Chaff upon the Wind

by Margaret Dickinson

  Bemmy laughed wryly. ‘That is so, Mrs Norton. That is so.’

  Kitty’s surprised look was going from one to the other. ‘Bembridge?’ she asked. ‘Mrs Bembridge. Is she . . .?’

  Bemmy glanced briefly at her. ‘Me sister,’ he replied shortly.

  Kitty understood. The ‘Mrs’ was merely the courtesy title for a mature woman in her position.

  ‘You.’ The cook, turned to her scullery maid, who appeared to have no name. ‘Fetch Mrs Bembridge. She’ll want to instruct the girl and no doubt she’d like a word with her brother.’

  ‘Miss Miriam will tell me what I’m to do,’ Kitty said.

  The woman turned back slowly to look at her. ‘Not in this house, she won’t. She’s a guest here too, and you, Miss Hoity-Toity, will know your place and do exactly what Mrs Bembridge tells you.’

  Beside her, Kitty heard Bemmy’s wheezing laugh. ‘Telled yer, didn’t I?’

  Miriam’s welcome was offhand, giving Kitty no indication that she was pleased to see her.

  ‘Oh, you’re here at last! I thought you weren’t coming,’ was Miriam’s petulant greeting.

  ‘There was all your things to pack, miss, if you’re staying the whole week.’

  ‘Well, you’re here now, so you can start and make yourself useful.’

  Over the next few days, Kitty was certainly obliged to ‘make herself useful’. She had never worked so hard in the whole of her young life. Not only was she expected to look after her young mistress, but when not needed by her, Kitty was under Mrs Bembridge’s authority.

  ‘Breakfast for the staff is at six thirty,’ the housekeeper, a tall, stately and overbearing figure with steel-grey hair wound up into a bun at the back of her head, instructed Kitty. ‘During the morning you will do whatever Miss Miriam requires of you and when you have finished your duties for her, you will help the under-housemaid with the cleaning.’

  So, Kitty thought with wry amusement, Mrs G. had been wrong. There was to be no idleness for her here either.

  Later, as she worked alongside Ruth, Kitty asked, ‘So what’s your master like? Very strict, is he?’

  The girl looked up in surprise. ‘The master?’ Her voice was a whisper and there was fear in every swift, anxious movement as if she was frantic to get through her work and yet at the same time terrified of not doing it properly. ‘You – you mean Sir Ralph?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kitty paused in her sweeping of the carpet and leaned on the long handle of the brush.

  Ruth’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, Kitty, don’t stop.’ She cast a frightened glance at the door. ‘We can talk as we work, but please, don’t stop what you’re doing.’

  Kitty laughed aloud. ‘I don’t mind helping you, ’cos you look as if you could do wi’ a hand, but I aren’t killing mesen. They don’t pay my wages.’

  Ruth’s face was a picture as she stared up at Kitty, even pausing in her cleaning of the brass coal scuttle set at the side of the huge marble fireplace. For a fleeting moment a smile lightened the look of permanent fear on the young girl’s face. ‘Oh Kitty, you are—’

  Whatever she had been going to say was cut short as the door opened and the housekeeper glided into the room. Immediately, Ruth’s head was bent over the coal scuttle and she was polishing vigorously as if her life depended upon it.

  Perhaps it did, Kitty thought, as she turned her head and met the steely stare of the housekeeper.

  ‘And just what do you think you’re doing?’ Her glance raked Kitty from head to toe. ‘Get on with your work.’ Her gaze went to the girl kneeling on the floor. ‘I heard laughter. Was that you, Ruth?’

  The young housemaid’s face flamed. She bit her lip but said nothing.

  ‘No,’ Kitty said at once, ‘it weren’t. It were me.’

  The disapproving glance came back to her. ‘Well, let there be no more of it. Not in this house when you’ve work to do.’ She turned back again to her own employee. ‘You’re taking far too long in here, Ruth.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Bembridge.’

  ‘And you,’ she said, pointing a finger at Kitty. ‘Don’t lead my staff into your bad ways, my girl.’

  Anger flooded through Kitty like a tide. With careful deliberation she leaned her broom against the wall and stood facing Mrs Bembridge. She folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to her left leg while she tapped the toe of her right foot on the floor. Kitty Clegg was angry.

