Hope at Holly Cottage

by Tania Crosse

  Ethel thought she was about to faint. May God bless her soul, it was over! But it wasn’t, was it?

  ‘What’s this all about, cheel?’ her dad asked sternly.

  ‘What’s ’appening?’ Mabel thumped down the stairs as if Beelzebub himself were after her.

  ‘Seems Anna’s done a runner,’ Fred answered over his shoulder, ‘an’ ’er dad thinks our Ethel were in on it. I thinks us’d better ’ave a chat. In the front room.’

  Ethel obeyed, moving like a machine. She was going to have to face the music now! The air in the unheated room made her shiver. It was only used for high days and holidays in the summer, or at Christmas if they could afford to burn some coal in the grate. But her dad’s features had softened, and her mum, well, she sat down next to her on the lumpy sofa and put her arm around her shaking shoulders.

  ‘Well, cheel?’

  Ethel lifted her gaze to her dad’s face, and sniffed. She hadn’t realised she was crying. From sheer terror, she supposed.

  ‘I knew she were going,’ she admitted, her voice croaky and unrecognisable. ‘’Er dad ’as a bit of a drink problem—’

  ‘So I sees …’

  ‘An’ she were frightened. But I doesn’t know where she’s gone, I swear!’ she concluded with conviction. Well, it were only a half lie, weren’t it? Somewhere up on the moor was all she knew. She didn’t know the exact location or the address. ‘Anna said she’d write when she were settled, like,’ she added truthfully.

  Her dad’s lips had tightened fiercely. ‘You’m going to ’ave to be careful o’ that Vince. If ’e lays so much as a finger on you, I swears I’ll break ’is bloody neck!’

  Ethel stared at her father and shuddered. Jesus, what had she got them all in to?

  My dearest Ethel …

  Every morning, Ethel scooted to the front door the instant she heard the postman in case there was something from Anna. She prayed that nothing would ever arrive in the second delivery when she was at work, but today her patience had been rewarded by a letter in the early post, two weeks after her friend had left and the horrible incident with her father. They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since, except for glimpses of him going to and from work. But thankfully he hadn’t shown his face at Number Sixteen again.

  Ethel had stuffed the letter into her pocket. She didn’t like deceiving her parents one little bit, but it was best they didn’t know that she had heard from Anna at all. Now she was on the bus, she eagerly tore open the envelope, glad that she had managed to conceal it from everyone else.

  Sorry I’ve not written before, but there’s no time during my normal working day. This is my afternoon off. I was supposed to walk into Princetown, which is about three miles away, because they want me to buy some more suitable clothes for my work here. I’ve got to pay for them myself, but I suppose they’ll always come in handy.

  Blooming cheek, Ethel considered, feeling the anger rising inside her. Anna always looked nice, neat and tidy and with her light-brown hair tied up in a ponytail. Ethel liked it best, though, when she let it down. It had a lovely wave to it, and never seemed out of place, whereas her own hair always looked a mess, which was why she kept it short. But she wanted to have the letter read before she got to work.

  But today the rain’s coming down in stair rods and driving across the moor in a howling gale. You’ve probably got the same, but up here, it’s so exposed that, well, it’s hard to describe. Even Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper – and a right old dragon, I tell you – she said it was too bad for me to go. Mind you, she said I’d probably catch a chill and be no use to her, so I think it was that rather than any concern for my welfare!

  Oh, love a duck, they sounded awful people! And she, Ethel, were the one to blame. If only she hadn’t seen that advert in the paper! But it were done now, and she supposed Anna didn’t seem completely down in the mouth. But she must read on.

  So I’ve ended up sitting in my little attic room writing to you instead. Which is good because I can tell you lots. But I won’t be able to post it for another week when hopefully the weather will be OK and I’ll get into Princetown then.

  I do have to work very hard, starting at six in the morning, and I’m not dismissed until nine in the evening. But there’s a proper bathroom and a flushing toilet up here in the servants’ quarters, which I’m not used to! There are two huge generators that provide electricity, because we’re miles from any mains. There’s no electric in the attic rooms, though, and the cooking’s done on an old range because there’s no gas either. And hot water comes from a coal boiler. We get through loads of coal, and one of my jobs is to keep the scuttles full for all the fires.

