by Betty Neels
‘I have a housekeeper, a butler and a number of servants, Miss—er—Mason. I am, I consider, a considerate and generous employer. You are not quite the type I would have wished for, but since no one else has applied, I will offer you the post on a month’s approval. You will live out; I can’t have the servants running round after you morning and evening—and I will give you forty pounds a week wages.’
Jemima said gently: ‘I should have been glad to accept, Lady Manderly, but if I have to live out I can’t possibly live on that amount. Clothes and shoes and things,’ she added matter-of-factly. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time. Good afternoon, Lady Manderly.’
She started for the door, indeed she had a hand on the door handle when Lady Manderly spoke. ‘I will give you fifty pounds a week, Miss Mason—that is a generous offer. You will come here each morning from nine o’clock and remain until six o’clock in the evening. You will, of course, have your lunch here and your tea. I shall not require you on Sundays.’
‘I should need a half day each week—shopping for food and seeing my friends.’
Lady Manderly sighed so deeply that Jemima expected to see the seams of her dress give way. ‘You are like all modern young women, selfish and indifferent to the comfort of others. You may have a half day each week. Be good enough to start your duties on Monday next. You have references?’
Jemima handed over the names and addresses of some elderly friends of her parents.
‘If they are not satisfactory I will let you know. Be good enough to give your address to my butler as you go out.’ Lady Manderly nodded regally and Jemima, not in the least intimidated, whisked herself out of the room and down the stairs to encounter the butler in the hall.
He wrote down her address impassively and then puffed his way to the front door and held it open for her. ‘I trust we shall see you in due course, miss,’ he observed, and allowed his features to relax into the beginnings of a small smile.
‘Me too,’ said Jemima.
So far so good, she thought as she walked briskly towards the end of the square. Now to find somewhere to live; close by and cheap. The main road was bustling with people and traffic, another world to the peace and dignity which she had just left. There were shops here, mostly good class boutiques, high class grocers and the kind of greengrocer who sold out-of-season fruit and vegetables, but tucked in between them, her searching eye saw a stationers and post office. A likely place to enquire for rooms, she considered. She crossed the street and made her way there and since the shop was almost empty, she went inside.
A redhaired young woman behind the post office counter listened to her silently. ‘Well, I might know of something,’ she observed in a cheerful cockney voice, ‘and then again I might not.’ She eyed Jemima’s sober appearance. ‘What do you do?’
‘Well, I’ve just got a job as a daily companion. I’d only want a room and bed and breakfast.’
The girl chewed on a pencil. ‘There’s a room ’ere,’ she said at length. ‘Me mum lives over the shop and she likes a lodger.’ She opened the counter flap. ‘You’d better come up and see ’er.’
Mum was small and wiry and sharp-tongued, but her eyes were kind. ‘It ain’t much of a room,’ she said, but with no hint of apology, ‘but it’s clean and it’s got a gas fire and a ring for yer kettle, there’s a wash basin too, but yer’ll ’ave ter use the loo at the end of the passage.’
It was a dim little room with a view of chimney pots and a strip of sky, but the furniture wasn’t too bad; there was a small table under the window and a rather battered armchair, a wardrobe and bookshelves and a bed against one wall. With her own small possessions and an eiderdown and a few flowers, Jemima decided, it would do. And the rent was no more than she could afford to pay. Panic caught her by the throat when she remembered that she would be here for two years perhaps, but she made herself forget that. She said steadily: ‘It’s very nice, I should like to take it. You’d like some rent in advance, wouldn’t you—and references?’
‘I’ll have a week’s money, dear, but I know a lady when I see one—I don’t need no references.’ The girl added sharply: ‘Name’s Adams—Mrs Adams. Come into me sitting room and ’ave a cup of tea.’
Jemima drank dark sweet tea thankfully, it was just what she needed. She listened to Mrs Adams telling her about hot water for baths, what kind of breakfast she would get and how the gas fire was on its own meter and she’d have to pay for it separately. ‘And if you want ter cook yerself a snack I’ve no objection. Yer’ll get yer breakfast later on a Sunday, me and Shirley like a nice lie-in. Yer’ll eat in ’ere. If yer want the milkman or the baker, I’ll take in yer stuff. There’s a launderette down Smith Street, that’s first right when you go out of the shop.’ She gave Jemima a quick look. ‘Yer can do yer smalls in the bathroom, but don’t ’ang em there.’
