Just living in Clifton was an education, with the beautiful houses, the history of the place, and the people who had once lived there and the ones who lived there now, such a different world to Hallsands. Her once-broad Devon accent had mellowed; no one remarked on it any more. She knew now that, even if she wanted to go back to Hallsands, she wouldn’t fit in any longer, or be satisfied with such a simple life.
But she couldn’t stay much longer with Nora; not only was her new friend edging nearer and nearer to the truth about her past, but Mabel had to make her own way in the world and find a life that would fulfil her and make her happy. She also didn’t like the idea of being so firmly in someone’s debt.
The night after she’d been to the meeting with Nora, Mabel woke to find Nora had her arm around her and was pressed up tightly to her. As Mabel had never shared a bed with anyone but her husband before, it was a little disconcerting, but as she knew people who had slept three or four to a bed as children, and heard that they would all cuddle up close, she gently removed Nora’s arm and wriggled away a bit.
Nora bought a bottle of wine to see the New Year in with, and she got some steak and mushroom pies from the pie shop close by. The pies were delicious, but the red wine tasted like vinegar to Mabel. Although she pretended she liked it, not wishing to offend Nora.
At midnight, church bells rang out, and someone was banging tin trays and shouting nearby.
‘Let’s make a toast,’ Nora said, holding up her glass. ‘May 1918 bring an end to the war, and may we still be the best of friends.’
Mabel repeated what Nora had said and clinked glasses, forcing herself to drink the remains of the wine.
The following afternoon, the girls went for a walk along the river and came home just after one, because it was bitingly cold. They had some soup that Nora had made the previous day, then Mabel sat down to mend a small tear in Nora’s skirt for her. She had tried to thank her friend for letting her stay by doing little jobs like this repair, but she felt she was just treading water staying here, she needed a wage to gain her independence.
‘I must leave soon,’ Mabel blurted out. ‘I can’t live off you any longer. I need a job.’
‘You aren’t better yet,’ Nora said immediately, looking stricken that Mabel was even suggesting moving on.
‘I’m not completely healed yet, but I soon will be. You’ve been so generous and kind to me. I love being here with you, but I must get work.’
‘You could get a job here and stay with me forever,’ Nora said, and to Mabel’s astonishment her friend’s eyes filled with tears.
‘I can’t get a decent job here as I haven’t got a character. But I could write to Mrs Forester in Dorchester and tell her what happened. I think she’d speak on my behalf.’
‘Why do you want to be someone’s skivvy when you could help me at my meetings? You could collect the money, talk a bit to the people. Together we could move up in the world, do it in smarter places, get bigger audiences.’
There was a kind of anguish in Nora’s voice and pleading in her eyes. Mabel found it a little worrying.
‘I need something of my own,’ she insisted, but even to her own ears that sounded weak. She didn’t really know why she wanted to move on – she liked living with Nora – but a little voice in her head kept telling her she must go.
Nora moved over to where Mabel was sitting and knelt in front of her. She caught hold of Mabel’s two hands, making her drop the sewing.
‘I love you, Mabel,’ she said and leaned forward to kiss her on the lips.
Mabel stiffened and drew back. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, more puzzled than indignant.
‘Surely you’ve realized by now?’ Nora said. ‘I don’t like men. And I fell for you that first night, as I patched you up.’
Mabel’s stomach did a little flip. Mrs Hardy had once mentioned a groom who worked at her previous employment who was sacked for having sexual relations with a footman. Mabel had been curious and asked her to explain what she meant. Mrs Hardy said that the proper word for it was ‘homosexual’, and women could be like it, as well as men. Mabel had wanted to ask more, but she was too embarrassed to admit to such ignorance.
But surely that wasn’t what Nora was?
‘I like you a great deal, but not like that. I’m sorry if you thought differently,’ Mabel said gently. ‘One day, I hope to find a man to replace Peter.’
Nora began to cry. She was still kneeling in front of Mabel and bent her head to her lap.
Mabel stroked her hair and tried to comfort her. ‘I’ll never forget your kindness to me,’ she said. ‘You’ve been an angel just when I needed help. I hope we’ll always be friends too.’
