Along the Endless River

by Rose Alexander

  Roughly, Mrs Bustle almost manhandled Mabel against the wall. As the two men walked past, she curtsied, and Mabel followed her lead. But rather than walk straight past them as Mabel had hoped they would, they paused in front of the two women backed up against the blue-painted plaster like hostages. Mabel knew what Kirsty would be thinking in this situation: why should we cower and hide ourselves away, just because we’re not posh? But Mabel had no thoughts of rebellion. All she wanted was a quiet life, not to get into trouble, to earn her wage and do a good job well.

  And never, ever for it to happen again. Clearly Mac was not a concern in that regard. But Lord Cardburn? Who knew?

  ‘Ah,’ said Lord Cardburn.

  He looked her up and down, appraising her. ‘She looks promising.’

  The comment was addressed to Patrick McNamara, not to Mrs Bustle or Mabel herself.

  Mac gave a nod of acknowledgement and smiled at Mabel, a reassuring, comforting smile that creased his blue eyes charmingly.

  ‘She’s a lovely one, isn’t she?’ he remarked.

  ‘She’ll do,’ responded Lord Cardburn. ‘Quite nicely, I’d say!’ He scrutinised her again. ‘Bit too thin, but they eat well in my servants’ hall. She’ll put some flesh on and then be more than passable.’

  Pleased with his quip, he laughed long and loud but Mac did not join in.

  ‘I know from personal acquaintance that she’s from the best of families,’ he said, a trifle coldly. Mabel felt a warm rush of gratitude. He was sticking up for her. She had known this would be a good situation.

  And then Lord Cardburn’s laughter stopped and the men moved on, deep in conversation, the insignificant maid forgotten. Mabel breathed a sigh of relief: being ignored by the master of the house was far more preferable than being noticed.

  The footmen snapped to attention as the men passed, then followed them out to the carriage that awaited them. Through the open doors, Mabel saw that the horses, like the footmen, were perfectly matched: black and glossy, hooves impatiently stamping against the paving slabs, manes tossing in the wind. The two men climbed aboard and the carriage rolled away, accompanied by the cacophonous clattering of wheels on stone.

  Downstairs in the basement, Mrs Bustle showed her to the tradesmen’s door. As Mabel went out, she passed her a package wrapped in brown paper.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Mabel. Was Lady Cardburn expecting her to start mending and darning, one of a lady’s maid’s key tasks, even before she’d actually begun working for her?

  Mrs Bustle clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘A couple of my lady’s old dresses for you. You’ll need to shorten them considerably and take them in a bit, on account of you being nothing but skin and bone, but otherwise they should do you fine.’

  Mabel fingered the package gingerly, as if it might explode at any minute.

  Mrs Bustle smiled. ‘That’s one of the perks, my dear. My lady has all the latest fashions and she never wears anything two seasons running. That’s a finely made black dress you’re wearing there but I’m willing to guess it’s your only one, and it’s rather dull and plain. You need to look the part and this—’ she tapped the parcel decisively, ‘will help. Your wardrobe won’t recognise itself.’

  She didn’t ask Mabel if she’d ever been a lady’s maid before but Mabel could tell she knew she hadn’t. She’d given herself away by not knowing the dress code – or that her employer would pass on cast-offs to her. That evening, she and her mother stitched and pressed and turned Lady Cardburn’s dresses into beautiful outfits for Mabel. The fabrics were lovely, far lovelier than any Mabel had ever been able to afford: the best, softest wool and silk, the most luxurious organza and velvet. Mabel had never had garments like this before. Now she had a chance to enjoy fine apparel for the first time in her life.

  That last evening in Clerkenwell though, she cried quietly to herself before she slept. Her mother thought she was just nervous at taking on more than she could chew. She didn’t know that Mabel was full of self-loathing and confusion. That alongside her gratitude for getting the job was her terror, arisen anew after a period during which she had forced herself to be strong and confident. Lord Cardburn, the handsome footmen, Patrick McNamara – there were unfamiliar men everywhere and though the latter had shown her nothing but kindness and the two former nothing of harm, Mabel was frightened.