  Ethel’s brow creased. That sounded like blooming hard work. Poor Anna, having to make such a move. Ethel wondered if she’d have been able to do it. Probably not. So thank the Lord she had such a wonderful family, and her dear Bert, and all.

  Mr Jackson, the butler, he’s quite a stickler but he’s not as openly hostile as Mrs Davenport. I helped him polish the silver. You use some stuff that smells vile and you have to wear gloves because it stains your fingers black. But he said I made a good job of it. Not that he said it with a smile. In fact, I don’t think his face has smile muscles! Mrs Davenport’s the one, though! She seems cross all the time and tries to make me feel two inches tall. I’m learning a lot about cooking from her, though. They use really expensive ingredients and we eat the same as Lady A and it really is delicious.

  Give me fish and chips any day, or a fry up, Ethel scoffed. But then she thought of the lumpy porridge she’d just eaten. She wondered if cornflakes might taste better, but they sorts of cereals was dearer. And anyway, her dad said hot porridge stuck to your ribs better.

  Some mornings I help Mrs Smudge with the cleaning, and she makes it quite fun. The house is so big that we hardly see the others. She doesn’t go much on them, but she says she loves the house and making it look nice and she says Lady A’s all right. And they need the money. It’s hard being a farmer, she says. And she’s right about Lady A. She demands respect and she can be quite formidable, but she doesn’t treat me like dirt the way Mrs D does.

  Anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard quite enough about me. I want to know how everything is with you. Are you still going out with Bert? I do hope so, but I don’t want to know all the details! Please give my love to all your family and tell them how I really appreciate all they did for me when Mum died. At least that’s one thing. They keep me so busy here, it stops me thinking about her so much.

  So, now you have my full address, you can write back to me. I’m really looking forward to it!

  Take care of yourself

  All my love

  Anna

  Ethel lifted her head and glanced out of the window. A lump had suddenly come to her throat at the picture of Anna in her lonely room at the top of the big, isolated house. Anna were trying to be happy, weren’t she? But that were Anna for you. She got on with things. In her own quiet and determined way. It weren’t fair, everything she’d had to put up with. Not that it had stopped the pair of them having a lot of fun together all the years they’d known each other, had it?

  Oh, how Ethel missed her! She weren’t a great letter writer herself, but she’d spend her lunch hour writing back. She’d tell Anna … No. She wouldn’t tell her everything. She wouldn’t tell her how Vince had come over to their house in a foul temper and making threats. Ethel was still a bit frightened. And of course, she hadn’t told her parents how Freda had really come to fall down the stairs. Her dad would’ve gone spare if he’d known!

  Life could be proper complicated sometimes, couldn’t it? But there was nothing she could do about it except write a cheerful letter back to Anna. There weren’t any trains on Sundays, but maybe they could work it so that when Anna had some time off, she could take the day’s paid leave she had left and they could meet in Princetown. Yes, that’d be great, and she shoved the letter back in its envelope with a happy smile.

  ‘Girl, you
can take ten minutes’ break,’ Mrs Davenport said resentfully as she poured out cups of hot, steaming liquid for their morning coffee. ‘We don’t say elevenses,’ she had corrected Anna on her second day. ‘Such a common expression,’ she had added with a sneer.

  Anna had already been getting used to the witch’s belittling attitude, so that by now she would have been shocked if the woman hadn’t spoken to her like that. Stupid old biddy, Anna thought to herself. What good did it do her, making herself and everyone around her feel miserable? It was true that Lady A expected a lot of her and she had to be ultra efficient, but surely she’d achieve just as much in a more genial atmosphere?

  ‘Don’t you let that she-devil upset you,’ Mrs Smudge had whispered one morning when Mrs Davenport had been particularly nasty to her. ‘Like it to everyone, she is. Reckons she’s jealous, I does, an’ afeared someone can do the job better’n she can.’

  ‘Wouldn’t catch her blackleading the range, mind,’ Anna had scoffed grimly, for that was the worst job she’d been put to. And Mrs Davenport refused to call her anything but girl, despite Lady Ashcroft’s instructions. But this morning, Anna didn’t care. A reply from Ethel had arrived in the post, and her heart had soared. And so she ran up the servants’ stairs to her little room to read it.

