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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Greyladies
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013
1900. The death of her father forces Harriet out of her home to escape the advances of her stepbrother, the rule of her stepmother and into service at Dalton House. Over time Harriet develops a friendship with the Dalton's crippled son Joseph but her life is changed completely when she inherits Greyladies, an old and possibly haunted house.
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Seitenzahl: 429
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Heir to Greyladies
ANNA JACOBS
This book is dedicated to Bridget (June 1947–July 2012), an inspirational wife, mother, grandmother, sister, sister-in-law and aunt. She began life in a farmer’s cottage in the south of Ireland, without running water or electricity, and perhaps those early experiences helped develop her unshakeable optimism and positive approach to life, which gave strength and confidence to all around her.
Contents
Chapter One
Hampshire, Spring 1900
Harriet Benson hurried home from school to the neat terraced house, eager to share her news with her dad. Her street was one of the better ones, with the men all in work and families living decently, trying to help one another.
Until last year she’d been very happy here. Then her mother had died and her dad remarried.
Today she’d stayed at school late to help the teacher, as she often did, but her dad was due home around this time, so it was safe to go back now.
But she’d miscalculated and arrived a few minutes early, so the only one in the house was Norris, her stepbrother. He was washing his hands at the scullery sink, but stopped to stare at her when she came in.
As soon as she saw him, she started to back towards the kitchen door. She’d begun to get her woman’s curves now and didn’t like to be alone in the house with her stepbrother. The horrible, leering way he looked at her chest made her feel uncomfortable and more than once he’d touched her in a way he shouldn’t. Only she hadn’t dared complain, because her stepmother always took Norris’s side.
He was across the room and had hold of her arm before she realised what he was doing. She tried to pull away and get to the front door, but he dragged her back from the hall into the kitchen. ‘Don’t go. We can have a nice little chat, you an’ me. It’s not often I get you to myself.’
‘My friend’s waiting for me outside.’
He let out a loud, jeering laugh. ‘No, she isn’t. You don’t bring your friends home any more because my mum won’t have nosy parkers coming here to check up on her. Which means you’re lying.’ He shook her hard. ‘You … shouldn’t … lie … to … me. I don’t like it.’ Raising his free hand, still damp and soapy, he grabbed her breast and tweaked it hard, hurting her.
It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, but she’d been too embarrassed to mention it to her father, let alone her stepmother.
She cried out with the pain and tried again to get away from him, but he was much bigger and stronger than she was. However hard she struggled, his hands were all over her and he began breathing hard.
Then he yelled and let her go so suddenly she staggered back against the wall. As he crashed sideways to the ground, his flailing arms sent a chair flying across the room.
Harriet moaned in relief at the sight of her dad. He usually smiled a lot, but today his face was dark red with anger and he was gazing down at his stepson with fists clenched, as if ready to hit him again.
‘You young devil! If you ever lay one finger on my daughter again, I’ll beat you senseless then throw you out of my house for good. I’d throw you out now, if it weren’t for your mother.’
Norris got to his feet, backing away, scowling at them both. ‘Harriet goes with other fellows. Why not me?’
She opened her mouth to protest at this lie, but her dad seemed to swell with fury. ‘My daughter would never—’
Then his voice cut off and he raised one hand to his chest, groaning. The groan ended abruptly and he crumpled slowly to the ground, to lie there quite still.
‘Dad! What’s the matter?’ Harriet knelt beside him. ‘Dad!’
But he didn’t stir.
She heard footsteps and looked down the hallway. The front door banged back on its hinges and Norris ran out of the house as if the devil himself was chasing him.
She looked back at her dad, but he hadn’t moved. He looked limp, not like himself. She knelt beside him, searching for a pulse, unable to find one, unable to believe … it couldn’t be.
Sobbing, she ran to the front door, just as Norris turned the corner of the street and vanished from sight. When she screamed loudly for help, neighbours came running at once.
She managed to tell them what had happened before she began sobbing.
Mrs Leigh from next door immediately put an arm round her. ‘Where’s your stepmother, dear?’
‘She visits her friend Miss Dodson on Tuesdays. Town Close.’
Someone shouted that they’d fetch Mrs Benson.
Mrs Leigh called sharply, ‘Stand back. Let the midwife through. She’ll know what to do.’
A few people followed them into the house, standing quietly, waiting to see if they could help as they watched the midwife bend over James Benson, then look across at Harriet and shake her head.
‘I’m sorry, dear. He’s gone. If it’s any comfort, he’d not have felt a thing.’
Harriet had guessed her dad was dead because she’d seen her mother lying in her coffin. Her dad had that same look to him, like a wax model of the real man. But she hadn’t wanted to believe such a dreadful thing could happen.
Her dad had died protecting her from her stepbrother, so this was all Norris’s fault. She’d never forgive him for that, never.
‘How did it happen, dear?’ Mrs Leigh asked.
She began to tell them what Norris had done, but her stepmother arrived just as she started and pushed across the room to slap her face. ‘Shut up, you silly girl! You’re hysterical. Don’t know what you’re saying. My Norris isn’t even here, is he?’
