I had a throw or two, but it’s no fun playing on your own – so I set off on the track of Mr Parton. Not too difficult, because Billy had told me he had a hideout in a secluded summerhouse on the west side of the garden. Of course, being in the garden it was out of bounds to servants, but that wasn’t a problem. Billy had said, ‘He don’t interfere – not him. I had a pair of fresh-killed conies under me jacket when I cut through that way in the summer, but he never said aught.’
So I sneaked into forbidden territory and found the small summerhouse – it was on a paved terrace, along with a statue of a woman with her clothes falling off. Mr Parton looked up, and then very decently looked down at his book again, pretending he hadn’t seen me.
I bounced up to him, bobbed, said, ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ and smiled. He gave me a very sweet smile back, while blushing into his heard. I asked, hopefully, ‘D’ye fancy a wee game o’ the glassies?’
He looked quite blank, so I produced them. ‘Oh – marbles, I – er – I’m afraid I don’t know how to play.’
I was brisk. ‘Nae matter, I’ll soon teach ye – I’ve a canny hand wi’ the glassies, though I says it masel’. You come down here beside me.’
We were soon both crouched at the foot of the statue, but he still looked doubtful, so I was encouraging. ‘Nae time at all, ye’ll be picking it up. Now, the one ye throw’s called a taw, an’ ye hold it this way, an’ ye dinna sae much throw, as shoot – wi’ a quick flick o’ the thumb, like this…’
He did pick it up quickly. In our first game I beat him, of course; but he’d done pretty well, and I told him so. He looked pleased, before telling me, ‘You are an excellent teacher, Eve.’
We smiled at each other in mutual satisfaction. ‘Let’s have another wee game, then.’
I was so engrossed I hadn’t heard footsteps approaching over the grass verge until the statue’s stone feet were joined by another pair – which were very large and shod in highly polished brown leather. A voice above them boomed, ‘What an earth are you two up to?’ Horseface. Though I’d recognised the boots already, having seen them up-ended on trees in his room – enormous boots, flaunting a magnificent gloss – all achieved by the sweat of poor Mr Wilkins’ brow.
Anyway, freed from the need to exercise humility I tipped my head up, and exclaimed, ‘What daes it look as if we’re daeing? Playing glassies, o’ course.’
Mr Parton looked up too. ‘It’s quite fascinating, old chap – you see, if you aim—’
‘You don’t need to explain, Fred – I’ve always been quite a dab hand at marbles, though I do say it myself.’
I sprang up to confront him. ‘Then you’re on. Best of five games, playing long taw.’
For a moment surprise silenced him, then, ‘I accept your challenge. But it must be a clean hit, or no score – none of this lily-livered spanning.’
I nodded agreement. ‘Aye – spanning’s only for the weans.’ I dropped down on my heels again, and hitching up his trouser leg he joined me, one knee on the ground – I bet Mr Wilkins would be pleased about that! I began counting out the glassies, ‘I’ll split these with ye, seeing as ye no have any o’ your own.’
‘But since I’m having to borrow your marbles in order to play, we can’t compete in the usual way, can we?’
I paused, ‘Tha’s true.’
‘So we’ll need a different prize.’ He grinned. ‘I know, if I win, you’ll have to give me a kiss.’
What a cheek! I asked, ‘An’ what do I get, if I win?’
‘I’ll give you a kiss.’
‘But that means—’ Seeing his grin broaden, I changed tack. ‘If I win you have to let me tweak your nose.’ That threw him. I said, ‘I dinna play, else.’
His eyes on me, I scooped up a couple of the marbles and began to rise. Halfway up he said, ‘Done!’
I sank down again. Glancing at Mr Parton I announced, ‘I’ve got a witness for when I win.’
Lord Rothbury smirked. ‘And so have I, for when I do.’ He poked his long nose only inches from mine. I could hardly wait.
By the end of the fourth game we were two all. Tension was rising. He said, ‘I admit, young woman, that you’re an unusually good shot for one of your sex.’