  What was the secret of it all? Why did she garner unwanted male attention? At seventeen years old, she longed to know.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  London, 1902

  The days in Lady Cardburn’s employ were completely different to Brampton Square. No more washing dishes, scrubbing pans and polishing cutlery with varying substances of equal corrosiveness. Mabel, looking at her hands, could hardly believe that they appeared normal again, her fingers no longer swollen cabbages, her nails no longer ragged and split, her skin healed, smooth and flawless again.

  1901 turned to 1902 and, despite her initial worries, Mabel picked up on the demands of the job quickly and easily, and her natural flair for fashion and style rapidly brought her Lady Cardburn’s approval.

  ‘You are always one step ahead,’ her mistress said one late afternoon, as Mabel was helping her into her carefully chosen outfit for that evening’s dinner. Caring for and choosing Alexandra’s clothes was Mabel’s main duty and took nearly all day, as her ladyship might change up to five times, depending on what her engagements were. ‘I don’t know what I did without you.’

  Mabel never knew how to respond to statements like this.

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ she said, thinking that you couldn’t go wrong with such an answer.

  The truth was that she loved dealing with all her ladyship’s clothes, hanging and folding, mending and ironing. Now she was sewing on a daily basis she was becoming as competent and skilful with her needle as her mother, and she possessed a great eye for what would suit someone. She made sketches of the most striking outfits she and her ladyship saw each day, or found inspiration from the fashion plates in magazines, and then turned these prototypes into unique designs that either she or the dressmaker would make up.

  Once Lady Cardburn was dressed, Mabel did her hair and make-up. She’d spent her first few afternoons off prowling the Harrods beauty hall, learning everything she could about face creams and powders, the latest anti-ageing remedies and trends in eye shadows and lipsticks. She soaked up all the information, fascinated by everything that was available to make a woman more attractive and beguiling – but never to use for herself of course, only ever for her ladyship.

  Mabel loved that the house was always full, life and laughter spilling from every room. Many of the guests were famous or titled, or eminent in some sphere of government or industry, the legal profession or banking. Their shine rubbed off on the servants and made all of them seem more glamorous as a result.

  Kirsty had been right that it was much better working in a larger household. Apart from anything else, there was much more fun to be had in the servants’ hall. The Cardburns had provided a piano, and a couple of the servants could play the fiddle, so in the evenings they’d sometimes have music, singing and dancing, which Mabel adored. She became friends with Hannah the nursery maid, a girl about her own age who worked with the terrifying nanny, Nanny Hoskins, looking after the Cardburns’ two sons, Michael, aged eight and William, aged six. Apart from Hannah, the other person she got to know well was one half of the handsome footmen pair, whose name was Archie. The other was called Arthur.

  ‘That’s funny,’ she said, when Archie told her this. He was shy and courteous, with none of the arrogance of Arthur’s haughty gaze. ‘You look the same and your names sound similar. What a coincidence!’

  ‘They’re not our real names,’ he explained. ‘They gave us new ones, to make us a pair, like the horses are Belle and Beauty. My real name is Terence – but it’s not a servant’s name, is it? I think my father had delusions of grandeur.’ He laughed then, self-deprecatingly.

  ‘Oh, v
ery posh,’ teased Mabel, warming to him further for his modesty and humility. ‘But I like Terence.’ She paused and then added hastily, ‘I like Archie too, of course.’

  In the evenings, the footmen worked together waiting at the dinner table and sometimes they both accompanied the family on an outing. But on a normal day, Archie went out with Lady Cardburn and Arthur with his lordship. Almost every afternoon, Lady Cardburn would call for her carriage and change into her second or third outfit of the day. Together, she and Mabel would proceed downstairs to where Archie would be waiting to open the carriage door and help them in, making sure they avoided any muddy puddles that might lie in the way. Then he would climb aboard himself and take his seat next to the driver. When they had done their shopping, he’d be there, faithfully waiting to carry the parcels and purchases.