The neighbours exchanged glances and muttered to one another, but didn’t challenge this statement. Like Harriet, they were well aware that the second Mrs Benson would never hear a word against her son from her previous marriage.
But Norris Harding was a bad ’un, even though he wasn’t yet twenty. Everyone knew that, too, just as they knew that neither he nor his mother were the sort of people who usually lived in a respectable street like this one.
Harriet clutched her burning cheek, too upset even to weep. Her dad was dead. What did Norris matter? What did anything matter now?
Then she had a dreadful thought: she’d be left in her stepmother’s care. There’d be no one to take her side or protect her against Norris now.
After her gentle little mother died, her dad had remarried within three months, to his daughter’s shock and horror. She knew a man needed a wife to look after his house and prepare his meals, but Harriet had been doing that, with a little help from the neighbours, and she’d been coping well, too. He hadn’t needed to marry again.
She’d taken her worries to Mrs Leigh next door, who had sat her down and explained the facts of life. That accounted for the noises Harriet had heard in the night from her father’s room.
‘Men need their bed play, dear, some more than others.’
‘But why did he have to choose someone like Winifred Harding. She isn’t—’
‘Your stepmother’s a good-looking woman, for her age. You have to give her that. She caught him at a weak moment and now he’s lumbered with her. The best of men can be fooled by a woman like that, even a man as nice as your father. Some men keep their brains in their trousers when they’re near a woman who eggs them on.’
She patted her young friend’s hand. ‘You’re old enough to understand that now. You’ll just have to make the best of it, I’m afraid, dear. It’s only for a few years, till you get married yourself.’
A few years! A few weeks would be more than enough of Winifred and her son without her father there. Who would take her side now? she thought again.
Harriet had watched the newly-weds carefully after that talk. At first her dad seemed happy with his new wife, but after the first few months she saw him start to look irritated, especially when Winifred spoilt her son or spoke too sharply to her stepdaughter.
James complained that Winifred was letting the house get untidy. She tried to blame it on Harriet, but he cut her short and told her he had eyes in his head and, anyway, the house was her responsibility, not his daughter’s. Harriet had her schooling to do, though she would help with the chores in the evenings, of course.
Harriet couldn’t help wondering what her stepmother would do to her now. Life would get much worse, she was sure.
She didn’t even need to ask about one thing. There’d be no taking the special scholarship to the private girls’ grammar school now, the one for girls who were ‘exceptional’ and suitable to be trained as teachers. The scholarships were much sought after because every year they gave two ‘special’ girls two years of extra education to equip them better for their future duties.
And Harriet had been offered one. She had a letter to give to her dad about it.
It saddened her that he’d died before he’d even heard the news. He’d have been proud of her and so would her mother.
Her stepmother had been against letting Harriet stay on at school, saying she should be out working by now, bringing in money, paying her parents back for all they’d done for her. That had caused quite a few rows but her father had held firm and Harriet had kept going to school.
There’d be no chance of any more education now.
Three days later, Harriet stood by her dad’s grave, wearing a black armband and her best frock, which was getting too short and was embarrassingly tight round the chest. As she watched the solemn-faced men lower the coffin into the grave, tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to beg the men to wait a few more moments before they removed her father’s body from her world.
As if that would bring him back!
Her stepmother sobbed once or twice, dabbing artistically at her eyes. But Winifred’s handkerchief was dry, Harriet was sure.
She’d been disgusted by the gloating look on the woman’s face as they waited in the front room for two old aunts and a distant cousin of Harriet’s father to arrive for the funeral. No members of her mother’s family had bothered to come. They’d not approved of the marriage and had stayed away completely after he remarried.
Mine, that look said as Winifred ran her fingers along the edges of the highly polished furniture, all mine.
Most of the pieces had come from Harriet’s mother’s side: the furniture and the delicate ornaments. Winifred would get everything now. It wasn’t fair.
Her father’s lovely horse brasses and her parents’ books would no doubt be sold, because Winifred wasn’t the sentimental sort. She’d often complained about having to polish the brasses, and she didn’t read books, only women’s magazines like Home Chat.
What Winifred loved best was her son and money, and her stepdaughter wasn’t sure which of the two was more important to her.
When the funeral was over, the mourners walked back to the house, led by Winifred on her son’s arm, flourishing her black-edged handkerchief. Her face was shaded by a new black straw hat topped with big puffs of ribbon and two black feathers, with a small net veil across her face.
Harriet followed with the neighbours, because she certainly wouldn’t be welcome to walk next to her stepmother and stepbrother, even if she wanted to.
Norris was all attention towards his mother. Winifred’s friends whispered how lovely it was to see him behaving so well. A son should be a comfort to his mother. Such a fine, strong young man.
The neighbours didn’t say anything about him, nor did Harriet. She hated him and he was still eyeing her that way when his mother wasn’t looking.
Once they got back to the house, Winifred sent her stepdaughter to the kitchen to make a big pot of tea, while she sat in the front room sipping a glass of port wine ‘for my nerves’ and queening it over the relatives and friends who’d been invited back. No neighbours had been invited. Winifred said they were a nosy, snooty lot.