  ‘I dun’t have to take orders from you. I’m here to look after my young mistress, not to be another of your – your slaves.’

  Colour blotched the older woman’s face. ‘Why, you little . . . I’ll have you dismissed without a reference.’

  ‘What’ll you do?’ Kitty asked scathingly. ‘Go to the Manor? Tell tales to my mistress?’

  Mrs Bembridge drew herself up to her full height and suddenly she was even more imposing. Her eyes narrowing, she said slowly, ‘I shall tell my brother of your behaviour. He will no doubt inform Mrs Franklin that you have disgraced yourself in this household.’

  Kitty felt a tremor of fear. Had she gone too far? Would old Bemmy really tell on her? He was a grumpy old stick, but she had never thought of him as mean and spiteful. Kitty lifted her chin. ‘Then I shall tell my mistress how I was not treated with the respect Miss Miriam’s personal maid deserved as a guest within this house.’

  It was a bold gesture and could spell disaster. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware that even Ruth had stopped her frantic polishing and was gazing up in mesmerized awe while the two protagonists glared at each other.

  ‘I understand,’ Kitty said carefully, ‘that your master and Mr and Mrs Franklin are very good friends.’

  The other woman drew in breath sharply. ‘Don’t you allow servants’ tittle-tattle to pass your lips in this house, my girl.’

  Kitty blinked, nonplussed for a moment. ‘I – I don’t understand. The two families are friends, aren’t they? I mean, isn’t that why Miss Miriam is here?’

  ‘Oh – er – oh yes.’ Now it was the housekeeper’s turn to seem confused. ‘Yes, of course. I thought you were referring to . . .’

  ‘What?’ Kitty asked, intrigued.

  But Mrs Bembridge snapped, ‘Never you mind. Just get on with your work and we’ll say no more about it.’

  Then the housekeeper turned and left the room.

  ‘Ooh, Kitty, you are daring, speaking to her like that.’ There was fear, but a note of admiration too, in the other girl’s voice.

  Kitty swung round. ‘Me and my mouth,’ she said. ‘Mrs Grundy always ses it’ll get me into trouble one of these days. I think mebbe it just has.’

  She picked up the broom and flashed a smile at the girl still kneeling on the hearth. ‘Still, I’d better look willing, while I’ve still got a job.’

  To her surprise, Kitty heard no more about her run-in with the housekeeper. Later that night when she lay in bed beside Ruth whose room she shared beneath the eaves, every bone in her young body aching with weariness, she said, ‘You never did tell me about your master. He must be a right ogre.’

  ‘What?’ Ruth said, her voice already heavy with the sleep that was trying to claim her. ‘Sir Ralph. Oh no, we hardly know him. I ain’t never spoken to him. If he comes into a room when I’m cleaning I have to collect me stuff and leave at once. It’s a rule.’

  ‘There seem to be a lot of rules in this house.’

  ‘What d’you mean? Isn’t it the same everywhere? Wherever you work?’

  ‘Well, in a way,’ Kitty said reflectively. ‘We have to work hard and be respectful, but here everyone seems scared to death all the time. If it’s not the master, then it must be her. Mrs Bembridge.’

  ‘Oh yes, it is. She rules the house. There’s no mistress, you see. And the master, well, he just leaves everything to her.’

  ‘So,’ Kitty said thoughtfully, ‘do you think he doesn’t really know what’s going on, then? How you’re all treated?’

  There was a moment’s silence in the darkness be
fore Ruth said, a note of surprise in her tone, ‘Maybe not. I’d never really thought about it before. But maybe you’re right.’

  Kitty snuggled down and closed her eyes. ‘Well, if I was you, I’d make sure he did know.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ruth’s voice came faintly to Kitty’s ears as she drifted into an exhausted sleep. ‘I expect you would.’