I retorted, ‘I admit, old—’ I changed my mind hastily at his expression, ‘My lord, that you’re playing a deal better than I expected – for one o’ your rank.’ He had been doing, too. He could even win if I was … Inspiration came. I said, casually, ‘Dae ye fancy playing the decider by ring taw? We’d have to move down on to the bare earth, though, tae make a circle.’
‘Mm, why not?’ Good. Then he added, ‘How about a single throw each, and whoever gets nearest to the centre without touching the other marbles is the winner?’
Better and better – just what I’d been going to suggest myself. ‘Aye – and shooting frae a guid distance awa’.’
‘Naturally.’
The ring was drawn, and all our glassies except our two taws positioned in an evenly spaced-out circle within it. We tossed for first shot, I won. He said, ‘You take this side, I’ll take the opposite position.’ Like a pair of duellists we each turned our backs on the other and walked to our places. Lord Rothbury called, ‘Are we properly matched, Fred?’
Mr Parton called back. ‘Totally – in fact, I would would say that you’re both ideally matched.’ From the tone of his voice he didn’t sound to be taking the matter as seriously as we were.
I took very careful aim, and then with a flick of my thumb shot my glassie racing down – into the ring, through the defensive circle and straight to its heart. He’d never be able to equal that. Triumphant, I sat back on my heels and enjoyed the surprise on his face.
Bending over his taw, he positioned it carefully on his thumb, aimed – and sent it shooting straight down to come to rest nestling up against mine. I couldn’t believe it – he could never have managed it at that distance!
Jumping up I ran to inspect – and saw on his side the slight depression in the earth where he’d trailed his heel – to make a channel for his glassie to run along. Pouncing on it I exclaimed indignantly, ‘You cheated!’
‘And so, young woman, did you. What’s that?’ He pointed to an identical depression on my side.
I said quickly, ‘I just happened ta catch ma heel.’
‘Quite. And I just happened to catch mine.’
‘There!’ I swung round to Mr Parton, ‘He’s admitted it!’ Turning back to Horseface I accused, ‘You saw me doing it and then you—’ I broke off, I’d given myself away.
Horseface said, ‘In point of fact, I did not see you.’
Mr Parton’s gentle voice interrupted us. ‘I did happen to notice that the – er – heel trailing – was taking place simultaneously.’ Horseface and I both fell silent. His eyes were very close to mine – a clear blue-grey, they were. He winked.
Suddenly it was so funny. I began to laugh, and so did he – in great, neighing brays. Mr Parton joined in.
When we’d finally quietened down Lord Rothbury suggested, ‘I tell you what – we’ll call it a draw. I’ll let you tweak my nose, and then you can give me a kiss – that way we both win.’
I argued, ‘But if it’s a draw, nobody should win.’
‘That wouldn’t be much fun, would it?’
Voices, quite close. My head jerked up, Lord Rothbury said, ‘Damn!’
I whispered, ‘That’s your fault – they heard you laughing! I’ll have to go, I’m no allowed in the garden.’ I turned to leave in the opposite direction – too late, bright frocks were appearing among the trees.
Lord Rothbury said, ‘I’ll go and delay the rose garden party, then you can dodge round behind the arbour. Here are your marbles.’ He quickly scooped them up.
I shook my head. ‘They’re not mine, Lady Binham’s wean threw ‘em down in a paddy because she wudna play with him.’
He slipped the glassies into his pocket. ‘I’ll see they get back to the boy. Off you go now.’ One of hi
s hands swung me round while the other patted my bottom. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll play decoy.’
‘Thanks.’
He grinned, ‘No need to thank me – it’s a pleasure to pat such a trim little behind.’ And he did it again. Cheek! ‘Off you go.’ He managed to get in a third pat and then I was away – dodging behind the arbour, skimming along the other side of the laburnum walk, and out through the gate into the safety of the parkland.