‘I can’t be friends now that you’ve turned me down.’ Nora’s tone was petulant, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Those eyes that had pleaded earlier were hard now, and her mouth was set in a straight, determined line. ‘You’d better go right now.’
‘You know I don’t have any money,’ Mabel said in a small voice.
Nora got to her feet and looked down on Mabel. ‘Then get out there and sell yourself to some dirty bastard, if you like men so much,’ she snarled at her.
Mabel could hardly believe that Nora could say such a thing, or turn so dramatically against her.
‘That’s a mean and nasty thing to say.’ Mabel got to her feet and began to look around for her belongings. ‘It’s not worthy of you. You are better than that.’
She found her bag and packed her things into it. She could feel Nora watching her intently, but she remained silent.
Mabel took her coat off the peg on the door, jammed her hat on her head and secured it with a hatpin. ‘I’ll say goodbye then, Nora. I didn’t want it to end this way. I’ll send you some money in a few weeks to cover the cost of keeping me.’
Nora turned her back on her, so Mabel opened the door and left.
She couldn’t help but cry as she walked down the lane. She had really believed that she and Nora would be friends for life. That once she’d found a job, wherever that might be, they’d keep in touch by letter and perhaps meet up somewhere every so often.
She wasn’t even horrified that her friend liked women in that way; if she’d just admitted it earlier, their friendship could’ve continued. But to be nasty because Mabel didn’t return those feelings was every bit as bad as a man trying it on and becoming indignant when he was turned down.
Without any money, and with her ribs still hurting and the weather very cold, Mabel knew this was a crisis. It was too far to walk to Dorchester, and too cold to sleep rough. What was she going to do?
Then she thought of Mrs Hardy. She didn’t want to throw herself on her, like a charity case, but the only other alternative was the workhouse. Even if Mrs Hardy wouldn’t let her stay, she might lend her some money to get to Dorchester.
‘Mabel, my dear! What on earth has happened to you?’ Mrs Hardy exclaimed as she opened the door of the mews house to find Mabel standing there. ‘You’ve got black eyes! Come on in, and tell me about it.’
The obvious concern from the older woman made Mabel break down and cry. She had very nearly collapsed with the pain in her ribs as she walked up the steep hill that was Park Street.
‘You don’t know how happy I am to see you,’ Mabel said as she followed the older woman up a flight of bare wooden stairs. ‘I didn’t want to impose on you, but I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.’
‘I expected you to come to me that day when Mr Bedford told you to go,’ Mrs Hardy said. ‘I thought you’d give it an hour or two until he’d gone, then pop round.’
‘I wish I had,’ Mabel admitted. ‘But I had a bit of money and I thought I’d take the train to Dorchester and see Mrs Forester. She said she would help me find work.’
‘So, the black eyes?’
‘A man jumped on me in an alley down near the tram terminus. He beat me up and found my money and snatched it. I thought I was going to die there in the alley. I’ve go
t broken ribs too.’
‘Oh, my goodness! How terrible. But you are safe with me now.’ The housekeeper led Mabel into a living room and took her bag from her hands. ‘You sit down by the fire, my dear, and I’ll put the kettle on.’
The relief that Mrs Hardy was prepared to help her was so great, Mabel had to fight back fresh tears. She took an upright chair; she was afraid if she sat down on a soft chair, she might not be able to get up again. She held out her icy hands to the roaring fire and looked around her in surprise to find such a cosy, comfortable flat.
The kitchen where Mrs Hardy had gone led off the living room, towards the back of Harley Place. It was tiny compared with the one at number six, but well equipped. A row of gleaming copper pans hung from hooks on the ceiling and the small central table was scrubbed white.
Mabel had never been inside this flat before, and considering how filthy Mrs Hardy had said it was, she must’ve worked night and day – because it was not only spotlessly clean, but cosy too.