Her father’s relatives didn’t stay for long, but Harriet found time to get his cousin on her own and ask if she could go and live with them.
‘We’ve no room, dear. And it’s no use asking the aunties because they’re too old. I know it’s all very upsetting, but at least you have a roof over your head and a stepmother to look after you. You should be grateful for that.’
Her stepmother’s friends and relatives stayed on and it soon turned into a party. Winifred got out another bottle of the sickly sweet port wine and soon they were all laughing and talking.
What Harriet overheard them saying made her feel angry all over again.
‘You’ve done well for yourself this time, Winifred.’
‘You’ll be really well set up here, my girl, what with the insurance money and all this nice furniture. Good thing you took out that policy, eh?’
‘Don’t forget, you’ve still got your friends. You’ll not need to be lonely.’
The women clinked glasses with Winifred.
No one mentioned Harriet in the list of comforts. No one even said thank you when she refilled the big teapot and brought them clean teacups or glasses for the port.
But Norris looked at her every time she came into the front room, looked and smiled in that horrible way. He didn’t offer to help with the heavy trays, just hovered near his mother, ‘comforting’ her and refilling her wine glass regularly.
At one stage his mother sent him out to buy two more bottles of port. Her voice was shrill and her face flushed now. She looked as if she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
She raised her glass to her son when he got back and he clinked his own against it. ‘Here’s to the man of the house.’ But she laughed when she said that and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would be the one in charge.
As Harriet was going back to the kitchen, she heard her name mentioned and paused in the hall to listen.
‘What about the girl, Winifred?’
‘What about her? She can get a job and bring me in a bit of money. Pay me back for all the care I’ve given her. I have to keep my money safe for my old age now that I don’t have a breadwinner, so I can’t afford to keep her in school any more. James was daft about that. I ask you, what use is all that schooling to a girl? She’ll only get married and have children, like we all do.’
‘It’ll do her good to go out to work like the rest of us,’ Norris said. ‘It’s a hard world out there and the sooner she realises which side her bread’s buttered on, the better.’
It was a hard world in here, too, Harriet thought. She’d been run ragged since Dad died, treated like a skivvy and ordered around. It was what her life would be from now on, she was sure. Winifred was too lazy to do the housework if she could get someone else to do it for her.
And what sort of job would her stepmother find for her? Please, not the laundry or the meat works, Harriet prayed. She couldn’t face the noise and steam of one, and the disgusting sights and smells of the other.
But you didn’t get much choice when you were only fifteen. She’d be sixteen in June, nearly grown up, but she’d still have no money and nowhere else to go.
The next morning Winifred said abruptly over their first cup of tea, ‘Today you’ll have to go and tell that teacher of yours that you’re leaving school straight away.’
Harriet had to try. ‘I got a scholarship, Winifred. It’s a real honour. It’s to that posh grammar school and it pays all my fees. I could get a really good job if I went there. I’d earn a lot more money in the long run.’
‘Only till you marry. Then the extra education would all be wasted. And what good would it do me for you to go there? It’d be years before you got a fancy job. Years I’d have to keep you. No, I’ve got you a job at the bakery in Compton Street and you start on Monday. I’ll get the benefit of your wages straight away.’
She waited and added, ‘Well? Aren’t you going to thank me?’
Harriet looked at her pleadingly.
Winifred leant forward and poked her hard in the chest. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, my girl: I’d not have let your father send you to that fancy grammar school, even if he was still alive. Do you think I’ll put up with you making posh friends and looking down your nose at me, like some of your snooty neighbours do?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘And you’re under age, so you have to do what I say. Don’t you ever forget that. You’re mine till you’re twenty-one.’
Harriet held back her tears. She knew she could do nothing till she was older, and even then it’d be hard to get away without any money. From the sounds of it, Winifred was planning to take all her wages for the next five years. It wasn’t fair.
Unless she married. And she didn’t want to do that. Boys were so rough. And look how Norris behaved. Ugh.
No, she’d have to find another way to escape.
‘Since you don’t start work till Monday, when you come back from school this morning – and make sure you don’t linger! – you can give the house a really good spring clean. From top to bottom. About time you did more around here.’
The following Monday Harriet started work at the bakery. She had to get there at four o’clock in the morning and work till four in the afternoon.
Winifred presented her with a battered alarm clock. ‘Use this. We don’t want them docking your wages for being late.’
It felt strange getting ready in the dark house, trying not to make a noise, but at least Norris wasn’t around to bother her at that hour.
On the first day, she had to wait till the other employees had started work at the bakery before the foreman had time to tell her what to do. She felt a fool, sitting on a bench near the entrance with everyone staring at her.
He stared too, studying her clothes and grimacing. ‘You’ve nearly grown out of that blouse, girl. Women who work here dress decently.’ He looked at her breasts, but without the leer that Norris had, then turned to the woman next to him. ‘Find out what else she’s got to wear, Vera. If she hasn’t any better things than these, we’ll have to look for someone else for the job.’
