Langdown Manor

by Sue Reid

  ‘Leave off, Robert,’ I said, wriggling out of his grasp, ‘or I’ll drop her ladyship’s precious vase and then where will I be?’ But in spite of myself I was smiling. Robert made me laugh.

  I put down the vase. Robert sauntered past me into the kitchen and sat down. ‘Heard the latest?’ he called back, stretching out his long legs under the table. You could depend on Robert for gossip. He knew it all – upstairs and down.

  ‘As if we got time for gossip,’ Cook said, coming to the scullery door, and wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘Maddie, what do you think you’re doing? Leave those pots for now. There’s all them vegetables to chop still. Oh, and while you’re about it, make Robert that cuppa.’ Even Cook had a soft spot in her thorny old heart for Robert. ‘ ’Urry up,’ she called as she sailed back to her kingdom. ‘We ’aven’t all night now – and we’re still a pair of hands short.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to tell me,’ grumbled Maddie as we walked together back down the passage. She went over to the range and picked up the teapot. I hung round the door watching while she poured tea into a mug. I didn’t go in – it was too hot and steamy in there for me. I don’t know how the kitchen staff stand it. ‘There,’ she said, setting it down on the table in front of Robert.

  ‘Thanks, Maddie,’ Robert said, wrapping both hands around the mug. ‘It was perishing on that box – had to sit there nearly half an hour. Her ladyship’s niece’s train was late. Points failure.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. I felt I was living on borrowed time. Every time a bell rang to summon a servant my stomach plummeted southwards, thinking it was for me. I knew that I’d be sent for soon – and I was dreading it.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not what I was going to tell you. It’s young Ivy.’ He grinned. ‘You have a treat in store.’ He put down his mug and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Yes, we know, she’s not coming,’ Maddie grumbled.

  ‘Oh yes, she is. She’s here.’

  ‘What!’ Maddie and I exclaimed together.

  ‘Yes, she’s here all right.’ Robert grinned. ‘But wait – you haven’t heard the best of it. She went to the front door.’

  ‘No!’ We gasped as one.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Robert. ‘Old Man B didn’t know what had hit him when he opened it. I was in the hall, see, saw it all. “I’m the new scullery maid,” she says. “What do you think you’re doing here then, servants round the back,” he replies. What does young Ivy do? Drops her box at his feet. “I’ve carried this all the way from the village. I can’t carry it no more.”’

  ‘She never!’ said Maisie, who had come in from the still room.

  ‘Oh yes, Maisie, love,’ said Robert. ‘You should have seen Mr B’s face,’ he went on. ‘I thought he’d send her packing, but his soft heart got the better of him and he got young Sam to bring in the box for her. But round the back she went.’

  ‘Why didn’t she take the wagon sent to meet her?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘That was what Mr B said. “No one told me about a wagon,” she said. “Do you think I’d walk if I could ride?”’

  ‘Well, I never,’ I said. ‘Got a tongue on her.’ Maddie, Maisie and I shared a glance. I think we were all wishing we’d seen Mr B’s face. None of us liked him. He liked to lord it over us. I’d like to have seen him discomfited for once.

  Cook shook her head. ‘Gone to the front door? I don’t know. When I was a girl…’

  ‘Servants knew their place,’ Maddie and I mouthed silently at each other. We giggled, taking care that Cook couldn’t see.

  ‘…servants knew their place. What’s the world coming to?’ Cook went on, ‘So, as it seems that everyone knows more about the whereabouts of my staff than I do, perhaps you could tell me where the lass is now, Robert?’

  ‘With Mrs Smithson, getting a proper wigging, no doubt,’ said Robert, grinning. I smiled. I couldn’t imagine that she would. Mrs Smithson was the kindest of the housekeepers I’d worked under. Not that there had been many. This was only my second job since I’d begun in service three years ago. Mrs Smithson was probably the only member of staff who liked Mr Barrett. I could never understand what she saw in him, but the gossip was that once they retired they’d marry. I hoped for her sake Mrs S would realize her mistake before she let the old misery take her down the aisle.

  Cook snorted, slapping down a handful of dough with floury hands on the table. She began to roll it out. ‘She should have let me choose my maid. What does her highness know about scullerying? One day I’ll ’and in my notice and then they’ll be sorry.’