The living-room furniture must have originally come from Mrs Gladsworthy’s home, as it was all remarkably similar. There was a big, comfortable-looking dark red velvet sofa and armchairs, only a little worn on the arms, and an oak table and chairs and a matching dresser. The rugs, heavy curtains, the roaring fire, lamps and pictures all created a feeling of opulence.
‘It’s lovely,’ Mabel called out. ‘You must’ve worked so hard to get it this way?’
Mrs Hardy came back into the living room with cups on a tray. ‘I did, non-stop. I banged things around, pretending I was banging Mr Bedford’s head. It did me a power of good. I can see into number six from the kitchen, and his wife and silly daughters are flapping around, unable to sort anything. It makes me laugh. If he’d kept us on, we could’ve got it all lovely for them. Though his furniture is pretty shabby.’
‘He deserves to be miserable,’ Mabel said. ‘And you deserve to be happy and rested.’
‘And you must tell me where you’ve been since you were attacked. The whole story.’
Mabel spilled the details over tea, but when she got to the events of just a couple of hours ago, she stumbled over her words, and grew red in the face with embarrassment.
But Mrs Hardy didn’t even look shocked, she just nodded. ‘I have come across that myself in service a couple of times,’ she said calmly. ‘Both of them turned sullen when I said I didn’t have the same feelings. But men who are like that, I found to be quite different. All the ones I’ve met were kind, fun and sweet-natured. Of course, they must keep it quiet, they can go to prison for it, but they can’t help the way they are made. We had a footman at Rowledge Hall, where I worked when I was younger than you, and he became like my brother. We were always laughing, we’d go out on our afternoons off together. If he’d not been the way he was, I’d have gladly married him.’
Mabel finished off her story and then asked Mrs Hardy if she could borrow enough money for her fare to Dorchester.
‘I’ll gladly give you that, once we know you’ve got a job to go to,’ she said. ‘But first things first. You must write to Mrs Forester, tell her what happened with Mr Bedford. I’ll put in a covering letter too. Then we’ll wait to get her reply.’
‘But –’
The housekeeper put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh. I know you don’t want to ask if you can stay here, but you can, and you must. I can see you are in pain, and walking about will take those ribs even longer to heal. There is a tiny spare room, it’s full of stuff I don’t know what to do with. But you only need a bed for now.’
She led Mabel across the small landing to show her. Her own bedroom was at the front of the house, the small room and the bathroom at the back. She was right, it was full of stuff, piled up with a chest of drawers, odd chairs, pictures and bedding. But there was a little truckle bed just waiting to be made up.
‘You are so kind,’ Mabel said. ‘I didn’t expect this. In fact, I thought I’d have to walk to Dorchester, sleeping in barns on the way.’
‘Mabel! Mr Bedford was a nasty man, and I’m going to take you to the solicitor’s tomorrow and tell him just what that man did to both of us. He might even be able to get the wages we are owed back from him.’
It was like old times to sit by the fire with Mrs Hardy and just talk. Mabel felt safe now and so incredibly grateful to the older woman. She seemed different too, more relaxed than she’d been at Harley Place, talking about things that she never would’ve divulged back then. Mabel supposed this was because they were no longer maid and housekeeper, where distance had to be maintained, but simply two women now with shared experiences.
‘I’ve found myself a little job,’ Mrs Hardy said with a smile. ‘Just a few hours a week for a lovely gentleman, Percy Holmes. I used to see him at church, and I ran into him again at the Christmas service. He asked how I was, and I told him what had happened. He has a lovely flat overlooking the suspension bridge. Anyway, the upshot of meeting him again was him offering me some work. I’ve only been twice so far, a bit of cleaning, making something for his dinner. I like it, the days would seem awfully long with nothing to do.’
‘Is he old?’ Mabel asked.
‘No, only about fifty, I think. He’s a professor at the university.’
‘Would he make a nice husband for you?’
Mrs Hardy laughed heartily. ‘Bless you, Mabel, at my time of life I couldn’t adjust to living with any man. But I do like Percy, he’s kind, interesting, clever – and he’s not bad-looking, either. But he’s been a bachelor for so long that I don’t think he’s looking for a wife.’