  Fourteen

  Kitty saw the young master of Nunsthorpe Hall, Guy Harding, for the first time the following morning. He was standing near the foot of the main staircase waiting for Miriam to go riding with him. As her young mistress descended, Kitty leaned over the banisters. Her gaze was not on Miriam but on the tall, thin young man who waited patiently in the hall below. As he looked up towards the girl, Kitty saw his face. He was fair-skinned with hair that was so blond it was almost white. She could not, from this distance, see the colour of his eyes but imagined they must be blue. He had a gentle expression and when he smiled his whole face seemed to light up. As he held out his hand to Miriam, Kitty could see at once that he had more than a passing fancy for his young guest. She watched as Miriam gave a coquettish toss of her head, a merry laugh and then put her hand into his outstretched palm.

  Unobserved by either of them, Kitty saw him hold open the huge front door for Miriam, never once taking his eyes from the lovely girl’s face. As it closed with a heavy thud behind them, cutting off the sound of their laughter, a voice shrilled behind her.

  ‘Clegg, what do you think you’re doing?’

  Kitty jumped, not in fear but at the unexpectedness of the sound and she turned to see the housekeeper coming towards her along the landing.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Bembridge,’ she said as she faced the woman squarely. ‘I must just tidy Miss Miriam’s room and then I’ll be free to help Ruth. What would you like me to do today?’ Kitty smiled, the two deep dimples in her cheeks appearing as she did so, her dark eyes dancing with mischief. But her tone was all politeness and though the housekeeper glowered at her, the woman could not openly accuse her of insolence, though Kitty guessed she would dearly have loved to do so.

  She stood listening as the housekeeper ticked off a list of duties with the forefinger of one hand against the fingers of the other. ‘ . . . and the library must be cleaned thoroughly today. The master will be home at the weekend and he spends most of his time in that room when he’s here.’

  ‘I’ll be down in about half an hour, Mrs B.,’ Kitty promised and, picking up her skirts, she skipped lightly along the wide landing towards the guest room where Miriam slept.

  ‘Mrs Bembridge to you, my girl, and walk properly!’

  But Kitty Clegg took not a scrap of notice.

  ‘Do you like Master Guy, miss?’ Kitty was emboldened to ask as she brushed the long, thick auburn hair late that night.

  Through the mirror, Miriam met her gaze steadily. ‘I like him, yes, he’s sweet but . . .’

  There was a moment’s silence as the girl sighed.

  ‘But what, miss?’ Kitty prompted.

  ‘I thought when you fell in love you were supposed to feel, well, different.’ Miriam clasped her hands together in front of her breast. ‘You know, all excited, your heart racing at the very sight of your lover. Your mind filled with thoughts of him every minute of the day.’ She sighed again. ‘Or is that only in romantic novels, Kitty?’

  At once the picture of Jack Thorndyke came into Kitty’s mind and her heart did a funny little jump inside her chest. ‘Oh no, miss,’ and her voice came out in a strange, almost breathless whisper. ‘It’s not just in books.’

  Miriam stared at her. ‘Have you got a lover, Kitty Clegg?’

  Kitty stared back at her, trying to tell if Miriam’s question was genuine. She was surprised the girl hadn’t guessed about her and Jack. All that business of the Harvest Queen, surely . . .? But then, Kitty answered herself, why should she? Servants kept their private life just that. Private. Besides, Miss Miriam was so wrapped up in her own life, her own desires, she would scarcely give a thought to her maid.

  Kitty grinned mischievously. ‘That’d be telling, miss, ’cos Mrs Grundy always ses we’re not supposed to have “followers”.’

  Miriam laughed. ‘But you do anyway, eh?’

  Kitty just smiled, a pink tinge to her cheeks, but already Miriam’s thoughts had turned back to herself. She leaned her elbows on the dressing table and cupped her chin in her hands, staring at her own reflection. ‘I should like to be in love, but I don’t think I am with Guy.’

  ‘Well, I think he is with you, miss. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you.’

  Miriam flapped her hand. ‘Oh well, yes, I expect he is, but I can’t help it if I don’t feel the same way about him, can I?’

  ‘No, you can’t make yourself fall in love with someone,’ Kitty said and remembering Mrs Grundy’s warnings, she thought to herself, or make yourself not love someone however ‘unsuitable’ you’re told they are.

  ‘Mm,’ Miriam murmured and then, with a rare, honest insight into her own character, she sighed and added, ‘but Guy’s too nice for me. I need someone strong, someone who will master me, perhaps almost be a little cruel to me. Tall, dark and handsome, wouldn’t you say, but a bit of a rogue too?’

