I reassured him hastily, ‘I promised, nae eavesdropping.’
My reward was another smile. ‘Remember, there are always opportunities for a girl who is intelligent and keen.’ I bobbed. He’d gone.
Back to America. ‘For how long?’ I asked my informant, H.H.
‘I really couldn’t say, Eve. He has no immediate plans for return, Miss Bradley told me.’ Miss Bradley was Lady Stokesley’s maid, and a fellow member of the ‘Isn’t Dr Travers Wonderful Society’, which appeared to be composed of all the female members of the Wenlock Court household above the age of thirty – and one well below – me. So no more Dr Travers. ‘Mr Parton?’ He only visited in the autumn. So now all three of my special bachelors had gone.
Instead I was stuck with Lord Stokesley’s elderly bachelor friends, who’d turned up for the next shooting party. I particularly resented the one who’d been given Lord Rothbury’s room. He wasn’t even a bachelor – his wife had gone visiting somewhere else – and he used his chamber pot. But worst of all, he was sleeping in Horseface’s bed – the bed I’d shared with him that night.
That night had changed me. Though I didn’t understand how. Because I’d been such a tomboy Eve-in-the-Garden – off climbing the trees rather than searching for serpents. Only I’d found the serpent anyway – you do when you go poking around in places where you shouldn’t be.
But having found him I really didn’t know what to do with him; serpents are, after all, big and dangerous creatures – that’s the essence of their fascination. So although I was not exactly wary of my serpent, I was certainly disconcerted by him.
You see, he didn’t fit into my accustomed pattern. To me there were only two types of young males: friends whom I played games with, and men whom I fell in love with – adoring, admiring, acceptably unrequited love. Men I could worship from afar and dream about, like Dr Travers.
But Horseface – Horseface didn’t fit. I’d played lots of games with him – so, a friend. I wasn’t in love with him, so again, clearly a friend. And yet, if he was just a friend, why did I miss him so much? And why did I mind that he’d not sent me one single postcard since he left? And above all, why did I mind about that bed? Because I did mind, a lot.
And yet almost worse than missing him was the uneasy feeling that I’d been treated like a toy – picked up, played with, then put back into the cupboard until… until Christmas, I suppose. Christmas at Richmond. But, what did I want then? I didn’t know. I didn’t know any of the answers to my questions. But there was one thing I did know, that being a housemaid wasn’t fun any longer.
And then I caught a chill. Entirely my own fault – I’d picked up a head cold from Glad, I knew it was probably going to rain that afternoon, but couldn’t be bothered to fetch my cape and sou’wester. So I got soaked, started shivering, and HH packed me off to bed. I stayed there for two days, eating the meals Sixth brought up on a tray, swallowing doses of Mrs Salter’s remedies at the hands of HH – and desperately missing my Apa. I didn’t cry – there was no point. Besides, I knew if I once started I wouldn’t be able to stop. So I didn’t start.
HH let me get up after breakfast the third morning. I came down to the servants’ hall on shaky legs and found William in there, laying out the post.
He put down the last envelope with a cheery, ‘Nothing for you today, Eve – but then, there never is, is there?’ He sauntered off, whistling.
Yes, it can always get worse. Now I wasn’t just missing Apa, I was missing Aunt Ethel, Helspie – even the prospect of the new High School at Wick. Too late. Mr Henderson had made it very clear he was only giving me one more chance – and I’d scuppered it with my impulsive decision at Scarborough station.
But why had I made that decision? Because Horseface had humiliated me in front of the entire fish quay. Yes, I know I’d started it by slinging the herring at him, but – I wanted someone else to blame. I needed someone else to blame – and he hadn’t written, had he? He was the one person who did know where I was, but no, he hadn’t bothered. So I set about converting my misery into warm anger, and my missing him into hot dislike.
And a few weeks after he’d left, some wise words from Glad, and Flo from the stillroom, gave me some useful assistance in that direction – and answered at least one of my questions for me, too.
