by Anna Jacobs
Bert set down the case next to the wooden bench on the platform and looked round in disapproval. ‘You’re going to be cold, waiting out here.’
‘It’ll be worth it.’
‘Did you leave a note?’
‘Yes. On Mrs Stuart’s desk. I’m leaving her in the lurch and I’m really sorry about that.’
‘She’ll understand. Want me to ask her to hide your books in the attic? Maybe you can get them back one day.’
‘Do you think she would?’
‘I’ve always found her very fair.’ He started to leave, then turned back again. ‘See you get as far away as you can from here, lass. You don’t want the master catching up with you. He’s turned nasty lately, especially if he’s defied. Thinks he’s above the law.’
‘I’ll try. It depends on Mr Joseph.’
‘Tell him I said to get you away. Remind him that his father’s good friends with the local magistrate and has used his friendship before to get someone charged and locked up unfairly.’
‘Mr Dalton wouldn’t do that to his own son.’
‘No, not to his son, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do it to you.’
‘Oh. I’ll remember your warning.’ She took two quick steps towards him, stood on tiptoe and kissed his bristly cheek. ‘Thank you, Bert. I hope we meet again.’
‘So do I.’ He patted her shoulder then walked quickly away.
She stood watching him go, staying there even after he’d disappeared from sight. Eventually, she looked round and shivered, feeling very alone in the darkness.
No use feeling sorry for yourself, my girl, she thought, looking up at the station clock. It said twelve minutes past two in the morning. Three hours to wait and the night was chilly.
She sat on the rough wooden bench, watching the moon come and go behind the clouds, but after a while she felt so cold, she began to walk up and down. But there was nowhere to shelter from the wind. It wasn’t a strong wind, but it was damp and chilly, sucking the warmth from her body.
Every now and then she went to the front of the small building to check the station clock, but its hands seemed to be moving painfully slowly.
Her main worry now was whether the stationmaster would make a fuss about her leaving. He’d think it a bit strange because he knew she worked at Dalton House, and they’d normally have sent her here in the brake. Well, if he tried to stop her, she’d tell him she’d been sacked and pretend to cry, if necessary.
Other worries filled her mind until she realised she was letting this get her down. She’d got away from the house, hadn’t she? And she’d soon be away from the village, too.
After that, who knew where she’d end up?
Had Mr Joseph meant what he’d said, about … valuing her? She hoped so, couldn’t bear the thought of not staying with him.
Was she being a fool, expecting too much of him? She didn’t know.
Where was he now? Sleeping comfortably in the hotel, she hoped. Waiting for her to join him.
She forced herself to walk briskly to and fro to warm herself up, though she felt so tired that what she really wanted to do was to lie down and sleep.
Four o’clock. Only another hour to wait.
No one at the hotel stared when a lame man turned up in a wheelchair, with a servant to help him with his luggage. They even found him a room on the ground floor, a comfortable one used for older and infirm clients.
Frank was very happy about escaping from the village and his high spirits cheered his master up. Joseph’s bad hip was aching and he was exhausted by the time they were installed in the bedroom, but he was used to that.
He had to tell Frank to unpack a clean shirt and hang it up, and to get out his nightclothes. Then he explained that Frank would be able to get meals in the hotel’s servants’ quarters and should stay away from the guests’ area except for coming to this room.
‘Do you mind sleeping in here with me on the truckle bed? I think it’ll be easier if we stick together. You aren’t used to servants’ ways and they might get suspicious.’
Frank went across to try the narrow bed. ‘This’ll do me fine. Nice to have a bed to myself.’ He looked across apologetically. ‘I ent used to servants’ ways, I know, so I hope I don’t give offence if I do something wrong, Mr Joseph.’
‘I’m not my father. I don’t stand on my dignity and I don’t get upset when someone’s honestly doing their best.’ He frowned. ‘Oh, and I forgot to say, I’ll pay you the same wages as Pollins for helping me.’