  I smiled to myself. No one took much notice of Cook’s threats – Maddie had told me that she made them around once a week.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to hope for the best, I dare say.’ She turned round. Her eyes fell on a big basket of fruit and vegetables. ‘Maddie, what are you thinking!’ she roared. ‘I need those vegetables washed and scraped – now! Or there’ll be no dinner – upstairs or down.’

  ‘Sorry, Cook,’ Maddie murmured. ‘Jess, give us a hand, will you?’

  I put down the vase, and took hold of one handle of the basket. ‘What have you got in here?’ I gasped, as we lifted it up. It felt like we were lugging a crate of bricks. How many vegetables could one household eat? We staggered into the back kitchen. I put the basket down heavily. Too heavily. Some of the potatoes bounced out and rolled across the floor. Maddie bent down wearily to pick them up.

  ‘I don’t care what that girl’s like,’ she muttered. ‘I just hope she starts soon, or they’ll find themselves looking for another kitchen maid, too.’ She pushed some stray wisps of hair back under her cap.

  I helped her sort the vegetables into heaps. Brussels. Carrots. Potatoes. Parsnips. Greens. Then I picked up the vase again and made my way to the stairs that led from the basement up to the hall. I was halfway along the passage when I heard a sudden exclamation.

  ‘I beg your pardon, your ladyship.’ It was Cook’s voice. She sounded furious. I nipped back down the passage and poked my head round the door to see who she was talking to. Standing by the kitchen table I saw a girl half my size. My mouth dropped open. ‘Is this her?’

  ‘It’s her,’ Cook said grimly. ‘And I hope she’s not started as she means to go on. “Mrs Smithson says, go to the kitchen for a plate of something,” she says to me. And me with the dinner still to cook!’ Robert was still sitting at the table. He grinned, as if he was enjoying the joke. Cook glared at him. ‘Robert, if you’ve finished your tea, get back where you belong. And you, girl,’ Cook’s voice snapped like a whip. ‘Sit down. Arms like sticks,’ I heard her mutter as she went back to the range. ‘They’ll be sending me children next. What was Mrs Smithson thinking of?’

  The girl pulled out a chair and sat down. She looked like she’d blow away in a draught. ‘Get that down you, girl,’ Cook said, ladling meaty broth from the stewpot into a bowl and setting it down in front of Ivy. ‘And when you’ve done,’ she went on, ‘Maisie here will help you carry your box upstairs.’

  ‘I can manage,’ the girl said. ‘I’m stronger than I look. I carried my box all the way here, didn’t I?’ She began to spoon up the broth as if she was half starved.

  I gasped. ‘Listen to the cheek on her!’

  Cook was shaking her head. ‘I’ll let it by as you’re new, but don’t you ever speak to me like that again.’

  The girl nodded, but there was a defiant flush to her face. She pushed aside her plate and stood up. ‘I’m ready now.’

  ‘Maisie,’ said Cook, ‘take Ivy upstairs and show her where she’ll be sleeping. Then you,’ she said to Ivy, ‘get changed and you can make a start on the pots in the scullery. Maddie will show you what to do. You do know what a pot looks like?’ she added sarcastically.

  Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but had enough sense this time to close it again. The look on her face said it all though. You want me to start tonight? I slipped away before the storm broke behind me. Sarah was upstairs checking the fires and I’
d the beds to turn down and then there’d be her ladyship’s niece to attend to. Mrs Smithson hadn’t told me a lot about her and all I knew was that she’d come all the way from India. My mind switched to young Ivy. We didn’t know a lot about her either. But if this afternoon was anything to go by, I didn’t see her lasting long.

  UPSTAIRS

  ‘Wake up, miss.’

  ‘Leave me be,’ I murmured. My head felt heavy with sleep.

  ‘I must ask you to get up, miss.’ I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I shook it away in surprise. What did my ayah think she was doing? She’d never laid a finger on me before. I was missy sahib and she did what I ordered – not the other way around.

  ‘Leave me, Shamala. I’ll call you if I want you,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know who Sh-Shamla is, miss, but I have to get you up and dressed. Dinner’s in half an hour.’ It didn’t sound like Shamala. I rolled over and opened my eyes. I was still drowsily expecting to see an Indian face peering anxiously at me from behind a mosquito net. Instead I found myself staring into the face of a girl I’d never seen before. She was looking at me nervously – as if she wasn’t sure what I’d do or say next.