  She sat up, cross-legged, on the bed and glanced at her watch. Ten minutes. But she needn’t have worried. Ethel’s note was brief with no real news. Disappointment swamped Anna’s expectant mood, and the black grief that hovered constantly in the wings clawed at her soul once more.

  Oh, Mum. She got up and went over to the little window. It was one of those dull days on Dartmoor when the weather seemed to be asleep, with no rushing wind or lashing rain, penetrating fog or crisp sunshine. Just overcast, still and not particularly cold for the end of November. But visibility was good, and from so high up, Anna could see the barren folds of southern Dartmoor stretching away to infinity – or so it seemed. That part of the moor was especially bleak with no signs of habitation or, as far as Anna was aware, any of the dramatic tors that added power and excitement to the landscape elsewhere. Here it was as if the moor lay sleeping beneath the blanket of the sky, as if at eternal rest. Just like her mum.

  She felt the now familiar tightness in her throat but she mustn’t cry, although when she looked at her watch, she couldn’t see its tiny hands through her blurred vision. Ten minutes? At that particular moment, she didn’t care if she was late. Mrs Davenport’s scathing reprimand would be nothing to the pain in her heart.

  She dashed the back of her hand over her eyes, stowed away Ethel’s letter, and ran down the stairs.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Let’s see what a mess you can make of that, then,’ Mrs Davenport gloated, hands on hips, as she nodded at the flower stand in the main entrance hall. ‘And remember, some of those flowers cost a lot of money and Lady Ashcroft doesn’t want them spoilt.’

  Anna watched darkly as the housekeeper made her way through the servants’ door with a smirk on her face. I’ll show her, Anna seethed. Ever since Lady Ashcroft had told her that she had passed her month’s trial with flying colours, she was convinced that Mrs Davenport had been looking for a reason to have her dismissed. But Anna was equally determined not to give her a chance, and this was not going to provide her with it!

  She stood back and studied the stand. She had seen it so often before, of course, bedecked in Mrs Davenport’s rigid arrangement, adequate in itself but looking more like a bird’s nest stuck on a pole. The stand was elegant and deserved better, Anna considered. Perhaps … Could she possibly create an S-shape rather than the housekeeper’s halo, with the tall lilies on one side, sweeping down through the chrysanths, and then with a swirl of the variegated ivy trailing down below? Now, then …

  A massive stone fireplace dominated the hall, but Anna had never seen it lit. November had been chased out by an arctic wind rampaging across the moor from the northeast, and Anna was glad of the old liberty bodice she had put on that morning under her blouse, and the thick black stockings she was obliged to wear. It was calm and peaceful in the echoing hall, away from the bustle of the kitchen and Mrs Davenport’s constant haranguing. Anna found herself humming as she worked, standing back to study the effect and decide what to put in next.

  She had been so absorbed in her creation that when the heavy oak front door suddenly opened and was nearly blown off its hinges, Anna was so startled that she literally jumped and nearly knocked the flower stand right over. Her heart thumped hard for a few beats as she stared in shock at the figure standing on the threshold. Clad in a thick greatcoat flapping around its knees, a scarf swathed a dozen times about its neck, and its head adorned with a leather flying helmet and goggles like saucers, the creature looked like something from outer space or maybe from a horror film.

  Don’t be so ridiculous, Anna chided herself. But she watched in bemused fascination as the apparition peeled off first its gauntlets and then its headgear and goggles. Oh, goodness, it was real. A young man, and a handsome one at that. But what did he think he was doing, bursting in like this as if he owned the place? Anna glanced past him, and just before he heaved the door shut against the wind, she glimpsed some glamorous-looking, open-topped sports car parked regally on the driveway.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she began indignantly, for who was he to interrupt her daydream like that? ‘You can’t just walk in—’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl, are you going to take all day?’ Mrs Davenport’s tirade cut across the hall as she emerged through the below-stairs door. ‘You’ve other things to do than fiddle about—’ She broke off abruptly, and Anna could have laughed with bitter contempt as the expression on the woman’s face changed in a flash from rage to simpering humility. ‘Oh, Sir Gilbert! How lovely to see you! But we had absolutely no idea you were coming.’