‘Fine by me. I won’t lie to you, though. I don’t want to be a servant for ever. I got other ideas. Bicycles. I’m good with them, want to set up to sell and repair them. But I don’t mind staying with you for a few weeks. It’ll let me get my bearings and I’ll be able to save a bit more money. I’ve not spent much time out of the village because my pa’s an old stick-in-the-mud.’
‘I’ve as much to learn as you have, probably more. I’ve spent most of my life shut up in Dalton House, except for an occasional visit to London, when I was whisked to and from the station then hidden from view.’
Frank looked at him, opened his mouth then shut it again.
‘If you want to say something, say it. I’d prefer us to be honest with one another.’
Frank was inexperienced enough in the ways of servants to take him at his word, and Joseph found he liked that frankness.
‘We all think it’s a shame how they’ve locked you away, Mr Joseph. You’re not the only lame man in the world, after all. Nothing wrong with your brain or face, is there? Besides, if you don’t practise walking, how will your legs get stronger? You was all white and wambly when you was a little boy, but your face is fair rosy now.’
Joseph stared at himself in the mirror. When he could see only his head and shoulders, he looked perfectly normal, in good health even. He wished the rest of him matched. Frank was still speaking.
‘Why didn’t Mr Pollins come with you today? Everyone knows he’s devoted to you.’
‘My father threatened to throw his brother and family out of work and their cottage if Pollins came with me.’
‘Well! I never heard the like. That’s downright mean, that is. An’ I don’t care if he is your father – Mr Dalton shouldn’t have done it.’
‘It is unfair. Very. And I’m not upset by what you’ve said. My father isn’t … I’m not close to him. Or he to me. The only one he really cares about is my mother.’ His brothers had always been ashamed to be seen with him.
‘That’s sad for you, sir. I may want to leave home, but I’m fond of my ma and pa, an’ I know they care about me.’ Frank frowned, as if getting his thoughts in order. ‘I’m talking too much, speaking out of turn.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Joseph laughed suddenly. ‘I enjoy chatting to you.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you this, then, as well: if you were like your father I’d not have worked for you, whatever Bert said. But he told me you talk to servants as nice as you please and I can see he was right.’ He gave Joseph a shrewd look. ‘Odd sort of servant I am, eh?’
‘Just right for an odd master.’
Frank went to pull out his own nightshirt and put it under his pillow. ‘Nice feather pillow, this.’ He turned to survey the room with some satisfaction, ambled over to the window, examined the ornaments on the mantelpiece and smiled at Joseph again. ‘Proper luxury, this is, for me. Shall I fetch you some food now?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You should eat something and I’m famished, even if you aren’t. I could wheel you out for a walk afterwards, if you like. Get a bit of fresh air.’
Joseph shook his head. ‘I’m tired. And I don’t want to be seen. I didn’t tell my parents where I was going and I’d prefer to slip out of the district as quietly as I can.’
‘Makes sense, in case your pa goes on the warpath. Just have a bite to eat, then, sir. You need to eat if you’re to build up your strength.’
‘You’re as bad as Pollins. All right. Fetch me some foo
d and order something for yourself – anything you like.’
Joseph sat back when he was on his own, feeling a sense of wonder and pride. He’d done it, left home. And the way the servants had helped made him feel humbled and warm. How kind they’d been!
But then, servants had always been kind to him, doing extra without complaining. Why his father grumbled so much about them, he’d never understood.
As he got ready for bed, he wondered what Harriet was doing now and prayed she’d escape without any trouble.
He felt happy at the thought of spending more time with her.
At long last, Harriet saw the hands of the station clock start to approach five. Twenty minutes to go, fifteen. It was still dark, apart from the one lantern that hung over the station entrance. She made another tour of the platform and station. Soon, very soon, she’d be away.
When footsteps sounded outside, she went to face the stationmaster. But it was his wife.