It was after tea, but I was still hanging around in the maids’ sitting room, partly because it was pouring down yet again, and partly because Glad and Flo had made it quite clear they didn’t want me there. I can sympathise with them now – as always, my response to my own sense of misery had been a mixture of defiance, touchiness and general bloodymindedness. The result was that over the past few weeks my popularity rating in the maids’ sitting room – which had never been that high to start with – had dropped to well below zero. So now I sat there pretending to read one of Lady Stokesley’s improving magazines and gaining some slight satisfaction from the knowledge that my presence was irritating Glad and Flo. After all, I had a right to be there, didn’t I? If they wanted a private gossip they could always go upstairs to their bedroom, and do without the fire they were currently toasting their toes in front of.
They’d obviously decided not to wait until I cleared off; and Glad’s voice dropped to that particular low note which indicated she was imparting to Flo some information of a confidential nature. I pricked up my ears – after all, it couldn’t count as eavesdropping, could it – since they were only too well aware I was there.
Anyway, the gist of it was that some previous laundrymaid had recently produced a baby – and she wasn’t married! I was astounded, and without thinking, blurted out that I didn’t know you could have a baby without being married first. There was a moment’s silence, then Flo retorted, ‘It’s none of your business, Eve – you shouldn’t’ve been listening.’
Before I could reply Glad’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where do you think babies come from then, Eve?’
Confident, I told her, ‘I ken well as they grow inside their mothers’ bodies – after they’re married.’ I expanded, ‘Because they’re married. So how on earth did it happen to that Sarah?’
Flo gave an impatient sigh, but she did answer. ‘It ain’t just being married that gets a woman a baby – it’s something a husband does to her – that usually a girl won’t let a man do till after he’s put the ring on her finger. Only some girls are a bit careless, like. And Sarah was.’
Glad propped her feet further up on the fender and said casually, ‘I hope you wasn’t careless with Lord Rothbury, Eve – when you let him kiss you.’
Horror crept up on me. ‘Ye canna have a baby frae someone kissing ye—’ I saw Glad’s expression – my voice tailed off, ‘Can ye?’ Then, remembering, I turned to Flo and exclaimed, ‘But I saw you kissing William!’
Flo’s face went scarlet. ‘Peeping Tom!’ Then, firmly, ‘No, it all depends how he kissed you, don’t it, Glad?’
Glad nodded. ‘That’s right – you didn’t let him get up to any of his tricks, did you?’
‘What sort of tricks?’
‘Poking his tongue into your mouth.’
I went cold. ‘Is that how a man gives a woman a baby?’ I demanded, ‘Are you sure?’
Glad looked surprised. ‘You’ve read your Bible, Eve haven’t you? It says there about carnal knowledge – it’s carnal knowledge what gives a girl a baby.’ I thought frantically, ‘carnal’ – of the flesh, and tongues were so very fleshy – Glad smiled, ‘Still, if you didn’t let him—’
‘But I did!’ My voice was a squeak of horror.
Flo broke in, ‘You don’t want to let a man do any poking, Eve – not nowhere.’
Glad cut her off. ‘Well, well – so you were a naughty girl.’
‘I didna ken!’
Glad shook her head sternly, ‘That’s what they all say.’
‘But when will it be born?’
She began to count on her fingers. ‘Let me see, the dance was the end of October – nine months from then, it’ll be th
e end o’ July.’
I couldn’t believe it. ‘But I dinna want a wean!’
Flo reassured me. ‘It doesn’t always happen, Eve.’
Glad admitted grudgingly, ‘No, you might’ve been lucky.’
‘But how can I tell?’
Flo said, ‘Didn’t I see you putting your rags in the laundry pail today?’
‘Yes – but what’s that got to do with having babies?’
Glad said, ‘Everything – if a girl’s curse comes regular then she can’t be expecting. So it looks as if you’ve been lucky, Eve.’
I was shaking with relief. ‘Oh, thank goodness!’
Glad’s voice was solemn. ‘But you’ll have to behave yourself in future.’
‘I will, I will!’ I promised fervently.
I couldn’t stay sitting down after a narrow escape like that one. I jumped up and rushed upstairs for my mackintosh. By the time I came running down again Flo and Glad must have moved on to another topic, because I could hear their laughter even through the door.
