Mermaids Singing

by Dilly Court

  Chapter Three

  Deadly silence. Mr Warner’s fingers dug into Kitty’s shoulders, his eyes narrowed to slits and his lips tightened into a straight line. Sir Desmond made a sound between a choke and a cough. Closing her eyes, Kitty waited for the inevitable blow that must fall and strike her to the ground. She covered her head with her hands and the clumps of stubble, left by Olive’s vicious application of the scissors, felt like coconut matting interspersed with bald patches, sticky with blood, where the blades had nipped her skin.

  ‘How absolutely shocking!’ Lady Mableton’s voice broke the silence. ‘I’m appalled.’

  ‘My lady, I can’t apologise enough,’ said Mr Warner, giving Kitty a good shake.

  ‘Who is this little animal?’ demanded Sir Desmond.

  ‘Desmond, have pity. She’s just a child and she’s hurt.’

  Kitty opened her eyes to stare up at Lady Mableton and saw to her astonishment that, although her lips curved in a tender smile, her cornflower blue eyes were bright with tears. ‘You poor girl, who did this to you?’

  ‘Allow Warner to deal with this, Bella,’ Sir Desmond said, taking his hat, cane and gloves from Bob. ‘We’re going to be late.’

  ‘Then we’ll be late. I want to find out exactly what has been going on below stairs and who has allowed this dreadful thing to happen in our home.’

  Mr Warner cleared his throat. ‘My lady, I’m sorry that this extraordinary event has come to your notice, but it really would be best dealt with by myself and Mrs Brewster.’

  ‘Come along, Bella. Leave it to Warner,’ Sir Desmond said, thrusting his hands into his gloves. ‘This is a ridiculous fuss over something that doesn’t concern us.’

  ‘Desmond, please.’ Lady Mableton’s voice was cream laced with honey. ‘Let me have a moment.’

  Kitty felt the pressure of Mr Warner’s fingers tighten until it seemed as though her bones would snap.

  Sir Desmond’s moustache quivered as he hesitated, frowning. ‘Have it your own way, my dear. I’ll wait for you in the carriage. But don’t be long.’

  All smiles, Lady Mableton kissed his cheek and then spun round to glare at Mr Warner. ‘You may go, Warner. My maid, Lane, will see to the girl.’ She held her hand out to Kitty. ‘Come with me, Kitty.’

  Kitty hesitated, glancing anxiously up at Mr Warner, whose well-schooled features had turned to stone. He released her with a slight inclination of his head and took a step backwards. Kitty could see that he was not best pleased.

  Lady Mableton ascended the staircase, seeming to float rather than to walk, her long skirts trailing behind her, giving the impression that she moved on a cushion of air rather than on human feet. Kitty scuttled past Mr Warner, following her ladyship up the stairs. Her feet sank into the thick pile of the carpet and, as she came to the first landing, her eyes almost popped out of her head. The ornately papered walls were hung with oil paintings in gilded frames. Rosewood side tables were scattered with porcelain bowls exuding the scent of pot pourri, and tall vases filled with exotic flowers; the air was heavy with their mingled fragrance. Entering Lady’s Mableton’s boudoir was like finding herself inside a pearly pink seashell, and Kitty stared around in sheer wonderment; she would never have believed that anything like this existed in the whole world.

  Miss Lane came in from an adjoining room, stopping short when she saw Kitty. ‘Good God, what’s this?’

  ‘Maria, this is Kitty Cox.’

  ‘I know that,’ Maria said, with a sniff. ‘I make it my business to know everything that goes on in this house. She should be where she belongs, in the scullery.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense! I know very well what sort of thing goes on below stairs and I won’t be party to bullying and torturing a child of this age.’ Lady Mableton put her arm around Kitty’s shoulders. ‘See what you can do with her hair and put some salve on the cuts.’

  Maria folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head. ‘You know you shouldn’t interfere, Bella. They’ll only take it out on her later. It’s up to Warner to deal with the servants.’

  Kitty stared from one to the other, hardly able to believe her ears. No servant would dare talk back like that to Mr Warner or Mrs Brewster, and yet this fiery little woman was daring to talk to her ladyship like an equal.