‘Her mother will get her whatever’s necessary, Rodney. I know Winifred. She wouldn’t have understood what was needed, that’s all.’
‘Well, make certain she does understand now. I only gave the girl a job as a favour to you. We run an immaculate place here and my girls have to keep themselves nice. We bake for the gentry as well as for others, and they don’t want to see scruffy folk touching the food they eat.’
He turned away without speaking to Harriet again.
Vera smiled at her. ‘Come on. I’ll find you an overall. Tell Winifred to get you some new clothes before next week. Sturdy ones, because they’ll need a lot of washing to get the flour dust out.’
It didn’t take Harriet more than a minute’s thought to say, ‘She won’t do it unless you tell her. She never listens to me.’
‘No wonder, if you’re so lazy. Well, you’ll not be lazy here, or you’ll be out on your ear.’
Harriet gaped at her. What had Winifred been saying about her now?
All day she worked hard, scrubbing floors, tables, walls, helping keep everything as clean as possible, doing things even before they asked her because it was obvious what was needed.
At the end of the day, Vera said in her abrupt way, ‘I’ll walk home with you and tell Winifred.’
‘Thank you.’
Vera frowned at her as if puzzled. ‘You worked well today.’
‘I’m not lazy.’ She met the older woman’s eyes without flinching. ‘And I never have been.’
‘Hmm.’
Winifred grumbled but took Harriet along to the market on Saturday afternoon and bought her some plain, practical clothes. She didn’t give the girl any choice about colour or style, just bought the cheapest and most hard-wearing garments she could find.
From then on, the only difficult thing about working at the bakery was going home on the afternoons Winifred went out to see her friends.
Three weeks after her father died, Norris caught her on her own again. He was hiding in the scullery and didn’t come out till she’d checked that he wasn’t in the kitchen and closed the front door.
Her heart began to hammer and she backed away from him.
‘Your father’s not here to protect you now. I’m the man of the house and what I say goes.’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his body. She could feel his man’s part pressing against her and froze in terror. Mrs Leigh had explained only too clearly what that meant.
Her stillness must have fooled him into thinking she would do as he said, and with a laugh he let go of her to fumble with his trousers.
She kicked him in the shin as hard as she could, knocking him off balance, then fled down the hall and out into the street. Further along she bumped into old Mr Prentice and gasped, glancing over her shoulder at Norris, who was now standing at the front door, scowling.
The old man stared from her to her stepbrother, eyes narrowed. ‘Giving you trouble, is he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Them Hardings are a randy lot, always have been. You can shelter in my house till his mother gets back.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And if you ever need shelter when I’m out, use my shed. I’ll show you where I keep the key and there’s a bolt to lock it from the inside as well. You’re young enough to climb over the wall into the backyard.’
‘Thank you, Mr Prentice. I’d better go in the back way now. I don’t want Norris to see me going into your house or he’ll know where I hide.’
‘You do that. You’re a nice lass and don’t deserve such disrespect.’ He scowled along the street at Norris, who was still watching them. ‘We don’t usually have that sort living in our street. His mother’s a floozy, and looks it too, however fine she dresses. It’s in the eyes. You can’t mistake it. And he’s a lout, a real rough head.’
She walked round to the alley at the back and got over Mr Prentice’s back wall easily. The kind old man was waiting for her at the kitchen door and at once led the way into his house. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please. But I’ll have to watch out for her coming home. An’ I don’t want her to see me coming out of your house, either. She doesn’t like me even talking to the neighbours.’
‘You can slip out through the back again. We’ll take our tea into the front room, so you’ll see her coming past. I often sit there and watch what’s going on. I don’t miss much.’
The following week, however, Winifred was late coming back from her friend’s and Harriet didn’t dare delay going home any longer, because she had strict orders to get the tea ready.
Her heart sank when she found Norris sitting in the kitchen. She paused near the door, not sure whether to run away.
‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘Hurry up with that food. Mum will soon be back.’
She started to get things out, filling the washing-up bowl with water to peel the potatoes. The way he sat there, watching, smiling as if he knew something she didn’t, made her nervous. She tried not to go too close to him, but she had to get things out of the cupboard.
When she’d passed him safely a couple of times, she relaxed a bit.
That was when he put out his foot and tripped her.
As she lay sprawled on the floor, he got down to join her. She rolled away, screaming for help, suddenly more afraid of him than she’d ever been before.
He was too strong for her and dragged her away from the broken crockery onto the hearth rug. She kicked and screamed but he just laughed.
‘It’s no use calling out for help. That’s one thing about posh neighbours. They don’t come in without an invitation. So you might as well give in and do as I tell you.’
‘Your mother will be back soon.’ She tried to fend him off. ‘She won’t want you to do this.’
‘She’s going to be late today, won’t be back for over an hour yet. And even if you tell her, she won’t believe I forced you, so it’ll be no good complaining to her. Anyway, it’ll be too late by then. I’ll have had you and no one else will want you after that.’
He was panting now, trying to get her clothes off, hurting her, laughing at her efforts to escape.