Well, as I said, they’d certainly answered one of my questions. When it came to Christmas at Richmond I certainly didn’t want to share his bed again. Oh what a rotten way for Lord Rothbury to have behaved! Suppose I hadn’t been lucky? It didn’t hear thinking of.
But I would have kept thinking of it, if a diversion hadn’t come up. Glad had given in her notice, and a week before she left, Mrs. Salter told me that Glad’s replacement was to be the new Fifth, so Lil and I were to be promoted.
As Third, I would be responsible for married couples’ rooms on the west side – and half of the young ladies’ rooms.
Mrs Salter said, ‘I know how pleased you’ll be, Eve – because Dr Travers has told me of your ambition to become a lady’s maid.’ (!) She smiled. ‘And Miss Bradley has very kindly offered to instruct you in some of the skills required for personal service.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ In fact, I was grateful – any kind of distraction would be a help in fighting off the dank fog of misery which, despite my anger at Horseface, still tended to settle round me like a cloak these days.
Over the next week I had no time to brood – no free time either, since Miss Bradley was in the McNiven-Butterfield class as a teacher. I learnt the correct way of packing, unpacking, and hanging clothes in wardrobes. And how to lay out a young lady’s underwear for her, down to the stockings neatly rolled ready for pulling on – perhaps Lord Rothbury had learnt that trick from a lady’s maid — oh, forget that rotten so-and-so, Eve. ‘Now lay the lady’s toothbrush out just so, and then leave the room while she attends to her toilet and puts on her underwear. She will summon you back when she is ready for you to help her dress.
With the obliging Lucy as a model and a couple of Lady Lydham’s old dresses, lent by her maid, I discovered how to insert a young lady into her evening gown – which she could never have managed without assistance. I’d never seen so many hooks and eyes on a single garment before – and all concealed, and mostly the back. Houdini himself would have been hard pushed to extricate himself from one of those dresses!
Next, hairstyles. While Lucy sat hemming I made haystacks of her hair. It almost was like that – French combing to give body, tying and pinning the centre hair to make a firm foundation, fixing the appropriate wire mesh frames to it, adding false hair if required – and then artfully arranging the final locks so that the whole creation looked completely natural!
Miss Bradley taught me three basic styles – piled high on top in a Pompadour, puffed out at the sides for a Sir Joshua Reynolds, or coiled up at the back in a Grecian knot. Then I was sent off to practise on my own springy, orange curls.
On the Saturday morning H.H. informed me that my three young ladies were all arriving maidless, and Miss Bradley gave me her final words of advice. ‘Remember, Eve, when you are waiting on a young lady in her bedroom, you must not think of yourself as a housemaid, but as a true lady’s maid.’ On a more practical note Norah pointed out that they’d all have to tip me, which wasn’t the case with bachelors and housemaids. So Saturday afternoon saw me upstairs, unpacking for my first young lady…
I was not a good lady’s maid. No problem with the rehearsals, but when it came to the actual performance – I simply hadn’t got the required demeanour.
I could only project humility as a joke – and that particular joke had worn off quite some time ago. Now I certainly wasn’t going to pretend respect for able-bodied girls of my own age who were too feeble to roll up their own stockings or remove the stray hairs from the bristles of their brushes. I despised them, and I couldn’t be bothered to hide it.
Surprisingly, none of the three young ladies allotted to my care complained about the deficiencies of my manner, or chose to withhold the customary five shilling tips at the end of the week. I suspect now they were probably quite nervous of my tall, brooding presence, but that idea never crossed my mind then. My mind was too taken up with my own grievances; the principal one being, that I had to share with Norah – and Norah snored.
That was the worst thing about my so-called promotion – the loss of my little room. Third Housemaid had to share with Second, that was THE RULE. I offered to swap with Lil, who actually didn’t like sleeping on her own, but no, that was against THE RULES. So I was stuck with Norah, who snored. Great loud rumbling, burbling snores. Once she was asleep nothing would wake her up or stop her snoring – so now I couldn’t even get a decent night’s sleep.