Jemima promised that she wouldn’t, finished her tea, parted with a week’s rent and said goodbye. ‘If I could move in on Sunday evening?’ she asked. ‘I have to work from nine to six o’clock and I’d like to get settled in first.’
Mrs Adams nodded. ‘OK. Ring the shop door bell twice so that we know who it is.’
Jemima had to wait for a train; she sat on the station, impervious to the crowds of homegoing people milling around her, doing careful arithmetic on the back of an envelope. She would be able to manage nicely if she were careful; she had clothes enough, not very new, but they had been good when she had bought them, she would have to allow for tights and soap and writing paper and stamps and all the small things one overlooked normally, but she would have no fares and, with luck, a good lunch every day, she might even save a little money. She went on with her sums when she was in the train and by the time she reached the flat at Oxford, she was her usual calm cheerful self. After all, she had the job, she had somewhere to live and in two years’ time Dick would be back in England and they could set up house together and if, as he was bound to do, Dick married, she would learn typing and shorthand and become some powerful executive’s right hand secretary. It would be nice to marry, of course, but she didn’t dwell on that; she was after all turned twenty-six and no beauty.
Dick was home, deep in his books, which he had spread out all over the table. Jemima took off her jacket, piled them tidily and laid the table for their supper. She had been busy about this for a minute or two before he looked up to ask: ‘Well, did you get the job?’
‘Yes, and I think I’ll quite enjoy it too. I have to live out, but I’ve found a very nice bedsitter close by—it’s just behind Harrod’s—her name is Lady Manderly.’
‘That’s splendid—is she paying you enough?’
‘Quite enough, love. I shall manage splendidly. I’m to start on Monday, which is just right, isn’t it? I’ll be able to see you off on Sunday morning.’ She smiled a little ruefully as she spoke; Dick had already turned back to his book, obviously relieved that her future had been settled so easily.
Perhaps it was a good thing that he was going to America on his own, she reflected, watching the plane getting smaller and smaller as it left Heathrow. He had always been looked after—not spoilt, she told herself, he was too nice for that, but since an early age he had buried his head in books; food and clothes, even people, had meant very little to him. She hoped that they would be kind to him in Boston, he was a nice boy and everyone liked him. She was going to miss him.
She spent the rest of the day cleaning the flat, handing over the keys and packing the rest of her things and in the evening she called a taxi and had herself driven to catch the train to her new home.
Mrs Adams answered the door, took one of her cases from her and ushered her upstairs. The flat smelled of Sunday dinner, but her room was spotlessly clean and the bed looked inviting. Left to herself Jemima lighted the gas fire, made tea on the gas ring and started to unpack. She quite enjoyed arranging her possessions round the room, and the bed looked even better with her eiderdown on it and the reading lamp on the small table beside it.
She had almost finished when Shirley knocked and came in. ‘Got all you want?’ she asked kindly. ‘Mum says breakfast at eight o’clock—we open the shop at half past. The water’s hot if you want a bath.’
She sat down on the bed and smoothed the eiderdown with a careful hand. ‘Silk, ain’t it? I bet you ’as a posh ’ome.’
Jemima closed the wardrobe door. ‘Well, I suppose it was, but home’s what you make it, isn’t it? I’ve been in some very grand houses and they’re just like museums, not home at all—now this is cosy…’
Shirley stared at her. ‘Cor—you mean it too, don’t you? Well, I never! Mind you, I’d hate to live anywhere else but London—deadly dull it must be.’ She got up. ‘You can call me Shirl,’ she invited.
‘Thank you, Shirl—call me Jemima if you like.’
‘Sounds a funny name to me, but if it’s all you’ve got I’ll ’ave to, won’t I? So long.’
Jemima slept soundly. She was a sensible girl; Dick was safely embarked on a career, she had a job and a roof over her head and she didn’t owe anyone any money, so there was no reason why she should stay awake.