‘Hello, dear! I didn’t expect to see any passengers here at this hour. My husband’s not well, so I’ve come to do the job. Don’t tell anyone. I’m not supposed to sell tickets, only clean the station.’ She turned round as a wagon drew up outside.
‘Morning, John.’
‘Morning, Ginny. Your old man still sick?’
‘He is. Getting better each day, though.’
The man who collected the milk from the farms nearby got down and began to roll the churns on their round bases from his wagon onto the platform. He nodded to Harriet but all his attention was on the big metal cans of milk.
The stationmaster’s wife opened up the ticket office. She didn’t show the slightest interest in why Harriet was catching the train, only yawned widely and excused herself. She took the money, handed over a ticket, then dealt with the milk delivery.
Harriet couldn’t help glancing towards the entrance, still worried that someone from Dalton House would come after her, though they’d only just be waking up there.
It wasn’t till the train pulled out of the station that she could release the last of her anxiety in a long sigh and let her head fall back against the seat. She was alone in the compartment, alone in the world if Mr Joseph wasn’t there at the hotel.
But she’d manage. She had no choice now but to manage. She’d burnt her bridges, and whatever happened, she couldn’t go back.
But it wouldn’t be the same if she wasn’t with him.
In the early morning, when only the servants were up and about, Mrs Stuart waited for Harriet to come down, surprised the head housemaid hadn’t started work yet. When there was no sign of her, she asked Amy where her room-mate was.
The girl looked at her in surprise. ‘Isn’t she down already? She got up before me, an’ she didn’t wake me, neither. If Susan hadn’t of shook me awake, I’d still be asleep.’
Mrs Stuart exchanged startled glances with the cook, a woman her own age.
‘She wouldn’t—’ Cook began, then looked at the young maids and didn’t finish the rest of the sentence.
When the two older women were alone, she asked bluntly, ‘Do you think she’s run away?’
Mrs Stuart nodded slowly, regretfully. ‘She might well have done. She was very upset yesterday. I think I’ll just check her room.’
She found Harriet’s half of the wardrobe empty, as were the drawers, except for the books in the bottom one.
Mrs Stuart plumped down on the bed. ‘She’s done it. Oh, dear, the master will be furious.’
She walked slowly down to her own room, wondering why Harriet hadn’t left her a note. It wasn’t like that girl just to leave without a word.
There was nothing on the desk, but when she went round to the other side of it, she saw the corner of an envelope on the floor, sticking out from underneath the drawers at one side. It must have fallen off.
She picked it up and saw it was addressed to her in Harriet’s elegant handwriting. ‘Oh, dear!’ She opened it and read the three brief lines of apology for leaving so abruptly. ‘I wish you well, my dear,’ she murmured, tears coming into her eyes.
Then something else occurred to her. ‘I wonder …’ Had Harriet’s sudden departure got anything to do with Mr Joseph leaving? No, surely not? She could have sworn there was no budding romance between the two of them, because she’d kept her eye on them. There had been no touching and most of their conversations had been about books. ‘No, surely not.’
Only … they were good friends now, completely at ease with one another. You couldn’t help noticing that. She hadn’t thought too much of it because she and the mistress were the same – good friends as far as their different stations in life allowed.
Feeling rebellious, she decided not to wake the mistress yet to tell her that Harriet had run away. Let Mrs Dalton find out later and let her tell the master after he got back. She would have the best chance of calming her husband’s rage before he turned it on the rest of them.
When Mrs Stuart went down to the kitchen, she found Cook alone. ‘Her things are gone.’
‘I don’t blame her.’
‘No. Nor do I.’
‘He’ll be furious.’
‘Yes.’
Cook chewed her thumb, then said, ‘He was planning to go out shooting this morning. I’ve orders to pack him a snack and have a late breakfast waiting for him when he gets back.’
‘He’ll be in a hurry to set off. We won’t slow him down with servant problems.’