I was lying there one night, listening to her snoring, when I suddenly remembered that the bed down in the butler’s bedroom, beside the silver safe, was vacant – William had been called home unexpectedly, because of family illness. I went straight downstairs, tumbled in between his sheets, set his alarum clock – and slept. Next morning I got back upstairs before Norah had even woken up. William hadn’t returned on the following day, so the next night I did the same thing. At 1 a.m. Mr Taylor came back into the house to sleep – he’d been worrying about the stupid silver. When he found me already ensconced he was not pleased. The next morning I was summonsed to appear on the carpet of the housekeeper’s room. There was a big fuss. I had broken a rule – A MAJOR RULE.
H.H. stuck up for me, saying how I was a good worker, etc., so Mrs Salter said she would overlook my offence this time, but I must obey the rules in future – and, she told me, she didn’t like my attitude. Mrs Salter was no easily cowed, maidless young lady – she knew dumb insolence when she saw it – and not dumb for much longer, either, because she added, ‘It is fortunate that you are no longer a travelling housemaid.’
At once I demanded, ‘Ye mean I’ll no be away tae Richmond at Christmas?’
She then informed me that Third did not travel. When Lord and Lady Lydham left for Town, Lady Stokesley remained behind to entertain her nieces, and would therefore require my services. They were going to make me stay here, maiding feeble females…!
So I told them exactly what I thought of their stupid rules.
A couple of hours later I was on the train to London. Dismissed for insubordination, with a month’s wages in lieu of notice. Mrs Salter’s parting words were, ‘I shall not tell Dr Travers about the circumstances of your dismissal – he would be so shocked.’ Poor old H.H. was pretty shocked, too – but she very decently persuaded Mrs Salter to give me a reference. It said I was honest, strong, and a good worker – but not suited to gentlemen’s service. I could only agree.
I spent the whole journey to London fulminating about the short-comings of the servant-employing classes, especially those members with stupid titles. I did not, of course, dwell on my own maternal ancestors, who had been Counts of the Holy Roman Empire since the time of Charlemagne.
It was probably because of my fury that I made one of the more serious mistakes of my life. Not the most serious, I’ve done worse, but this was pretty stupid.
I packed my Bible box in my trunk. It didn’t contain my Bible, which was carefully wrapped in my spare vest. No, it simply held my mon
ey, all my money, except for a few pennies in small change left over from my fare, which had been paid by Wenlock Court.
Of course, it shouldn’t have mattered, since my trunk was travelling with me on the same train. Except that it wasn’t. When I got to Euston I discovered that it had failed to change at Shrewsbury. Or rather, it had changed, but to somewhere else. ‘Come back later’, I was told.
I went off to the refreshment room, disgruntled, but not yet aware that I was virtually penniless. I bought a cup of tea and a bun, and now I was penniless.
I couldn’t believe it at first. I rummaged through my kari, rummaged again — and again. Nothing. The box really had been packed in my trunk – which was now adrift somewhere in the railway system of Great Britain.
I rushed back to the Parcels Office. ‘Try again later.’ I tried again later – still no trunk. ‘Try again tomorrow morning.’ That was it.
It was December, and already well past dark, I was seventeen years old, alone and penniless in London.
I know now what I should have done. If I’d asked a policeman he’d have directed me to a Salvation Army hostel. Failing that, there was the spike – the casual ward of the workhouse. Humiliating and unpleasant – but offering some sort of shelter for the night. Yes, I’d know what to do, now, but then, I hadn’t a clue. I did what I’d have done in Helspie, and went looking for someone I knew.
I set off walking, and eventually reached the City, and Mr Parton’s doorstep – only to be told by the elderly woman who opened the door that he was staying in the country, with Lord Rothbury. So I couldn’t try him, either – I was desperate enough to, by now.
I walked out of that street – and just kept walking. I didn’t know what else to do. The City is on the edge of Whitechapel. Whitechapel is generally a very safe place to be wandering around in – but not Dosset Street, and especially not on a Saturday night. Its reputation had become so bad that its name had been changed to Duval Street half a dozen years earlier – but to no effect, it was as evil as ever. And I walked straight in.