Once there I climbed up a convenient cedar, parted the foliage and looked back the way I’d come. I could see Horseface talking to a brace of pastel coloured hats – a successful decoy. He wasn’t such a bad old stick after all – even if he did cheat at marbles! He must have learnt the same trick that Duggie had taught me. I started giggling again, and the branches danced under my hands. But fancy him wanting to kiss me! Still, at least he’d asked first, unlike Henry. Though he hadn’t asked before patting my behind – but actually it had been rather a nice pat, as pats go. Yes, he was alright, really, Horseface.
I thought the same thing later, when Patsy, the nursemaid, told me he’d not only taken the glassies back to the nursery, but stayed up there to play a game of marbles with the boy. ‘Nice of his lordship, wasn’t it? Shame he’s no children of his own.’ She hustled off. I supposed he would have some one day, when he got married. I imagined a row of little boys, all with horse faces – foal faces.
I giggled.
The dressing bell rang. Time to process into the great hall…
Chapter Twenty Seven
…To find that one of the carpets was missing. I stared at the empty space. All the furniture was rearranged round the grand piano in the other half of the hall.
H.H. said, ‘The young ladies and gentlemen are going to dance tonight. Thomas’ (the oddman) ‘has polished the floor, ready for them.’
What a marvellous opportunity for me to watch Dr Travers! And for observing tribal rituals, of course – business before pleasure. But – I’d promised him I wouldn’t eavesdrop any more. Then as I swept the hearth I recalled that what I’d actually promised was not to listen behind curtains, and there were no curtains in the gallery overlooking the hall, and I couldn’t listen to any conversations because it was too high up, so…
However, I have to admit that those first two brushes with Lord Rothbury had left their mark; I had become more cautious recently. Take the matter of my daily swim, for instance – I’d suspended it altogether over the weekend. And although by Monday it was clear from the extra damp towels left out for the laundry that those gentlemen who swam were choosing to do so in the early morning, I’d still decided to confine my afternoon dip to the precise half hour of tea. I knew I’d be safe then, thanks to Lady Stokesley; that tea time tribal ritual of hers was extremely convenient for me.
But back to Monday evening, and the dancing. I simply must see Dr Travers dance. Surely, if I was careful: the gallery was dimly lit, the pillars were wide and sheltering – and my uniform dress was black. Minus my white cap and apron I would simply melt into the shadows – which reminded me of the example of that arch-melter, Uncle Fergus. When on a poaching expedition he would often carry some tool which implied he was out on a respectable errand. Of course, it was a complete waste of time, because his reputation around Helspie was such that if he actually was on legitimate business – off with his spade to dig potatoes, for instance – someone would say, ‘Salmon taken to burrowing underground, have they, Fergus?’
But it was different for me. I would carry one of the small, brass, shaving water cans, and then if anyone did query my presence in the gallery I’d imply that I’d forgotten to retrieve it from a bedroom earlier. And no-one would be at all suspicious because my current reputation as a humble housemaid was still spotless. Except with – Ah yes, my first move tonight must be to check that Horseface was safely on the dance floor. I muttered to Glad, ‘Does Lord Rothbury dance?’ But she pretended not to hear. Mean cow.
It turned out that Lord Rothbury did dance, pretty well, too. Though not as well as Dr Travers – he was the best dancer I’d ever seen. So marvellously graceful. I stood there watching as he danced with one fortunate girl after another – desperately trying to stop my toes tapping to the rhythm of the tunes. It was all very well being an observer of tribal rituals, but dancing was one ritual I didn’t want to observe – I wanted to join in.
Fading back into the shadows I returned the little brass can to the housemaids’ closet before slipping along the bachelors’ corridor and up the stairs to my room. I felt a bit blank. Those girls down there were not that much older than me – if Apa had been alive, I would have – Stop it, Eve. Live for the day. And remember next Monday, the servants’ ball – Dr Travers would surely dance with me then – once, at least.
The following afternoon found me sitting in the sun on a bench outside the stable block, reading. Intelligence (i.e. Billy) had reported that several of the gentlemen had gone for a ride. Fingers crossed, one would be Dr Travers – and they were due back before long because it was only half an hour to tea-time.