  ‘It was meant to be a surprise!’ the young man grinned affably. ‘Oh, Mrs D, be a dear and make some tea, would you? And if you have some crumpets or scones or something? The pub where I stopped for lunch only did sandwiches and I’m positively famished.’

  ‘Of course, Sir Gilbert. And apologies for the girl, here,’ the witch added more sternly. ‘She’s spent ages arranging those flowers. Hurry up and clear away the trimmings, girl. You have other duties to attend to.’

  ‘Well, I think she’s made a jolly good job of them!’ He winked at Anna, and her heart gave a little jump before he turned away and strode towards the drawing room. ‘Mother!’ he called loudly, but before he reached the door, it opened from the other side and Lady Ashcroft came out into the hall.

  ‘No need to shout, Gilbert, dear.’

  Sir Gilbert stepped forward and placed a respectful peck on his mother’s cheek. ‘Sorry, Mother. But you are pleased to see me, aren’t you?’ he cajoled.

  ‘Of course, dear—’

  ‘Don’t you think this young lady has arranged these flowers absolutely beautifully? Quite the artist and very professional!’

  He was smiling broadly, and Anna felt the crimson flood into her cheeks. He had evidently forgiven her mistake, and was now complimenting her handiwork. She didn’t know which way to look.

  ‘Why, Anna, I had no idea you were so talented.’ Prudence Ashcroft’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Did you take the idea from a book – Mrs Beeton’s Household Management, for instance?’

  ‘I … made it up, Lady Ashcroft,’ Anna stuttered, politely dipping her knee.

  ‘Well, I think you should always arrange the flowers from now on, is that understood, Mrs Davenport?’

  Anna saw from the corner of her eye that the housekeeper was making for the kitchen to prepare the tea Sir Gilbert had requested.

  ‘Yes, Lady Ashcroft,’ she answered, tight-lipped. ‘Indeed.’

  And as she flounced through the below-stairs door, she threw Anna a look that could kill.

  ‘If you’ve finished playing about with those flowers now, young lady,’ Mrs Davenport smiled with scathing sarcasm five min
utes later, ‘could I possibly trust you to prepare Sir Gilbert’s room while I get the tea he ordered? You can remember the way I showed you, I assume?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Davenport.’

  ‘And be as quick as you can. We’ll be really busy in the kitchen tonight with Sir Gilbert here.’

  Anna couldn’t really see what difference just one extra mouth should make, but the old crow would doubtless have her running round like a headless chicken, so she had better get on with the allotted task. She actually felt quite proud that the housekeeper had entrusted her with it, although she had a sneaking suspicion the crusty woman would be hoping she would botch it so that she could relish in chastising her! Anna vowed to do everything perfectly so that the she-devil couldn’t possibly find anything to criticise.

  The huge range had a water boiler at one end and Anna quickly filled four hot-water bottles from the upstairs drawer, topped up the boiler with fresh water from the cold tap, and ran up the servants’ staircase. Sir Gilbert’s room was opposite his mother’s, with heavy oak furniture rather than the more elegant regency style in Lady Ashcroft’s ‘boudoir’ – as Mrs Smudge called it with a wink as she polished away like a demon.

  Anna quickly set to, turning down the bed and laying the hot-water bottles on the mattress. The air smelt a touch musty, so she opened both sash windows just an inch or two at the very top, and then as she started laying the fire, Mr Jackson came in with Sir Gilbert’s luggage.

  She was still on her knees by the hearth, carefully adding pieces of coal to the now blazing kindling, when she heard Mr Jackson return. Goodness, Sir Gilbert must have a lot of luggage, she reflected, but she didn’t turn her head. This stage of the fire was critical and she was determined that nothing would go wrong with her preparation of the room.

  ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

  Anna was so startled that she dropped the lump of coal from the tongs. Fortunately it fell back into the scuttle and not onto the stone hearth where it would have made a black smudge that would be difficult to remove. Oh, no! It wasn’t the butler this time, but Sir Gilbert himself! Anna leapt to her feet and bobbed a curtsey, keeping her eyes on the hearth rug while the blood raced about her body.