  There was something cosy and wonderful about bowling over the cobbles, skimming through the wind and rain, a handsome young man at their beck and call. Shoving the bad experiences of the past out of her mind as best she could, Mabel managed to reach a level of contentment that she’d thought would never be possible again.

  Over the weeks and months, she also cast aside some of her doubts and inhibitions. Kirsty would say that life was for living and it was time for Mabel to abide by that mantra. So, when Archie invited her to walk with him on their afternoon off, and to have a cup of tea and a bun afterwards, she agreed.

  ‘Where do your family live?’ she asked him, on their second or third outing. He had a lilting, beguiling accent she couldn’t place.

  ‘Newcastle,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh,’ Mabel said, not knowing quite how to respond. Newcastle was so far away and all she associated it with was coalmines about which, being a Londoner, she knew little.

  ‘My family are miners.’

  Mabel smiled. ‘So why aren’t you?’ she teased. ‘Why this job, why here?’

  Archie shrugged. ‘Me da didn’t want me down the mines. We lost my brother in the pits, and my uncle. A footman’s job seemed a safer choice and with my height, I could earn a fair bit, especially down south. I was lucky that I was a match with Arthur.’

  He laughed. Mabel was curious. She wondered how the two of them got on, beneath the façade of oneness and teamwork they had to display to the household and the wider world.

  ‘Though he’s first footman and I’m second,’ continued Archie, as if reading her mind.

  ‘Does it make a difference?’

  ‘About £10 a year!’ Archie exploded into laughter again and it was so infectious that Mabel had to join in, though it seemed unfair that one should earn more than the other when they were both so handsome and good at their jobs.

  ‘So, unless he leaves or I bump him off,’ Archie continued, ‘I’m destined to be second fiddle forever.’

  Mabel chewed her lip. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said.

  Archie shrugged. ‘I’m teasing you. But we’ll be gone soon anyway,’ he said, suddenly pessimistic. ‘They’ll be getting one of these motor cars that are all the rage. The Bedfords have had one for a while and I’m sure his lordship won’t be left behind for long. He always likes to keep up with new technology. I think the only reason he hasn’t already bought one is because he loves the horses so and doesn’t want to lose them.’

  This was the longest speech Mabel had ever heard Archie make. She felt a pang of fear, or panic, at the thought of Archie being let go. If that happened, he might have to become a miner after all, risking his life.

  ‘Maybe you could become a chauffeur,’ she suggested, desperately trying to be positive.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Archie. He looked doleful for a moment, his long eyelashes drooping over his kind hazel eyes. Then he shook his shoulders out and sat up straighter. ‘But there’s no point in worrying, is there?’ he said, with renewed cheeriness. ‘Now, you be mother and pour us another cuppa, and then we’d better be getting back.’

  Before they got too near the house, they parted company. It was an unspoken agreement between them that no one else needed to know how they spent their afternoons off. There was so much gossip in the servants’ hall and Mabel did not want to be part of it.

  In her room, she sat on her bed and thought about the rise of the motor car, the way it seemed to symbolise how much was changing. Electricity was coming, too; Lady Cardburn had told her that, in the next year or so, the whole house was to be fitted out with electric lighting to replace the gas. Nothing lasted forever and the same was true of the position of lady’s maid – it was not for life. You needed to be young and fashionable and attractive for this job; unlike with other professions, lady’s maids earned less and less as they got older. Mabel could probably count on only around ten years on her current salary; she must think about the future.

  That evening, she asked Lady Cardburn if she would have any objection to her signing up for a French course at the Working Women’s College.

  ‘It would be useful when my lady is entertaining guests from France,’ she suggested. She didn’t mention her ambitions to be a teacher one day. Even though Lady Cardburn was kind and forward-looking, most employers were disdainful of servants’ attempts to better themselves, much preferring the lower classes to know their place and keep to it. Mabel didn’t want to put a spanner in the works by coming across as if she were above herself.

  ‘Of course, Mabel,’ answered Lady Cardburn, without hesitation. ‘I think that’s a splendid idea. And as his lordship doesn’t speak a word of any language other than English, it will be a wonderful way for us to keep secrets from him, should we wish to do so.’