With a nod, they separated and got on with their work. They were doing all they could to give Harriet time to get away, but both women were worried. They knew what their master was like if he felt himself slighted.
Later that morning, Mrs Dalton looked at her housekeeper in dismay. ‘Harriet’s run away? No, she can’t have!’
‘See for yourself, ma’am. She left me this letter, apologising for the inconvenience.’
Mrs Dalton read it in silence, then handed it back. ‘I told my husband he was going too far.’ She groaned. ‘Oh, dear! I’m not looking forward to telling him.’
Since her mistress didn’t seem to think of it, Mrs Stuart didn’t suggest that Harriet might have gone to join Mr Joseph. She felt that was probably what had happened, but she’d let her employers work it out for themselves. Or not.
When the master came back from shooting, yelling for his breakfast, Cook had everything ready and the morning room table was set for him.
Doors opened and shut upstairs, then he came running down again. Cook and Mrs Stuart waited in the kitchen, nerves on edge.
A few minutes later the bell started pealing, on and on, as if the person ringing for service was angry.
Amy stared at it in near terror. ‘It’s the master. What’s wrong now? I ent done nothin’ wrong. I ent, Mrs Stuart.’
‘I know.’ She couldn’t send the poor girl off alone to face the master in a rage. ‘I’ll go.’
When she went into the morning room, the master was pacing up and down, face nearly purple with rage. The mistress was sitting at the table looking upset, dabbing at her eyes.
‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier about Harriet leaving, Mrs Stuart?’
‘You went out so early, I didn’t find out till after you’d left, sir.’
‘It’s a disgrace. I don’t know what the world’s coming to when a servant just ups and leaves. Well, all I can say is, that damned girl will regret doing this. She had no right to leave without my permission.’
Mrs Stuart had to try. ‘She was upset at the thought of being taken back to her stepmother’s and I don’t blame her. If that stepbrother was trying to have his way with her, Harriet was only doing what any decent girl would do and staying away from him.’
Mrs Dalton emerged from her handkerchief. ‘I agree. I told you that was the cause, William. Pretty young women can be at risk from a certain sort of man, however virtuous they are, and our duty is to protect our maids, not throw them into the fiery furnace.’
He glared at her. ‘If you can’t say anything helpful, kee
p quiet.’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’ His wife stood up and walked out, her shoes clicking more loudly than usual on the tiled floor of the hall.
Mrs Stuart followed her. The bell rang again before she’d gone into the servants’ quarters and she hesitated. Reluctantly, she turned back.
Mr Dalton glared at her. ‘I haven’t finished talking to you. Where do you think Harriet’s gone?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea, sir. She said nothing to anyone and must have left during the night. I don’t think she has any other family apart from the stepmother.’
‘But you must be able to guess where she’d go.’
‘I have no idea whatsoever, sir.’
He glared at her so fiercely, she wondered if he was going to dismiss her next. But she looked him straight in the eye, hoping her scorn would show. She didn’t think the mistress would allow him to dismiss her, anyway. Mrs Dalton could occasionally stand up for herself if driven into a corner.
‘Bring me some fresh tea,’ he said. ‘And some hot food. I think better on a full stomach.’ He picked up a bread roll and tore a piece off it, slathering on butter thickly and cramming it into his mouth.
He eats like a pig when he’s on his own, she thought. And for him, being with a servant was being on his own.
She walked out, not hurrying, hoping she looked calmer than she felt.
Chapter Ten
Harriet got off the train in Reading, letting the few other passengers overtake her. She felt her stomach churn with anxiety as she walked along the platform.
Would she find Joseph at the hotel? Had she remembered where it was correctly?
It was still quite early, but she hoped to get out of public view as soon as she could. She didn’t think there would be anyone in Reading who would recognise her, but you couldn’t be too careful. Anyway, Mr Joseph always woke early, all the servants knew that, so she doubted he’d mind her arriving before breakfast.
A porter in railway uniform came up to her. ‘Need help with your luggage, miss?’