  ‘I’ve never liked Warner and I don’t trust him. That’s exactly why I want you to keep her up here until I get home,’ Lady Mableton said, patting Kitty’s shoulder. ‘I have to go now, Kitty. Maria will look after you.’ She was gone in a flurry of ostrich feathers, leaving a trail of French perfume in her wake.

  Kitty stood with her hands knotted behind her back, waiting for Miss Lane to pounce on her, which she did; a cold-eyed swooping bird of prey, gripping Kitty in her talon-like fingers. She steered her through the bedroom, past a four-poster bed draped in white lace, and on into Lady Mableton’s private bathroom. The walls and floor were tiled in pink marble; the cast iron bath stood on brass claw feet and had taps that looked like real gold. Momentarily, Kitty forgot her pain and humiliation. She stood dumbly, dazzled by the gaslight flickering and reflecting off shelves ranged with cut glass bottles filled with sparkling crystals and coloured potions. Catching sight of herself in a tall mirror, Kitty gulped and raised her hand to her bleeding scalp. Her reflection stared back at her, horribly out of place in this glittering palace.

  ‘Right,’ said Maria, putting the plug in the bath and turning the taps full on. ‘Don’t stand there gawking. It’s the bathtub for you, my girl.’

  Wrapped in the softest pink towel imaginable, Kitty sat on the stool in front of Lady Mableton’s dressing table, while Maria took the scissors to what was left of her hair. She worked in silence, her full lips drawn into a tight line of concentration. Kitty could see her reflected in the triple mirrors, and she could only admire the way Maria’s capable fingers worked to tidy up the mess that Olive had created. The cuts had been bathed and treated with salve and, somehow, Maria had managed to persuade Kitty’s hair to cover most of the bald patches.

  ‘You look more like a lad than a girl, but it’s the best I can do,’ Maria said, whipping the towel away from Kitty’s shoulders and giving it a shake.

  Naked except for the towel wrapped around her waist, Kitty folded her arms across her chest, shivering and feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  ‘You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before,’ Maria said, wrinkling her nose as she wiped the comb on a towel. ‘Put your clothes on before you catch your death of cold. We don’t want to upset her ladyship, seeing as how she’s taken a fancy to you, though God alone knows why.’

  Kitty scampered into the bathroom and dragged her dress over her head.

  Maria bustled into the room and threw a cloth at her. ‘It’s your dirt, you clean the bath, wipe down the walls and make sure there’s no water left on the floor. I’m not waiting on the likes of you.’

  When Kitty was certain that the marble walls were shining and the bath was spotlessly clean, she went back to the boudoir and found Maria, sitting at a table, mending a lace frill on one of Lady Mableton’s evening gowns.

  ‘If you’ve missed a bit I’ll make you do the whole bathroom again,’ Maria said, snipping a thread.

  ‘I ain’t missed nothing,’ Kitty said, stung into answering back. ‘I didn’t ask to be brought up here. I’ll be in for it when I goes back below stairs.’

  ‘Yes, I daresay you will.’ Maria smiled grimly as she put the needle back in its case, closing the sewing box with a snap, and getting to her feet. ‘Right then, I’m going below stairs for my dinner. What am I going to do with you?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Kitty said, staring down at the flower pattern on the carpet.

  ‘I’m not leaving you here in my lady’s room and that’s final.’

  Kitty looked up and saw that Maria was staring at her with an exasperated look on her face. She said nothing; it seemed safer that way. Maria grabbed her by the arm and propelled her towards the door. At fi
rst, Kitty thought she was going to be taken back to the servants’ quarters, but Maria led her along the landing and up the next flight of stairs to the nursery. Kitty had only seen Nanny Smith briefly, when she came down to the kitchen to collect her tray of food to take back to the nursery. The housemaids and Florrie always made fun of Nanny, but only behind her back. It seemed to Kitty that they resented her because she was treated like the upper servants. Nanny Smith slept in a small room next to the nursery, had her own bathroom, and didn’t mix with them below stairs. Olive said she was a stuck-up snob.

  Nanny Smith looked up from spoon-feeding Leonie. ‘What’s this, Miss Lane?’

  Maria gave Kitty a shove, sending her into the middle of the room. ‘There’s been some trouble below stairs. My lady wants us to keep the girl out of the way until she gets back.’

  Leonie waved her small fists, knocking the spoon from Nanny’s hand, and began to howl.