I read with my ears pricked – and heard hoof beats. Looking up hopefully I spotted three men cantering across the grass towards me. One was obviously Horseface, because he was bigger than the others. As they came closer I recognised his companions: Lord Ernest and Captain Cholmondeley – no Dr Travers. Gosh, Lord Rothbury could certainly ride – he was moving in perfect rhythm with his horse, as if he were growing out of it, like a centaur.
They were slowing down. Lord Rothbury patted his horse’s neck, glanced towards L, the stables, saw me – and raised his riding crop. I felt flattered, but rather self-conscious, too. He surely hadn’t thought I was looking at him, had he? I dropped my eyes down to my book again, and kept them there even when two pairs of glossy boots crunched past on the gravel. I didn’t feel like bobbing today.
A couple of minutes later a third pair of boots came crunching in my direction. A shadow fell over me – my head jerked up – too late! The adventures of Harris, George and J. had already been twitched from my grasp. I sprang to my feet – but the book was now high above my head.
I exclaimed, ‘That’s mine!’
He snorted. ‘I doubt it – I’d recognise that library binding anywhere.’ Turning the spine to face him he squinted up against the sun. ‘Ah, so you’ve discovered “Three Men In A Boat”.’
‘I discovered them lang ago – I’m just having another wee read. So if I can have ma book back the noo—’
His reply was to raise it even higher. As I reached up his jacket swung open and I could smell the musky scent of his sweat. I moved closer.
He grinned down at me. ‘If you want it back you’ll have to pay a forfeit.’
Suspicious, I asked, ‘What forfeit?’
‘A kiss.’ He looked so smug. That expression of his was too much for me.
Be a leopard, Eve. I crouched, sprang – and seized the book from his surprised hand.
‘Goodness, what a lithe young pussy cat you are!’ He was already reaching for it again. I thrust the book on the bench behind me and dropped down right on top of it, gripping the edge of the seat and daring him to shift me. His eyebrows raised. ‘You do tempt me, young woman.’
I retorted, ‘Cats scratch.’
‘Mm – and I’m not sure you wouldn’t.’ He smiled. ‘Well, another time, perhaps.’
I sniffed. He brayed, and then strode off on his great, long legs. No wonder he’d been able to catch me on the fish pier at Scarborough – but I’d won today. Only fancy Horseface keeping on wanting to kiss me! Kiss, me. I felt I should be annoyed, but I wasn’t – though I jolly well wouldn’t let him, of course. I glanced up at the stable clock; time to go and get changed for my swim.
Next morning I was carrying the tall brass water can on my head when I noticed him watching me from the end of the corridor. Soon after he appeared in the doorway of the housemaids’ closet, one muscular arm stretched across the entrance. ‘Where did you learn to carry water cans li
ke that?’
I shrugged, but was on my guard. ‘Nae different frae carrying a basket o’ fish. Ye just put it up and walk – anybody could dae it.’
He shook his head. ‘No. You walk differently from the others.’
I said indignantly, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the way I walkl’
‘Wrong! I never said there was – on the contrary, you make the other maids look like carthorses.’
Oh – wasn’t I pleased at that! He, meanwhile, was moving closer – soon he was right inside the closet and standing next to me at the sink. His arm gently pressed on my shoulder as he murmured ‘You know, if you were one of my housemaids I’d employ you simply to walk up and down the corridors all day, with a brass can on your head. No, not a can – a tall, shapely, Ming vase.’
What an odd thing to say. I reached down for a chamber. ‘Be a sight better’n cleaning these. I hate scrubbing piss pots.’
He drew back slightly. ‘Er – yes, well—’
I added, ‘Especially when folk only fill ‘em because they’re tae lazy to gang along corridor to the closet.’
He said, ‘I don’t think I actually—’
‘No, ye dinna. Nor dae Dr Travers, or Mr Parton.’