  She laughed heartily at her little joke and Mabel, tentatively, joined in. She didn’t know what she might need to discuss with her ladyship that couldn’t be heard by her husband but it wasn’t her business to ask. She was just glad she’d been given permission to study.

  When she told Archie, he was most impressed.

  ‘Well, who’ll be the hoity-toity one,’ he teased in his lovely accent.

  Emboldened by her recent successes, she plucked up all her courage. ‘Why don’t you join me?’ she suggested. ‘We could learn together.’

  Archie almost collapsed in gales of laughter. ‘Me? Talking French? You’re having a lark, aren’t you? And anyway, I don’t think the Working Women’s College would take a six-foot man, would they?’

  Mabel had to concede the accuracy of this fact.

  But then, a few days later as they waited while Lady Cardburn chatted to a friend she’d met coming out of Fortnum’s food hall, he whispered in her ear, ‘Parlez-vous français?’

  Mabel turned to see a cheeky grin spread all across his face. ‘What?’ she murmured, not wanting to attract Lady Cardburn’s attention. ‘Where did you learn that?’

  ‘Got a book out of the library,’ pronounced Archie, proudly. ‘I’ve done chapters one and two already.’

  Before Mabel could respond, her ladyship was upon them, thrusting packages at Archie and then sweeping up her skirts as she climbed into the carriage.

  Archie stood on the footplate rather than sitting beside the driver on the way back. Mabel was sure he was doing it so she could see him. She felt a sudden, devastating pang of despondence at the thought that the Cardburns might buy an automobile and no longer need their footmen. And the irony that it was her sister’s rubber, and Mac’s of course, that was making the huge expansion of the motor trade possible did not escape her.

  At that moment a car, noisily backfiring, overtook them on the left, setting the horses Belle and Beauty stamping and tossing their heads. Mabel recognised the man inside as the Duke of Bedford.

  ‘Do you think his lordship will acquire one of those?’ she enquired of Alexandra, as casually as she could. ‘It seems to be the fashion. My sister says they even have them in Manaus now, though there are only a couple of miles of paved roads.’

  Lady Cardburn smoothed her coat over her knees. ‘I think he probably will, Mabel. But,’ she peered out of the window and gave a small, graci
ous wave to someone she knew, ‘I don’t think he’ll let go of Archie and Arthur. After all, I’ll still need someone to carry my parcels and we’ll always require servers at dinner. I think their employment is safe for the foreseeable future.’

  Somehow, this news sent a warm glow of relief coursing through Mabel’s veins and she spent the rest of the journey in a reverie of contentment.

  Chapter Forty

  Norwood, 1906

  Time and the river swept inexorably on.

  Somehow, inexplicably, a year passed, and then another and another. To Katharine’s huge relief, Mabel’s letters were markedly more cheerful these days. Even though she had left school, she seemed to be content helping Mary around the house and in caring for their father, and the good news was that she was continuing to study French at evening class. It was right that she should stay at home while she was needed. Her time to work, to be a teacher, would come.

  Her brothers, too, were all now gainfully occupied by apprenticeships or jobs, one an engineer, another a stonemason, a third a silversmith, while the other two had followed their father into the docks, though both had secured administrative positions as clerks and so did not have to risk their physical safety in manual work.

  Antonio was a harder nut to crack. His brief, terse letters from school gave little away about what he was really feeling. And Katharine was unlikely to see him any time soon – he had been dreadfully seasick on the voyage and was reluctant to undergo the journey again just for the duration of the holidays, even the long summer break. And anyway, as he casually informed her, he preferred to spend his time visiting the country estates of numerous well-heeled friends. He’d become a good shot, he boasted, and learnt to ride a horse to hounds.

  Katharine always had the impression that his letters were written as a duty, not a pleasure, because school Sunday afternoons were set aside for that purpose and missives to parents had to be produced. It saddened her. But, unlike her business, her relationship with her son did not seem to be within her control. Things had gone wrong and, other than always professing her unconditional love for her son, she simply didn’t know how to put them right.