  Suddenly, she jumped up, flinging Kitty’s ministering hands aside. ‘We’re going home tomorrow morning, Kitty. I’m bored here.’

  Kitty’s eyes widened. ‘But what about Master Guy? He’ll be so disappointed. I’m sure he’s falling in love with you.’

  ‘Then it would be far better for me to go now before he gets really hurt.’

  ‘But miss, what will your mother say and – and your father?’

  There was rebellion in the green eyes as the girl said, ‘I don’t care what they say. I’m not going to be rushed into marriage with someone I don’t love. Not even to please them. And Guy will soon get over it.’

  Kitty felt sorry for the kindly young man. It was a shame really. He was so right for Miriam. He would calm her and understand her moods and her tantrums, loving her all the time.

  Kitty sighed. She knew exactly how he felt, for she was very much afraid that Threshing Jack did not love her as she loved him.

  But she did not argue with her young mistress any more, for they were to return home two days earlier than expected and she would see Jack that much sooner.

  ‘Have you missed me then?’ she asked Jack pertly, resisting the urge to throw herself against him, wind her arms about his waist and press her face to his broad, muscular chest.

  She felt his strong arms go around her and he was picking her up and swinging her round. She laughed in delight and threw her head back to look up at him. Slowly he let her down to stand on the ground, bending his head to kiss her lips as he did so. She returned his kiss, not caring who might see them in the broad light of day in the middle of the stackyard.

  ‘Course I’ve missed you,’ he said lightly and, with a deep-throated chuckle, added, ‘You and your cheeky face. Ya little sister’s not a patch on you, Kitty Clegg. She’s a regular little scaredy-cat. A right misery, if ever there was one.’

  Kitty leaned back against the circle of his arms to look up into his face. Playfully, she tapped his arm sharply, but she was grinning as she said, ‘I hope you ain’t been makin’ a play for my sister. She’s only thirteen.’

  Jack laughed but neither denied nor confirmed her suspicion. His only answer was to kiss her again and whisper, ‘Meet me tonight.’

  ‘Oh Jack,’ she murmured ecstatically, ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘D’ya – you – know, Mrs G.,’ Kitty said. She was trying valiantly to iron out some of the roughness from her speech, now that she considered she was moving in better circles. Well, employed in them at least. ‘I’ve never seen so many servants in me – my – life as they’ve got at the Hall. And all to look after only two men. It’s us needs more help here. Why haven’t we got a few more servants? It’d be a lot easier on everybody if we had.’

  Mrs Grundy sniffed.
‘There was more of us in the old days when old Mr and Mrs Franklin were alive. They’d turn in their graves if they could see this place now and how the master has gone through any inheritance they left him. Eh, Kitty, the tales I could tell you, if I’d half a mind . . .’

  ‘Well, go on then, tell me. You know a secret’s safe with me. I’m no gossip.’

  The cook laughed. ‘And just what do you suppose we’d be doing if I was to tell you, eh? Gossiping ourselves, wouldn’t we?’

  Kitty grinned impishly, the dimples deepening in her cheeks. ‘Oh, go on, Mrs G. You sit down there and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and just for once in our lives we’ll have a good old gossip.’

  Moments later, when she handed Mrs Grundy a steaming cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit from the tin, Kitty asked, ‘How long have you worked here, Mrs G.?’

  ‘I started here as cook when I was about twenty-five. That was when the old master and mistress were still alive, of course,’ she said, neatly avoiding giving her actual age away. ‘The present master was about – let me think – about nineteen and he’d started his wild ways then.’

  Kitty longed to press her further but knowing such a question as What wild ways? would make the cook clamp her lips tightly shut, she said nothing, letting Mrs Grundy drink her tea and ramble.

  ‘The old master was a lovely old boy but the mistress, she was a tartar. They’d come up, you see, from what we’d call the labouring class to middle class and them’s always the worst. Now the present mistress, our Mrs Franklin . . .’ the cook’s face beamed with genuine fondness, ‘she was born into class. Came from a very genteel family, but, in a way, she married beneath her. They say her father lost all his money through no fault of his own and the family lived in very reduced circumstances.’