‘Shame,’ Mabel said.
Mrs Hardy laughed again. ‘I’d sooner get you married off,’ she said. ‘But you’ve had an upsetting day today, so why don’t I run you a bath? And then you can go to bed early with a hot-water bottle. Then tomorrow we’ll write that letter to Mrs Forester and see the solicitor.’
‘That sounds good,’ Mabel agreed. She was tired, and her ribs hurt less lying down. But the prospect of a bath was best of all. She hadn’t had one since she left Harley Place.
‘I’ll make up your bed while you are in there,’ Mrs Hardy said with a smile. ‘Maybe wash your pretty hair too – you can come and dry it in front of the fire afterwards.’
6
Mrs Hardy came in the front door of the mews flat and picked up the letter lying on the floor. It was for Mabel.
‘Cooee!’ she called out, knowing her young guest had been on tenterhooks waiting for the reply from Dorchester. ‘Looks like your reply has come.’
Mabel scampered to meet the older woman and almost snatched the letter from her hand in her eagerness. ‘Sorry,’ she said, suddenly realizing that was rude. ‘I’m actually frightened to open it, in case she’s turned me down. But I’ve just made a pot of tea, I’ll read it to you as soon as I’ve poured it.’
Once they were both sitting down in the kitchen with their tea, Mabel opened the letter. ‘“My dear Mabel,”’ she read. ‘“I was horrified to read how badly Mr Bedford treated both you and Mrs Hardy. I know how much you both did for my sister-in-law, and she will be turning in her grave at such nastiness. I am, of course, very relieved to know she took care of Mrs Hardy and Mrs Tweed in her will, though that doesn’t really make up for the unpleasantness, but I wish them both every happiness in this New Year.
“But I am concerned for you, Mabel. I know how ridiculously hard it is to get a job without a character. Even worse to hear that you were robbed and beaten. Thank goodness you had Mrs Hardy to go to for help.
“Sadly, at this present time I have a full complement of staff, but I have asked around amongst my friends locally, and one has shown a great deal of interest.
“Miss Clarissa May is an illustrator of children’s books. She lives in a cottage in rather splendid isolation about five miles from me. Like most artists (and I’m sure she won’t mind me telling you this), she lives in a bit of a muddle. What she wants is not a conventional housekeeper, like Mrs Hardy, but someone who
can adapt to her lifestyle. Cook some meals, do the laundry, perhaps a bit of gardening, and in general add a bit of order to her home.
“Clarissa jokes that she needs an invisible fairy godmother! I think by that she means someone who can see what needs doing without instruction and doesn’t disturb her when she’s working.
“Accommodation is in a tiny cottage across her garden. She is willing to pay eight shillings a week –”’
Mabel broke off to look at Mrs Hardy. ‘That’s a very good wage, isn’t it?’
‘On the face of it perhaps. But I doubt it’s “all found”, as it was at number six. You may have to get your own food, and maybe wood for the fire. But it all sounds rather nice, with a separate little cottage and being left to use your initiative.’
Mabel looked back at the letter. ‘She’s given me Clarissa’s address. She said to write to her and say when I can come, and she’ll get someone to meet me at the station. I’ll get a month’s trial.’
‘That sounds good to me – in fact, I’d say it was perfect for you. Mrs Forester wouldn’t suggest this for you unless she knew what the accommodation was like and felt you were ideal for the job.’
‘Then I’ll write and accept as soon as I’ve found out the train times.’
Mrs Hardy smiled. ‘I can do that for you. I’ve got to go over to Percy’s this afternoon. He has train timetables; I noticed when I was there last.’
‘What’s Dorchester like?’ Mabel asked. ‘All I know about it is from Thomas Hardy books.’
‘I’ve never been there, so I’m not much help to you. But I believe Dorset is a beautiful county.’
Ten days later, Mabel arrived at Dorchester West station, late in the afternoon, in a snowstorm. The snow had started during the long journey, and she’d been afraid the train would break down and she and the other passengers would be stranded in the middle of nowhere.
You'll Never See Me Again Page 9