‘We’ll be doing this quite often from now on,’ he said, pulling down her knickers. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’
Nothing she did stopped him. Once she managed to bite his hand, but he slapped her so hard she felt dizzy for a minute or two.
By that time he had her knickers right off and was groping at her private parts, his rough fingers hurting her tender skin.
She didn’t stop screaming or struggling, but he laughed and started to undo his trousers.
Then they both jumped in shock as dirty water and potatoes cascaded down on them.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Norris Harding?’ Winifred screeched.
‘She was asking for it,’ Norris said at once. ‘Rubbing herself against me. I’m only human.’
Harriet scrabbled away from him, burning with shame, unable to stop sobbing.
‘You must think I’m a fool.’ Winifred raised her late husband’s walking stick. It whistled through the air and caught Norris across the face. Again and again his mother beat him about the head and shoulders. He made no attempt to do anything but protect his face with his hands.
‘You’ll not do that again in my house,’ Winifred said. ‘Whether the girl is willing or not.’
By this time he was cowering in a corner, begging her to stop, blood oozing from the weals on his neck and hands from where the stick had slashed him.
The beating ended as abruptly as it had begun. Winifred stood staring at her son, panting with the effort, the walking stick quivering in her raised hand.
He made a movement as if to get away and the stick was levelled with his chin. He froze, staring at her.
‘Go to your bedroom and stay there till I tell you to come out.’ She stepped back.
He got to his feet and ran from the room, speeded on his way with a final slash to his backside that had him yelling in pain.
Then Winifred turned to Harriet, who had scrambled into her knickers and was standing in the scullery doorway, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.
The silence went on for so long that Harriet wondered if she should run out of the house while she could and take refuge with Mr Prentice. Winifred was studying her as if she’d never seen her before.
What she did say was quite unexpected. ‘You’re going to be quite pretty when you’ve grown into your body, young lady, and my Norris is like his father. I hadn’t taken that into account. They want a woman more often than most, them Hardings do. Randy devils, all of them. Your father was a bit like that, too.’
Harriet dared say, ‘I didn’t encourage Norris, Winifred. I’d never, ever do that.’
‘I believe you, because I saw with my own eyes how hard you were fighting. Go for the eyes next time someone attacks you. Try to scratch them out.’
Silence again. More assessing looks, then Winifred gestured to the scullery. ‘Go an’ wash your face, then come and sit down. I need to have a think.’
When Harriet came back, Winifred said, ‘Brew us a pot of tea.’
She did as she was asked, then waited, filled with dread, her stomach lurching every time Winifred moved.
‘Well, sit down. An’ get yourself a cup.’
But the teapot wobbled when Harriet tried to pick it up.
‘Give me that.’ Winifred poured them both some tea, then sipped hers thoughtfully. ‘I’m not giving up your wages,’ she said at last.
‘But I can’t—’
‘Quiet. I’ll do the talking.’
She drank, frowning in thought, then poured herself another cup of tea, tipping some into the saucer to cool it quickly, then leant back, studying her stepdaughter as if she’d never seen her before. ‘You talk more posh than I do.’
Harriet didn’t know what to make of that remark.
‘An’ you know a lot of useless stuff too, like the gentry. Book learning and such. James said your mother’s family were a bit fancy, didn’t want her to marry him.’
The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock till Winifred set down her empty cup. ‘Ah. That was good. Nothing like tea for helping you think. Go an’ pack your clothes. You can take your mother’s suitcase off the top of my wardrobe. Pack every single thing you’ve got into it.’
‘My books too?’
Winifred looked at her in exasperation. ‘You and your damned books. All right. Take them. They’re not worth much. Take everything you want. You’ll not be coming back. I’m going to be renting your room out.’
‘But where am I—?’
‘Just do as you’re told.’ She went to the foot of the stairs and yelled, ‘Norris! Down here.’
He came running down, scowling at Harriet, who moved along the hall and waited for him to pass before she went upstairs.
She got the suitcase down and began to pack, terrified of what would happen to her now. Where was she going? Surely Winifred wasn’t going to put her in the workhouse?
She hid her mother’s locket and brooch among her spare knickers and vests. Winifred didn’t know she had the jewellery because her father had told her to keep the pieces out of sight.
After some hesitation, she went downstairs and knocked on the closed kitchen door.
Winifred came to answer her knock. ‘I’ve not finished with Norris. Stay upstairs till I call you.’
‘I just wanted to know if it was all right to take my mother’s family Bible.’ She gestured towards the front room.
‘Books! That’s all you think of. Yes. Take the damned thing. It’s so old the leather’s crumbling, so it can’t be worth much. Take any of the books you fancy. You’ll want something to remember your parents by.’
Harriet managed to cram two of her favourite books into the suitcase as well as the Bible, but that was all it would hold and she had to sit on it to make it close. She didn’t want to leave the others. Perhaps she could tie them up with string and make a handle of it to carry them. But she couldn’t get the ball of string till Winifred had finished in the kitchen.
She brushed her hair and tied it back as neatly as she could, then sat on the bed waiting to be called down, feeling exhausted. She could do nothing about the bruises and scratches on her face. She couldn’t do much about anything, it seemed. Other people were ordering her life now.
