by Carol Rivers
‘What?’ Mary stopped eating.
‘I worked every day in the orphanage kitchen.’
‘That’s a turn up for the books. I’d have had you down as a posh type fallen on hard times.’
‘Then you’d be very wrong.’
‘Blimey,’ said Mary in surprise. ‘You’ve got no one then, just like me?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Ettie, ‘just like you.’ She knew now why Mary had acted in such an unfriendly manner. She suffered from the often-fatal condition of being unloved, just like the children of the orphanage.
Chapter 58
Late that night, after helping Cook to clear the kitchen, Ettie climbed the many stairs with Mary to their attic room. It was pitch black inside until Mary lit the candle.
The shadows cast themselves in the flickering light as Mary flung herself on her bed with a loud yawn. ‘I’m tired,’ she complained, undressing and letting her clothes drop to the floor. ‘We’ve only got one po, so if you want to wee, do it quietly. In the morning you can empty it. If you don't this gaff will stink like a drain.’
After Ettie had washed, she took her rosary and knelt by her bed.
A few seconds later, Mary sat up in bed. ‘What are you doing now?’ she bellowed.
‘I’m saying my prayers.’
‘That again! Well, you can say whatever you like, but not with the candle burning. We only get issued with one every month.’
Ettie quickly extinguished the flame and the smell of wax curled into the darkened room. A half moon provided a little light through the small window pane. Even so, she managed to stub her toe on the truckle bed.
‘Now go to sleep,’ roared Mary. ‘Or else!’
Ettie slipped into bed and reached for her cross tucked under her pillow. She would say her prayers in bed, in future.
Mary’s snores were so loud they seemed to vibrate through the walls. Ettie lay awake thinking of Sister Patrick and her gentle Irish accent. Of Sister Ukunda and her clever bartering at the market. Of Soho and the family that would never live at the salon again. Of Gwen and her band of thieves and Terence; all the people who had passed through her life until now.
Lastly, she thought of Michael. It was just a few weeks to Christmas. She wondered if he thought of her, as she thought of him; if he missed their close friendship? Or was he at this very moment, lying in the arms of the beautiful young woman he had accompanied to the tobacconist’s of Silver Street?
The moon was still shining when Ettie rose the next morning. Woken by Mary’s snores, she lit the candle and poured a little water to wash with into the china bowl. She bathed her entire body, enjoying the luxury. How good it felt to be clean!
Gently probing around her eye, she was relieved to find the swelling, if not the bruising, had vanished. Tipping the dirty water into the chamber pot, Ettie turned her attention to dressing. Shivering like a jelly, she drew on the pantaloons and fastened her girdle. Unlike the soft brown uniform that Mrs Buckle had made to her exact measurements, the grey dress was several sizes too large. But once held in place by the ties of her white apron, Ettie was satisfied with its fit.
She bent to shake Mary’s shoulder. ‘Mary, wake up.’
Mary roused sleepily, pushing back her frizzy mop of hair. ‘What time do you call this?’ she demanded crossly.
‘I heard a clock strike four.’
‘Go back to bed. We don’t start till five.’
‘Where do I empty the chamber pot?’
‘Down in the slops room of course. Now bugger off.’ Mary pulled the blanket over her head.
Carefully folding a cloth over the pot, Ettie took the lit candle in her other hand and made her way carefully to the back stairwell. On each floor she hesitated, trying to remember the route Mary had taken. Finally, she came to the basement and a long, dark passage. Would the slops room be here? The candle flame flickered, caught in a cold breeze from the far door.
‘Slops room’s along on your right,’ said a voice and Ettie jumped, nearly dropping the po. A tall figure loomed over her.
‘It’s me,’ said Jim, dressed in his breeches and vest with his braces looped over his shoulders. A towel hung around his neck and his dark hair was wet. ‘There’s a pump in the courtyard outside if you need it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ettie, suddenly embarrassed.
‘Is Mary up?’ He glanced over Ettie’s shoulder.
‘Not yet.’
‘You’ll have to kick her out of bed. Tell her I said so.’
Ettie was mystified as he hurried off, letting in a shaft of moonlight as he went out to the courtyard. What kind of message was that?