She was up and ready for breakfast in good time, very neat in the navy blue suit she had worn to the interview. It was by no means new, but her shoes were good and her blouse, a white silk one she had had for years, dateless. Looking at her reflection in the mirror behind the wardrobe door, she hoped that her appearance was right for the job and was encouraged to think so by Mrs Adams, who put a plate of bacon and egg in front of her remarking: ‘There’s nothing like navy blue to make a girl look ladylike.’ She poured strong tea and handed it to Jemima. ‘Nervous?’
Jemima thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I think I am, a little. I’ve never had a job before.’
‘You’ll do,’ observed Shirley through a mouthful of toast and marmalade. ‘Just remember not to let ’er sit on you—you stand up for yourself, see?’ She pushed her chair back. ‘Well, I’ll go and get started, I suppose. You coming down later, Mum?’
Mrs Adams nodded. ‘Yes, and just you see that that Ned does the till proper.’ And as her daughter clattered down the stairs. ‘’E’s the assistant part-time, but ’e’s not much use.’
It was barely five minutes’ walk to Lady Manderly’s house. Jemima went back to her room, made the bed neatly, tidied it, picked up her bag and gloves and wished Mrs Adams goodbye. And in the shop Shirley sorting magazines with lightning efficiency, cried: ‘Good luck, girl!’ and waved airily from behind the counter. Jemima, outside on the pavement, found herself reluctant to cross the road; the little shop already seemed a safe shelter. She would be coming back that evening, she reminded herself, and nipped on to the opposite pavement, heading for Lady Manderly’s house.
The door was opened by the same stout man and after wishing him a good morning, Jemima said: ‘Will you tell me your name? I wasn’t told the other day when I was here, but if we are going to see each other every day it would be nicer.’ She smiled at him and he smiled back at her in a rather surprised way. ‘Belling, miss. And I’m sure I hope you’ll be happy here.’
‘Why, thank you, Belling, I hope so too. What do I do next?’
‘I’ll show you the cloak room, miss, where you can put your things and then ascertain if Lady Manderly is ready for you.’
He started off across the hall and then paused as someone came running down the staircase. Jemima paused too, having no choice as a man came round the curve of the staircase. She recognised him at once—who could forget that pepper-and-salt hair and the size of him? He stopped as he reached them, nodded at Belling and stared hard at her. ‘So you landed the job,’ he observed. ‘Well, I hope you’ll be a better companion than you were a typist.’ He smiled mockingly, but his eyes were as cold as the first time they had met.
Belling had gone to open the street door and he went through it without saying anything more. A very unpleasant man, but there was no harm in finding out who he was.
As Belling rejoined her she asked diffidently: ‘That gentleman—we met the other day at his office…’ She allowed her voice to sound questioning and the butler answered readily enough.
‘That is Professor Cator, miss—Professor Alexander Cator, Lady Manderly’s nephew and a very famous man in his field of learning.’
‘Oh, what sort of learning?’
‘Endocrinology, miss. He’s considered to be a very clever gentleman.’
And a nasty bad-tempered one too, thought Jemima as she was ushered into the small room she had waited in on her first visit. It was a good ten minutes before Belling came back and asked her to follow him.
Jemima got up with alacrity. It was, after all, an important moment in her life; she was about to start her first job.
CHAPTER TWO
BELLING LED THE WAY upstairs and on to the landing, but this time he ignored the drawing-room door and knocked on a smaller door opposite, opened it and stood aside for Jemima to go past him. Compared to the drawing-room, the apartment she entered was small; it was also austerely furnished with a fine knee-hole writing desk, an upright chair behind it, a couple of small tables and an upholstered armchair drawn up to the small fire burning in the polished steel grate.
Lady Manderly was in the chair, wearing a dress exactly the same as the grey one, but this time it was blue and the jet and gold necklace had been replaced by a turquoise choker. There was a pile of letters on the small table by her chair and she was tapping impatiently with a beringed hand upon the newspaper on her lap.
Jemima wished her good morning politely and waited.
‘I said nine o’clock,’ began Lady Manderly icily.