But one day she’d manage to do things for herself. Whatever it took, she would find a way. Her teacher had said she was clever. Now she had to prove it.
Winifred looked at her bruised and battered son. ‘Sorry I hurt you so much. I got a bit carried away. I was angry with you.’
‘She encouraged me.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday. She damned well didn’t. Look, Norris, if you can’t control yourself, you’ll get nowhere in this life.’
She let that sink in, then continued, ‘I’ve got some ideas for making money. A lot of money. And I want you in it with me. But it’ll be no good if you can’t control yourself. Not just this, but your temper. We want to come out of it respectable. Before I’m through, I want a big house, servants, all sorts of things. And I’m going to get them, too. Are you in with me or are you going to carry on being lazy and getting into fights?’
‘Money?’
‘A lot of money.’
‘Harriet’s … a temptation.’
‘I’m sending her away. You’ll get your women quietly after this and treat them well. I don’t want you spoiling my plans by having a reputation for roughing them up.’
He leant back. ‘You never talked about this before.’
‘I had James. He’d not have listened to my ideas. Now, I’ve a mind to do what I want.’
Norris nodded slowly. ‘All right. You’re on.’
‘Good lad.’
She went to the foot of the stairs and yelled, ‘Harriet! Come down here and bring your suitcase.’
When Harriet brought the suitcase down, she said, ‘Just a minute.’ She ran back upstairs and brought down the books. ‘I need to tie these together with string.’
Winifred sighed. ‘All right. Though what you want with them, I don’t know. Books don’t bring you money.’
Chapter Two
Doris Miller limped slowly across to the china cabinet and took out her best teapot, stroking it lovingly. Royal Doulton, it was. The tea set had been a leaving present from her last mistress. She only used it when she needed cheering up or felt lonely, and for some reason it usually did the trick.
She took a tray into the front parlour and poured herself a cup of best lapsang souchong. Not many people liked the smoky tea, which she drank without milk or sugar, but she loved it. It was such a beautiful dark colour, almost red, glowing against the blue and white of the willow pattern.
As she was pouring a second cup, the door knocker sounded. She smiled as she went to answer it. Not often someone came to see her in the evening. You’d swear that tea could work magic.
Her niece was on the doorstep. Winifred wasn’t Doris’s favourite relative, but she was family, and family had to stick together, so she held the door wider. ‘Come in.’
It wasn’t till Winifred moved forward that Doris saw the girl standing behind her, a tall, thin lass with lovely hair, red but of a soft russet colour, definitely not ginger. The girl had obviously been in trouble, because she had bruises on her face and her eyes were swollen with crying. ‘Who are you, then?’ Doris asked her gently.
Winifred turned round. ‘Oh, sorry. You haven’t met, have you? This is Harriet, James’s daughter. Harriet, this is Mrs Miller, my aunt.’
The old woman nodded, then led the way inside. ‘I was sorry to hear about your husband. I’d have come to the funeral but I had a bad cold.’
‘At least he went quickly, but he didn’t make old bones, did he?’ Winifred said. ‘Not many are lucky to live as long as you, Auntie.’
Which bit of flattery meant her niece wanted something. Hmm. Doris said nothing, watching in amusement as Winifred stopped to stare into the front room, studying its contents as if assessing them. If Winifred thought she was going to inherit all this, she could think again.
‘It isn’t all pleasure being seventy-two years old, I promise you.’
‘You have enough money to live on comfortably, Auntie. You’ve done well.’
‘Not many folk are as careful with their money as I’ve been. And not all employers pay you a pension like the Daltons do.’ Doris turned back to the girl who was still standing in the hallway. ‘Come into the kitchen, Harriet. You can leave your suitcase in the hall.’
‘Yes, Mrs Miller.’
‘It’s “Miss”, really. They called me “Mrs” when I was a housekeeper, and I’ve got used to it now. I was never stupid enough to marry or I’d probably be in the workhouse now.’
She led the way into the back room. She didn’t allow many people into her front room, didn’t want them knocking over her little tables or breaking her ornaments.
When they were all seated, Doris waited, but unusually for her Winifred didn’t speak until prompted, just sat chewing her lip and frowning.
‘What can I do for you, then? You’d not come here at this hour of the night if you didn’t need my help.’
Winifred nodded towards the girl. ‘It’s my stepdaughter. Norris is after her. She doesn’t encourage him, I’ll grant her that, but I can’t trust him to leave her alone if we keep living in the same house. He’s as bad as his father.’
‘Is that how she got the bruises?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s rough with it, then.’
She shrugged. ‘He’s a Harding. But he’s got my blood in him too, so I’m hoping to teach him some self-control.’
‘Hmm. Why did you bring her to me?’
‘I can’t keep her at home but I can’t just turn her out on the street. I thought … I hoped you might help her get a place in service. She’s done well at school, won a scholarship to St Mary’s, but of course I can’t afford to send her there.’
‘Oh? I’d heard you were left comfortably off.’