  ‘All right, she can stay for a bit but you go away, Miss Lane. Miss Leonie always plays up when you come into the nursery.’

  Maria looked as though she would like to say something, but seemed to think better of it and, turning on her heel, she stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Kitty stood, clasping her hands behind her back, uncertain what she was expected to do next. Leonie’s howls rose as she worked herself into a tantrum and Nanny Smith picked her up. She began to pace the floor, patting Leonie’s back, and crooning to her, but this only seemed to make things worse.

  ‘She doesn’t like strangers,’ Nanny said, pausing for a moment. ‘Better go and sit in the night nursery until I quieten her down, or she’ll go on like this until she turns blue in the face.’

  Kitty hesitated; she’d seen Violet try the same trick a dozen times in the past and Leonie must be about the same age. ‘Let me have a go.’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘We got a two-year-old at home. I know how to deal with her sort.’

  Nanny Smith glanced longingly at the covered dish on the tray set with her midday meal. ‘I suppose it won’t hurt, just the once.’ She handed Leonie over to Kitty.

  Leonie yelled even louder and struggled in Kitty’s arms. Kitty hoisted her up on her shoulder and began to dance around the room, ignoring the howls and singing “Ring-a-ring o’ roses, a pocketful of posies”. When she reached the “Atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down” bit, she threw herself down on her knees. Leonie caught her breath on a sob and stopped crying. Kitty jumped up and repeated the process all over again and when she collapsed to the ground, Leonie began to chuckle.

  ‘Well, I never did!’ exclaimed Nanny, with her mouth full of roast potato. ‘If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I’d never have believed it possible.’

  Nanny Smith had impaled a slice of bread on a toasting fork and was holding it in front of the fire in preparation for Leonie’s tea, while Kitty sat on the floor, encouraging Leonie to play with a set of brightly coloured wooden building blocks.

  Lady Mableton came into the nursery, sweeping Leonie up in her arms and kissing her chubby cheek. ‘And how is my little angel this afternoon?’

  Leonie’s rosebud mouth drooped at the corners and she let out a howl of rage, struggling, kicking and demanding to be put down. Kitty scrambled to her feet and, following Nanny Smith’s example, bobbed a curtsey.

  ‘Has naughty Mama spoilt your game,’ crooned Lady Mableton, setting the screaming Leonie back on the floor. She subsided onto her knees in a swirl of lavender silk and lace, but Leonie pushed her mother away and began to drum her feet on the carpet. ‘Bad girl to kick poor Mama.’

  ‘If you please, my lady, I think perhaps Miss Leonie is hungry.’ Nanny Smith hurried forward and bent down to pick Leonie up, receiving a kick in the face for her trouble. She staggered backwards holding her nose, her eyes watering.

  ‘Naughty, naughty baby,’ Lady Mableton cried, getting hastily to her feet. ‘What shall Mama do with you?’

  Wondering how two grown women could let a little tyrant boss them about like this, Kitty lunged at Leonie and swept her up in her arms. ‘You say sorry to your poor ma, Miss Leonie. It ain’t nice to behave like this.’

  Leonie struggled a bit, but she had stopped crying, and her eyes widened in astonishment as she stared into Kitty’s unsmiling face.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Kitty said, nodding in approval. ‘Now you say you’re sorry.’

  Leonie plugged her thumb in her mouth and shook her head.

  ‘I ain’t waiting all day,’ Kitty told her, frowning.

  Leonie unplugged her thumb. ‘I sorry, Mama.’

  ‘Bless my soul,’ cried Nanny Smith.

  Leonie held her fat little arms out to her mother and Lady Mableton seized her in a fond embrace. ‘My precious baby.’ She smiled at Kitty over Leonie’s curly blonde head. ‘Now I know what I’ll do with you, Kitty. You will help Nanny Smith look after Miss Leonie. What do you think about that Nanny?’

  Nanny Smith bobbed a curtsey. ‘I’d be very pleased to have some help, my lady.’

  ‘That’s settled then.’ Lady Mableton handed Leonie back to Kitty. ‘You take your orders from Nanny now or directly from me. I’ll speak to Warner about it immediately.’