‘Yes, you did,’ agreed Jemima pleasantly, ‘and I was here at five minutes to the hour, Lady Manderly. I waited downstairs until Belling came to fetch me.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘For ten minutes,’ she added.
Lady Manderly looked affronted. ‘I am not always ready, Miss Mason. You will go through these letters and give me those which are personal so that I may read them. Bills, requests for money and so on you will put on the desk and consult me about them when it is convenient.’ She added: ‘To me.’
And when Jemima had done that: ‘While I am reading my letters and when you have sorted the remainder, you will scan The Times and mark anything of significance so that you may read it to me during the course of the day.’
They settled down the pair of them, Lady Manderly occasionally making indignant noises over her correspondence, Jemima working silently, making a neat pile on the desk and then looking through the paper for likely bits to read—a formidable task, since she had no idea what the lady’s tastes were; would she want to hear the Prime Minister’s speech on the coal industry, or what the Middle East was doing at the moment? Or would she be interested in the fashion page? Jemima thought it unlikely; fashion as such didn’t appear to mean much to her employer—she fancied that she made her own. She might like the social column, though, and the weather report…
Lady Manderly laid down the last of her letters. ‘And now you may tell me about the rest,’ she commanded.
They were mostly bills, but there were a couple of begging letters, a leaflet about thermal underwear, an enquiry as to whether Lady Manderly would like double glazing and a catalogue from Liberty’s. Lady Manderly made short work of them while Jemima scribbled little notes on each of them so that she would remember what she had to do later on.
‘Now you may read to me,’ stated Lady Manderly.
Jemima began with the weather report, touched lightly on the Middle East, read the whole of the Prime Minister’s speech in full, added an item or two about the Royal Family’s daily round, touched delicately upon the separation of a peer of the realm and his wife, and ended with a colourful account of the discovery of a rare ceramic—an Imari cat—which had been found on the kitchen overmantel in a Norfolk farmhouse.
As she folded the newspaper Lady Manderly remarked: ‘You have a pleasant voice, Miss Mason, and your choice of reading material was most suitable
. Kindly ring the bell for coffee.’
Coffee came, on a massive silver tray. Jemima poured it from a George the Second silver coffee pot into paper-thin cups, and it was atrocious—watery and bitter and not as hot as it should have been; she waited for Lady Manderly to complain, but that lady drank two cups with apparent enjoyment before desiring Jemima to ring the bell once more.
‘You will take Coco for a walk and bring her back to me in one hour,’ said Lady Manderly. ‘My maid, Pooley, always takes her to St James’ Park, but of course she has to be driven there and back. You, I presume, are young enough to enjoy a good walk.’
‘Yes, of course I am, Lady Manderly, but what about Coco? Is she young?’
‘Five—no, six years old, I believe. She does not, of course, get the exercise she should, so you may have to carry her if she tires.’
Jemima pictured herself struggling under the weight of a Great Dane. ‘What sort of dog?’ she asked.
‘A poodle—miniature, of course. You may go now, Miss Mason, but be back at noon precisely.’
Belling was waiting in the hall when Jemima went downstairs, holding the lead of a very small grey poodle. ‘The little dog is very good, miss,’ he volunteered, ‘she’ll be glad of a nice walk.’
The sun was shining although there was a cool wind with a decided autumnal nip to it; just right for a brisk walk. The hour passed too quickly for both Jemima and Coco and she hoped that a daily walk was to be part of her duties. Coco, her paws wiped by a woman in an apron, summoned to the hall by Belling, was allowed to mount the stairs with Jemima and go into the drawing-room where Lady Manderly was sitting before a vast embroidery frame. She looked at her watch before she spoke. ‘At least you are punctual,’ she observed tartly. ‘We lunch at one o’clock, until then you may start on the letters, and I have left you a list of telephone calls I wish you to make.’ She pushed the frame aside. ‘Come to Mother,’ she begged Coco in such a different, gentle voice that Jemima stared. Perhaps Lady Manderly wasn’t as harsh as she seemed. She went back to the small room and sat down at the desk. Fifty pounds had seemed an awful lot of money when she had been offered that sum; she saw now that she was going to earn every penny of it.