‘And I’ll need that money for my old age, won’t I? You’re not the only one who thinks ahead. I’m definitely not getting married again. That’s two good providers who’ve died on me now.’ She waited. ‘Well? Will you do it, Auntie Doris? Find her a place in service?’
The old woman turned to Harriet. ‘What have you got to say about this, girl?’
‘I don’t know what to say. It’s the first I’ve heard about it.’
Doris let out a spurt of rusty laughter. ‘That’s our Winifred. Good at organising other folk, whether they want it or not.’
Harriet took a sudden decision. ‘I think she’s right about one thing, though. I can’t stay there. Norris will find a way to trap me if I do, whatever she tells him.’
‘Are you a hard worker?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Pity about the scholarship, but there you are. Life doesn’t let you have everything you want.’ She kept them waiting a minute or two longer, then said, ‘All right. But she’ll need an outfit if you want her to get a better sort of job, Winifred. A job that pays more money.’
Winifred scowled at her. ‘You’ve told me about maids’ outfits before. All those clothes! Who needs that many? No, it’ll cost too much. Just find her a job as a general maid.’
Doris folded her arms. ‘I don’t deal with that sort of family. If I take her off your hands, it’ll be a big country house she works in. Besides, she’ll soon make up the cost of an outfit. She’ll earn double what she’d make as a general skivvy to some backstreet grocer.’
Winifred looked at her uncertainly. ‘Double?’
‘Yes. And it’ll put those snooty neighbours on your side if they see you treating her well.’ Doris hid a smile. She knew how it galled Winifred that her late husband’s neighbours would hardly give her the time of day. You’d almost think they knew about Winifred’s mother, but the family had been very careful to keep that disgrace secret.
‘Do you really think it’ll soften them up?’
‘I’m certain of it.’
‘Might be worth it, then, because I’m not moving house. James bought it with the insurance money from his wife dying so sudden.’ Another pause, then, ‘You’re sure she’ll earn more?’
‘Certain. Double. One other thing. If I do this, I get her first quarter’s wages.’ She looked challengingly at Winifred as she said that.
‘Trust you to demand a share. You always were on the lookout for money.’
‘Takes one to recognise one.’
‘And after the first quarter, all her wages come to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well, then.’ She turned to Harriet. ‘I’ll want you to write to that nosy parker next door and tell her how well you’re set up, thanks to me. I’ll have your promise on that before we go any further.’
‘But I won’t be well set up if I don’t get paid any money at all,’ Harriet said indignantly.
Winifred glared at her.
Doris intervened. ‘You’ll escape from Norris once and for all, young lady. And you’ll be well trained, able to earn a good living. Be grateful for that. They feed you really well in the big houses and there’s always company. Your turn to get the money you earn will come later. Give Winifred your promise or you can go home this minute.’
Harriet gave in because the thought of living with Norris again made her feel sick. ‘I promise I’ll write to Mrs Leigh.’
Winifred stood up. ‘Right, then. I’ll be getting back.’
Doris held up her hand ‘Just a minute. What about her keep while she’s with me?’
Winifred breathed deeply but stayed where she was. ‘How much?’
‘A shilling a day for training and feeding her. Paid weekly, in advance.’
She fumbled in her purse and slapped two half-crown pieces and a florin down on the kitchen table. ‘There. Seven shillings for this week.’
‘More to come next Friday or I bring her straight back to you.’
Sighing loudly, Winifred nodded.
Doris escorted her great niece to the door, where they muttered for a moment or two, then she came back to the kitchen, where Harriet was sitting in her chair, her whole body drooping. ‘You’ve had your first lesson today, my girl.’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘Make sure you get some benefit when you do someone a favour. I retired from being housekeeper at Dalton House. The family give you a small pension if you work for them for over twenty years, but I had enough money saved as well to see me out in comfort. And why did I have that money behind me? Because I made sure I was paid for everything extra I did. Because I saved my money, didn’t waste a penny of it.’
‘I won’t have any money to save if she takes it all.’
Doris shrugged. ‘One day you’ll get your wages. Parents usually take young maids’ money, you know.’
‘She isn’t my mother, though.’
‘She’s the nearest you’ve got now, and she’s doing you a favour with this. You’ll understand that one day.’
She waited for her words to sink in, then continued, ‘Just make sure you follow my advice. Once you’re twenty-one, things will change completely. And by the time you’re eighteen you can ask for a share of your wages, because by then you’ll have enough experience to get another job if they don’t agree. Though I think they will. The Daltons are very decent with those they employ.’
She grinned. ‘Don’t tell Winifred I told you how to get out of this later, but fair’s fair. Just make sure you prove yourself a good worker, so they’ll want to keep you on.’
‘But I won’t be twenty-one for another five years!’
‘I thought Winifred said you were fifteen. It’ll be longer than that.’
‘I’ll be sixteen soon.’
‘Hmm. You look younger.’ She studied the girl. Though she was quite tall, Harriet had a child’s innocence on her face still, and an unhappy child at that. ‘Five years isn’t long. It’ll soon pass. Now, let me show you your room.’
Doris heard the girl cry herself to sleep and felt an unexpected surge of sympathy. Not enough to get her out of bed to comfort her young visitor, though.