  Kitty was dazed by the sudden turn of events. Her life seemed to have changed in the space of a few hours. She was allowed to move her few possessions from the garret room to the night nursery, where a truckle bed was placed against the wall opposite Leonie’s cot. It was directly underneath the window, and at night she could lie in bed looking up at the sky and imagine that Jem was on his ship sailing homewards, guided by the same stars that twinkled above her. As long as she did exactly what Nanny Smith said, life in the nursery was much easier and more peaceful than it had ever been in the scullery. She was given one of Nanny’s old uniforms to cut down and alter to fit herself, and a navy serge coat and felt hat that had belonged to the previous Nanny, which fitted perfectly.

  Kitty soon found out that Nanny Smith was sweet on Bob, the first footman, although romance between the servants was strictly forbidden. If Mr Warner or Mrs Brewster had the slightest suspicion that there was anything going on between them, Nanny would be discharged without a character and Bob would be given a stern talking-to. Kitty knew that Nanny’s evening strolls in Green Park were not unaccompanied. She had watched from the window in the night nursery as Nanny set off along Dover Street towards Piccadilly and, a few moments later, she had seen Bob strolling along in the same direction. If Maria came into the nursery looking for Nanny Smith, Kitty had a string of alibis ready to trip off her tongue. She had no particular liking for Nanny, who seemed determined to keep her firmly in her place, and clearly resented the fact that Lady Mableton favoured her. But Nanny was not spiteful like Olive and Dora, nor was she cockney-smart like Maria, who had a mouth on her that reminded Kitty of Maggie when she was riled.

  Conversations between Kitty and Nanny Smith were usually one-sided, with Nanny giving instructions and Kitty carrying them out to the best of her ability. Occasionally, in the evening after supper, when Miss Leonie was safely tucked in her cot and the nursery was clean and tidy, they would sit by the fire drinking tea and Nanny Smith would tell Kitty about her childhood on a farm in rural Essex. Life on a small farm didn’t sound much easier than the back-breaking hours Kitty had spent scavenging in the stinking detritus, washed up by the Thames, but Nanny’s brown eyes misted with tears when she spoke of her younger brothers and sisters. This was something that Kitty understood only too well.

  She missed Maggie and the little ones more than she would have thought possible but, even though the memory of Sid’s assault was fading into the realms of a bad dream, Kitty knew she could never return to Sugar Yard. Sometimes, when she awakened in the cold, dark hours before dawn, Kitty lay in bed worrying how Maggie would be coping without her. There would be no one to cuddle little Violet when she woke up, scared by a bad dream. If Maggie was busy feeding baby Harry, who would put arnica on Bill
y’s eye when he’d come off worst, fighting the Blacker boys? If Maggie had another baby, an event that happened regular as clockwork every year, there would be no one to help wean Harry onto sops of bread and milk. Kitty had worked out in her mind that it was not Maggie’s fault that she had sent her away. Maggie had done it for her own good, because Maggie loved her in spite of everything. It was Sid who was to blame for all the bad things that had happened to her; he had shamed, hurt and humiliated her and, for the first time in her life, Kitty knew what it was like to really hate someone.

  ‘You look peaky today, Kitty. Are you feeling quite well?’ Lady Mableton studied Kitty’s face with a frown puckering her smooth forehead.

  Kitty bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yes, my lady, thank you.’ Leonie was tugging at her hand, demanding to be released but Kitty held on, knowing that she would make straight for the box of chocolates that lay open on the drum table, beside a bowl full of jewel-bright chrysanthemums.

  ‘It’s all right, Kitty. Leonie won’t be happy until she’s found the violet creams, will you, Angel?’ Lady Mableton went to the table and picked up the satin-covered box, laughing as Leonie scampered towards her and plunged her chubby fingers into the chocolates.

  Kitty shifted from one foot to the other as she waited to be dismissed. Miss Leonie was all dressed up in her outdoor clothes, ready for the promised carriage drive to Hyde Park. Maria had laid her mistress’s fashionable Persian lamb jacket and matching muff on the back of the chaise longue and she stood silently, with her arms folded across her chest, waiting and tapping her toe. Watching Maria out of the corner of her eye, Kitty wondered for the umpteenth time how she managed to get away with such behaviour. But Lady Mableton didn’t seem to care, or even notice, and she allowed Leonie to stuff several chocolates into her mouth before she put the box out of reach.