  ‘Who are you?’ I demanded.

  ‘Baxter, miss.’ She bobbed a curtsy. ‘Her ladyship’s asked me to attend on you.’

  ‘Baxter’s an odd name,’ I commented.

  ‘It’s a common enough name in England, miss.’

  I felt my head begin to clear. Of course, I was in England now.

  ‘What’s your first name?’ I asked.

  The maid looked awkward. ‘You should call me Baxter, miss.’

  ‘Well, leave me, Baxter,’ I said dismissively. ‘I don’t need you.’ The maid gaped at me as if I had been rude. I couldn’t think why. She was a servant. She had to do what I said.

  ‘I must ask you to get up, miss. It’s half-past seven and her ladyship expects you downstairs.’

  In India servants did what they were told. In England, it seemed, it was different. It was one more thing I was going to have to get used to.

  I sat up and swung my legs wearily to the floor.

  ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but you’ll need to change.’

  Did I? I looked down at myself. My gown was crumpled from lying on it. I sighed. All my clothes were still in my trunk, and it was locked. I took the key off the chain I wore around my neck and slipped off the bed. I unlocked the trunk and began to burrow down inside it.

  ‘Miss, you don’t need to do that. I’ll unpack for you!’ Baxter exclaimed.

  ‘No!’ I didn’t want her to unpack. I didn’t want anyone rifling through Mother’s things. They were precious.

  Baxter looked confused. ‘But, miss…’

  ‘I must take a few things out first,’ I said, fingers diving beneath my clothes searching for where the letters and Mother’s things were tucked away – the long white kid gloves, the jewels, ribbons, sashes and silk scarves.

  As I stood up again I saw Baxter’s face reflected in the mirror. She looked upset, and I felt that I’d offended her. She was younger than I’d thought at first, around the same age as me. It was the hair scraped back under the white cap that made her seem older.

  I took the precious bundle and laid the garments carefully in one of the drawers in the dressing table. When she’d finished unpacking, I’d put them back in the trunk and lock it again. No one but me was allowed to touch Mother’s things.

  ‘Now you may unpack,’ I said, standing aside.

  Baxter bent down and began to lift out my gowns. ‘Bit thin, aren’t they, miss?’ she commented. Then she went pink, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have. ‘Sorry, miss.’

  ‘I’ve just come from India, which is a much hotter country than this,’ I said. I sat down on the bed and pulled a blanket round me. Why hadn’t anyone told me how cold England was? A gale was still blowing in the room.

  ‘And they’ll need pressing, too, miss,’ Baxter carried on as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘Tell me which one you want to wear tonight and I’ll tidy it up for you.’

  What does it matter what I wear?

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said.

  Baxter chose to ignore my tone. ‘Then how about this one? It’s very pretty.’ She held up a violet silk gown. ‘I think it would look very nice on you.’

  ‘Mother liked it,’ I said. I’d worn it on her birthday, a few weeks before she’d been taken ill. I hadn’t worn it since. I felt my eyes fill. I turned my face away so that Baxter wouldn’t see.

  ‘Then I think you should wear it. She’d be proud of you.’

  ‘Mother is dead,’ I said abruptly. ‘That’s why I had to come here.’ Hadn’t anyone told her anything about me? It was as if my past was something to be ashamed of.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. I could hear pity for me in her voice. I didn’t want her pity. I angrily rubbed away the tears that had filled my eyes. ‘Let me run you a bath,’ she said. ‘You’ll feel better for it. And the dress will be ready for you when you get out.’

  At least the bath water was hot. I turned on the hot tap and let it run until the room filled with steam. Lying back in the water, the hot steam swirling about me, I could almost pretend I was home in India. But the cold felt so much worse when I got out.

  The dress was lying on the bed when I got back. Baxter helped me into it.

  ‘Turn round,’ she said, ‘and I’ll tie the sash for you.’ As I turned round, I caught a glimpse of myself in the dressing-table mirror. I didn’t like what I saw – a scowling face beneath tousled dark hair that looked as if I’d been dragging my fingers through it.

  ‘Your hair’s in need of a brush,’ Baxter said.