When Harriet woke, it was fully light and later than usual for her, after the weeks at the bakery. Afraid she’d be in trouble for sleeping in, she got up and washed quickly in the cold water from the ewer, then dressed and hurried downstairs, taking her slop bowl with her.
There was no one in the kitchen and the fire wasn’t lit, so Mrs Miller wasn’t up yet, thank goodness.
First things first. She needed to empty the slop bowl and go to the lavatory, which was down at the back of the house, past the scullery and coal store. It was inside, not at the end of the yard, which seemed a great luxury on a rainy morning.
When she’d taken her slop bowl back to her bedroom, she decided to light the fire, hoping that would please the old lady. She found a hessian pinafore hanging on the wall next to the coal store, and put that on to clean out the grate. Soon, the fire was burning brightly.
Afterwards she washed her hands and made sure there was water in the kettle before pushing it over the hottest part of the stove top.
She turned as she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Mrs Miller came into the kitchen, moving slowly and stiffly. She was wearing a long woollen dressing gown, with her white hair hanging down her back in a thin plait. ‘Good. You had the wit to get the fire going.’ She went across to hold her hands out to its warmth.
They were gnarled hands, Harriet noticed, hands that had worked hard. Still worked hard, judging by how clean everything was here. She waited, clasping her own hands in front of her.
Mrs Miller sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Cup of tea first. You can make it for us. Use my ordinary tea in the red tea caddy. I’ll tell you how I like it.’
There followed what Harriet soon realised was a lesson in the correct way to do things. And she had to admit that the tea tasted better than any other she’d had. As she set her empty cup down, she realised Mrs Miller was studying her once again.
The old woman repeated what Winifred had said, ‘You’re definitely going to be pretty when you grow up. You’re like a colt at the moment, all legs and arms, with just a few curves starting. Did you want to go to that fancy school?’
Harriet nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I like learning things. I was going to be a teacher.’
‘Well, that chance has gone now, but you can still educate yourself. Anyone can read books these days. They’re all over the place, not like when I was a girl. I use the public library and I buy cheap books from the market sometimes.’
It wasn’t the same to read books as it would have been to be taught by well-educated people, Harriet thought sadly. She always had questions to ask about what she’d read. But it was no use protesting.
‘Here’s what we’re going to do, young lady. I’ll give you a few lessons in how to look after a house properly – there’s a big difference between that and what most folk call housework – and if you show promise during this first week with me, I’ll write to someone I know, to see if she can help you find a place. Mrs Stuart is the housekeeper now at Dalton House, took over from me. I trained her and she’ll trust you if I vouch for you.’
‘How can you vouch for me if you’ve only just met me?’
Mrs Miller laughed, a rusty sound as if she didn’t do it often. ‘I’ve trained a lot of girls. I can tell within the hour whether they’re worth the bother or not. If you will only set your mind to it, you’ll be well worth training.’
That thought warmed Harriet. ‘I will do my best, I promise you. Where’s Dalton House?’
‘Near Reading.’
‘How far away is that?’
Mrs Miller gave her a knowing smile. ‘Far enough for your purpose. Norris won’t find it easy to get to you there.’ She waited. ‘Well, is that a bargain?’
Harriet hesitated. ‘Do you and Winifred have to take all my wages? I’ll need to buy more clothes and underwear. I’m still growing in … places.’ She could feel herself blushing.
Mrs Miller pursed her lips. ‘Yes. I suppose you will need something.’
‘Winifred won’t let me keep any money at all.’
‘No. She’s greedy, Winifred is. Always was. Doesn’t know when to stop grabbing. That puts people’s backs up. So we’ll not tell her exactly how much you’re getting and we’ll leave you a shilling a week of your own.’ Mrs Miller tapped her nose. ‘What she doesn’t know won’t upset her.’
‘It’s still not much.’
‘It’ll be enough if you’re careful. In a house like that you’ll get tips now and then from guests. All the general tips go into a pot and even the youngest gets a share of those every quarter, plus a few shillings extra at Christmas. Now, let’s have our breakfast. I like two slices of toast with jam, but I daresay a growing girl like you will want more.’
‘I do get a bit hungry. Sorry.’
‘There’s plenty of bread and some apples as well. I like a nice juicy apple.’
Once they’d eaten and cleared up the kitchen, Mrs Miller said, ‘We’ll go upstairs and I’ll show you how to make the beds properly. You’ve just dragged the covers over yours. Slovenly, that is. Then you can show me your clothes.’
‘They’re not very nice and I haven’t got a lot of stuff.’
‘Doesn’t matter because we’ll make a list and I’ll get the money from Winifred to buy what’s needed. After that, you should learn to make your own clothes. It’s much cheaper.’
‘The teacher at school said I’m not very good at sewing.’
‘How hard did you try?’
Harriet wriggled uncomfortably. ‘Not very. It’s not very interesting, sewing.’
‘No, but it comes in useful. So that’s another thing you’ll need to learn properly. You should start making a list.’
‘How can I learn to sew better if I’m working as a maid?’