Remembering that she had many duties to perform, Ettie quickly followed his instructions. Two great sinks dominated the slops room. A line of chamber pots stood on the opposite wall and next to these a large wooden contraption. Ettie despatched the contents of the pot into the hole and used the water from a pail to clean the white china. Returning to the passage, she found her way back upstairs to the attics.
Reluctantly, she shook Mary’s shoulder.
‘Go away!’ came the angry retort from under the bedclothes.
‘I saw Jim downstairs, Mary.’
A pale face appeared. ‘What?’
‘He gave me a message.’
Mary immediately came to life. ‘What did he say?’
‘Just that I should wake you.’
‘Did he indeed?’ She gave a humourless smile as she stretched her skinny arms. Blinking in the candlelight, she muttered, ‘I hope you ain’t going to disturb me again at four o’clock.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’
‘What time is it now?’
‘Close to five I should think.’
‘Why are you up so early?’
‘I’m going to Nanny’s quarters first.’
Mary gave a groan and flopped back on her pillow.
Ettie tiptoed out, the thought occurring to her that Jim might have been waiting to meet Mary. The young man had sounded quite put out when Ettie had said that she was still sleeping. But Mary hadn’t seemed to care at all.
Chapter 59
It was almost Christmas and Ettie’s routine was the same every day. She attended to Nanny’s quarters first, before a housemaid arrived with Nanny’s tea and breakfast. She was then free to perform all her duties including the cleaning and polishing of every room on the nursery floor and stairwell.
Her own meals were eaten in the nursery hall, except for supper, when she joined Mary in the house kitchen. In the absence of Lord and Lady Marsden and their two children, Amelia aged three and George four, Mary complained at being at the mercy all day of Mrs Powell and the butler, Mr Gane. ‘I’m given all the jobs no one wants. I hate Christmas. I hate everything to do with it.’
‘You won’t say that when you’re sinking your teeth into my roast drumsticks,’ Cook reproved. ‘Be grateful for small mercies, that’s what I say.’
‘Why should I be grateful?’ was Mary’s regular reply. ‘I’m working me fingers to the bone.’
Ettie had become used to Mary’s moods and her habit of sleeping late. It was as if she did it deliberately, hoping to blame Ettie for not waking her. But Ettie was always up bright and early. Since the house was being scrubbed from top to bottom in the absence of the family, every nook and cranny was to be investigated and cleaned.
Very soon she knew most of the lowers and they knew her. She was always quick to smile and to offer her help when it was needed.
One evening, as Cook served Ettie and Mary their suppers, Jim walked into the kitchen. Mary blushed deeply as Cook pointed a wooden spoon in Jim’s direction. ‘You’ve had your supper young man.’
Jim’s usually surly face bore a smile as he glanced in Mary’s direction.
‘So that’s the way of it, is it?’ Cook said ruefully. ‘Come, Ettie, if you’re finished, bring your plate to the scullery.’
Ettie joined Cook at the big china sinks; this was the place she liked most in the whole house
, surrounded by pots, pans and the pleasant warmth of the cooking ranges reminding her of the convent.
‘Give those two a moment, shall we?’ said Cook in a low voice as she plunged the plates into the washing water.
‘Jim seems very fond of Mary,’ Ettie observed as she began to dry the dishes.
‘He is that. But Mary – well, you know Mary by now.’ Cook gave a sigh and her bosoms heaved under her apron. ‘Not an easy child.’
‘How long has she worked here?’ Ettie asked softly.
‘Must be five years now. The mistress, on one of her charity missions, found her on the streets. Couldn’t have been more than ten – didn’t even know her own age. The kitchens are where she’s been ever since. As you’ve discovered, she don’t get on with people. That’s why the others left. The girls before you.’
‘Because of Mary?’
‘Didn’t give ‘em a moment’s peace.’
‘I thought it was because Mrs Powell didn’t like them?’
‘Mrs Powell?’ Cook looked surprised. ‘On the contrary. The housekeeper came to the end of her tether hiring decent lasses, only to have them leave. She knows it’s our Mary who was the thorn in their sides, but sacking Mary wouldn’t please Lady Marsden. That’s why Mrs Powell went to the workhouse governor …’ Cook stopped and clapped a wet hand over her mouth.