  ‘My ayah used to brush it for me,’ I said. ‘One hundred brushes every night.’

  ‘What’s an ayah, miss?’ Baxter said.

  ‘It’s what we call a nurse in India,’ I told her.

  ‘Bit old for a nurse, aren’t you?’ She went pink again. ‘I’m sorry, miss, I shouldn’t have said that. I expect it’s different in India.’

  ‘It is – very different.’

  She picked up the brush and began to draw it through my hair. ‘You have lovely dark hair,’ she said. ‘You’ll be putting it up soon, won’t you? Miss Arabella is coming out this year. I expect you’ll come out with her.’ She said it as if it was something to look forward to.

  I pulled a face. It was bad enough that I had to come out into society at all. But to come out at the side of the queen of vipers? I felt I’d sooner jump off the roof.

  Baxter had observed my distaste. ‘What! Surely you want to be a young lady? There’ll be parties, and dances, and balls. You’ll go to London too – for the season.’

  I didn’t want to go to London for the season. I didn’t care if I never had one.

  ‘There,’ Baxter said. She laid down the hairbrush on the dressing table. My hair lay thick and glossy over my shoulders. I squared them. I’d meet my uncle this evening, and I wasn’t looking forward to that. I’d had quite enough of my new family already. Three was more than enough when one of them was Arabella.

  Somewhere far below a gong boomed. ‘That’s a gong, miss – it’s to let you know it’s time for dinner,’ said Baxter.

  I know what a gong is. We’re not savages in India!

  She lifted my hair up and tied it with a ribbon. She gave me a quick appraising glance. ‘You’re ready, Miss Penelope.’

  I didn’t feel ready. I felt as if I was about to be ravaged by lions.

  They were waiting for me when I went down. They were talking quietly, their backs to me. About me, no doubt. I felt lonely suddenly, an outsider looking in on a happy family group.

  ‘Ah, here she is,’ said Aunt, turning round. She sized me up with a swift glance. I couldn’t tell what she thought. Arabella said nothing.

  Uncle’s greeting was warmer. ‘Welcome, my dear,’ he said giving me a kiss. He smelt like Father; cigar on his breath. He gave me his arm to escort me into the dining
room. It was a heavy dark room with red-flocked wallpaper and wooden panelling. In the middle of the room was a huge table, set for four. Uncle handed me to my seat, opposite Arabella, a mass of pink ribbons and lace. She glared at me – it was like a fuchsia glowering at a tulip. Uncle took his seat at the head of the table. Aunt was seated about a mile away at the other end. Silent footmen appeared and disappeared by my side, dishes came and went, my glass was filled and refilled. I felt as if I was living a dream. None of it felt real. Any moment now I was sure I would wake up and find myself at home, hear the patter of bare feet, as servants brought in the evening meal, the wail of the muezzin, calling the faithful to prayer, heat stinging my eyelids.

  ‘Do you hunt?’ asked Uncle stabbing at a piece of meat on his plate as if it was a tiger in a pit.

  ‘My dear, what a question. How can a lady hunt, riding side-saddle?’ Aunt exclaimed.

  ‘Many ladies hunt, seated side-saddle. It is becoming quite the fashion,’ Uncle said. He smiled at me.

  I smiled back. I had found an ally in my uncle.

  ‘I do hunt,’ I said. ‘Father hunts tigers in India. He shoots them from the back of an elephant. He made me a necklace of tiger teeth.’ There, I had got them both in. India and Father. I saw Aunt frown. Arabella wrinkled up her nose in distaste. But Uncle chuckled.

  ‘Does he, by jove,’ he said, laying down his knife and fork. ‘We can only offer foxes here, I’m afraid.’

  I laughed dutifully. ‘He shoots other wild beasts, too. India is full of them,’ I said.

  The silence round the table warned me that I was on dangerous ground, but nothing would induce me to get off it again. I would not be diverted. I would talk about my home and family whether they liked it or not. I could not brush away the past, however much Aunt wished it.

  ‘We must find a good mount for you,’ said Uncle breaking the silence.

  ‘Clementine said she would take me to the stables tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘She can take you in the afternoon,’ Aunt decreed, ‘when she has her afternoon walk. In the morning I must look over your gowns.’ No one had remarked on the gown I was wearing, and I felt it was time they did.