have.’
‘It’s only something small. Go on. Open it.’
She’d guessed what was in the square package already. A book. But she found it was two, a novel by Marie Corelli, A Romance of Two Worlds, and one by Rudyard Kipling, Kim. She looked at Mr Joseph uncertainly. ‘I thought … I’m sure I heard the mistress say that Marie Corelli was a shocking person.’
‘Mama has never read any of her books – well, she isn’t much of a reader. If anyone complains about what you’re reading, tell them Miss Corelli is the Queen’s favourite author and Her Majesty owns all her books.’
‘Goodness. Does she really? I’m in excellent company, then.’
‘And no one can complain about you reading Mr Kipling. He’s very popular. This is a fairly recent book.’
‘You still shouldn’t have done this.’ People would talk if they knew.
‘I wanted to. And I thought you should enjoy some light reading. You read some fearsomely difficult books.’
‘I like to learn things.’ She stroked the covers of the books, then looked at him. ‘Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you. I shall always treasure them.’
‘Good.’ He moved back to the desk.
She dared say something personal. ‘You’re using the wheeled chair far less during the day. I do hope you’re feeling better.’
‘I’ll never walk straight, but I can move about now. Mama – well, she’d wrap me in cotton wool, if she could.’
He scowled suddenly, adding as if speaking to himself, ‘Or marry me off to a rich fool, and I won’t agree to that.’
‘You should only marry someone who’s intelligent,’ Harriet said. ‘That’d be a proper m
atch for you. You have a fine mind.’
‘Thank you for the compliment. I really value it, coming from you.’
This conversation was getting dangerously personal, she thought, and tried to think of something else to talk about.
Mr Joseph must have agreed because he changed the subject. ‘Well, tell me about your reading. Have you finished that book?’
The personal confidences were at an end. She was relieved. Though it had been nice to chat.
Almost as if they were friends.
When their hour finished and she left the library, Harriet went to change out of the fancy apron, but before she could do it, one of the other maids came to find her, ‘Mrs Stuart wants to see you. At once.’
‘I’ll go right up to her room.’
The housekeeper’s door was open, so Harriet knocked and peered in.
‘Ah, there you are. How was Mr Joseph?’
‘He seemed well.’
‘What’s in your parcel?’
‘Mr Joseph gave me a birthday present. Is it all right to keep them?’ She held out her two treasures for inspection.
‘Books? Oh yes, that’s all right. He’s such a kind young man. All the servants like helping him. Now, come and sit down. I want to talk to you.’
When Harriet was seated at the other side of the desk, Mrs Stuart studied her. ‘You look older with your hair up, and that’s a good thing, given what I’m going to say.’
She waited, hands clasped loosely in her lap.
‘I’m going to offer you a try as head housemaid.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. You know the work and I know I can rely on you.’
‘Have you found someone else already for my job?’
‘Yes. I started looking round when I guessed about Mabel. A girl from one of the nearby farms is starting tomorrow. Lyddie’s only fourteen, but she’s strong and willing. We need someone else as well, really, but I shall look around. You can’t be too careful these days.’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘It’ll mean a rise in wages, of course.’