‘And paid for me,’ Ettie said, without taking offence.
‘Me and my quick tongue,’ Cook apologized. ‘But it’s the truth. And you was worth every penny. All the staff have taken to you. All except for our Mary. I hope you don’t disappear too.’
‘I don’t want to go back to the workhouse.’
‘Course you don’t.’ Cook dried her plump hands. ‘But Mary will test you to your limit, mind, just like she tests that poor boy. Seems anyone who shows an interest in her, she spurns.’
Ettie thought of Michael when he had first arrived at the orphanage. Even the kindness of the nuns hadn’t impressed him.
Cook looked at her curiously. ‘You’re an orphan, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but the orphanage burned down.’
‘Oh ducks, who did it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is that how you landed in the workhouse?’
‘I was found a position in Soho …’ Ettie stopped. A lump filled her throat as she thought of Lucas, Clara and the baby. ‘But my employer died.’
‘Heavens! You’ve been through the mill,’ Cook said gently. ‘Let’s go and see if Jim has managed to put a smile on our Mary’s face.’
But Mary stood alone in the kitchen. Tears brimmed hotly in her eyes.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ Cook enquired.
‘Nothing. I told him to leave me alone.’
‘Why?’ Cook said in annoyance. ‘He’s a nice lad. You don’t deserve that boy’s attention.’
Tears ran down Mary’s face. ‘I hate you. I hate her,’ she spat, pointing at Ettie. ‘And I hate him.’ She turned and ran off.
‘What did I tell you?’ Cook mumbled grumpily. ‘You’ll have to grow a thick skin, my dear, if you want to work here.’
It was a warning that Ettie was to remember over the coming weeks.
Chapter 60
It was Christmas Eve and Mrs Powell had given the lowers permission to attend the midnight service at the local church.
‘Are you going?’ Ettie asked Mary as they climbed the stairs to the attic.
‘No.’
‘You might enjoy the service.’
‘I don’t believe in an old man in the sky with a long grey beard who sits on a cloud all day,’ Mary said as she walked into their room and flung herself on her bed.
Ettie smiled. ‘Neither do I.’ She put on her coat, one that Cook had loaned her for the occasion. ‘Christmas is a lovely time. I love singing carols, don’t you?’
‘No, can’t say as I do.’ She pointed to the coat. ‘You look like an old lady in that.’
‘I might, but it’s nice and warm.’
Mary jumped up. ‘Don’t you ever get angry?’
Ettie laughed. ‘Why should I?’
‘I thought you’d be gone by now. The others all went.’
‘Mary, I have nowhere else to go. So, can we be friends?’
This seemed to make Mary even crosser. ‘Friends let you down. Like Jim. He’s dropped me for someone else.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He makes excuses not to see me. I know he’s got a roving eye.’
‘If he has, I’ve never seen it.’
Mary frowned at her suspiciously. ‘I’ll bet it’s you he's having it off with!’
‘I like Jim,’ Ettie said without taking offence. ‘But we hardly speak, except when he asks me about you when I go to the slops room in the mornings.’
‘I’ll bet!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘I hate him. I hate him. And I hate you.’ She sank down on her bed again. Holding her hands over her face, she wept fiercely.
Ettie sat beside her. ‘You don’t really hate people. And they don’t hate you.’
‘How would you know?’ Mary sobbed, her frizzy hair falling out of her mob cap and over her damp face.
‘We could be friends if you tried.’
Mary ignored her, her sobs growing even louder.
‘Come with me tonight.’
‘You’ll be with the others,’ Mary mumbled.
‘I’d prefer to be with you.’
Mary slowly dropped her hands. ‘I don’t understand. I’ve told you I don’t like you.’
Ettie stood up. ‘Well, I like you. Merry Christmas, Mary.’
‘Go away,’ Mary insisted, swiping her wet cheeks with angry fingers.
Ettie left the attic and went down the stairs, glancing up to see if Mary was following. But there were no steps echoing, only her own.
Outside in the courtyard, the staff had gathered. Amongst them was Jim.
‘Is Mary coming, too?’ he asked Ettie.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Each year I ask her. Each year she turns me down. I won’t bother again.’ He walked away under the light of the star-filled sky. It was such a beautiful night. A glistening frost dotted the courtyard walls and the winding path that led to the lane along which Ettie had first arrived. There was not a breath of wind, and the soft murmur of the others’ voices was all she could hear.
The group began to move off and Ettie followed. Jim seemed to be striding along in front, his shoulders slumped under his greatcoat. Was he missing Mary she wondered?
As the little band wandered into the gaslit streets of Poplar, she thought of Mary alone in their room. Perhaps she should have stayed to keep her company? But as they neared the brightly lit church and the strains of Christmas carols being sung, Ettie heard another sound. She paused as the footsteps grew closer.
‘Thought I might as well come,’ said Mary breathlessly, her breath curling up into the frosty air. She pulled up the collar of her old coat. ‘Got nothing better to do anyway. And you’d only disturb me when you came in.’
Her voice must have reached Jim’s ears, since he glanced over his shoulder. A few minutes later they were walking three abreast behind the main party.
Ettie pushed a wayward lock of her chestnut hair back into its pins, managing to hide her smile as Jim and Mary held hands.
Since the family were spending the holiday in the country, the entire staff were to enjoy Cook’s Christmas dinner served in the servant’s hall. It was the first time Ettie had been invited to join the other staff and she eagerly helped with the preparations. Garlands of holly were hung from the walls and a very small tree placed under the window. Below it, Mrs Powell had instructed the footmen to lay out the gifts.
‘Everyone gets a present,’ Cook explained as Ettie and Mary helped in the kitchen. ‘Mrs Powell gives them out. Lord and Lady Marsden are very generous. The valets and footmen are given money or personal items. Last Christmas I received a leather wallet to keep my recipes in. The maids might get c
lothes like a nice petticoat. And … ’
‘I didn’t even get that,’ interrupted Mary in a surly tone as she diced the parsley.
‘You were given a quality piece of cloth,’ Cook argued. ‘But what did you do with it? Stuck it under your bed.’
‘Everyone else got a dress.’ The knife went down with a clatter. ‘Why can’t we all get money like the footmen?’
‘Because you’d only squander it.’
Mary’s cheeks went scarlet. Ettie saw the angry tears glint in her eyes.
‘Are the family away every Christmas?’ Ettie asked Cook quickly.
‘No dear, not when Lord Marsden is busy with his politicking. Easier for him to be here in the house then. They are visited by some bigwigs, you know.’
‘Hoity-toity snobs,’ supplied Mary under her breath.
Cook threw her a reproving glance. ‘Enough now, Mary!’ she exclaimed. ‘Lord Marsden is an aristocrat, very well respected in his circles.’ She gave no chance for Mary to comment as she bellowed, ‘Charles, Arthur, where are you?’
The footmen swiftly appeared, with the housemaids in hot pursuit and the flurry of activity began as Cook oversaw the platters and tureens that were to be moved to the servants’ hall.
Ettie had never seen or smelled such delicious food; two huge, roasted turkeys were carved, together with the mouth-watering addition of a side of beef, boiled and roast potatoes dripping in fat, vegetables of every shape and colour laced with butter and herbs and, a plum pudding that was almost the size of the mixing bowl in which it had been prepared.
Mince pies sprinkled with sugar followed and Mr Gane had the distinction of leading the way to the hall, his proud bearing and formal features beneath his neatly combed dark hair softened by an occasional smile.
Mrs Powell, Head and Nanny and all the upper servants who had remained at the house, were seated at the top of the long, decorated table in the high-ceilinged hall. Jim, the stable boy and the gardener sat with the lowers, while Ettie and Mary joined the staff chosen to serve the vegetables, as the footmen poured the punch and beer. Mary and Ettie’s task was to follow Hilda Rawlins, an older housemaid, helping her to distribute the sauces. When all was ready for Mrs Powell to say grace, Mary and Ettie took their seats at the far end of the table.
