In Love and War (2 page)

‘New-fangled contraption,' Cook muttered under her breath. ‘Give me a carriage and pair any day.'

Mrs Tranter, the housekeeper, shot her a withering look. ‘Shh.'

Cook's lips tightened into a thin pencil line but she knew better than to argue.

Elsie was almost exactly the same age as Miss Marianne Winter, and she was mildly curious to see how she had turned out after her two years in the posh finishing school. She had seen her in the distance on the rare occasions when she had been permitted to accompany her mother to work, but she had not been allowed to stray into parts of the house or garden frequented by the family. Marianne Winter had spoken to her once when Elsie had been helping to groom one of the horses, and then it had only been to challenge her right to be there in the first place. Elsie had told her to mind her own business and had received a stern lecture on manners from the head groom, but Marianne had merely laughed and led her pony to the mounting block.

Elsie craned her neck to look at the fashionably dressed young woman who alighted from the chauffeur-driven motor car. As a child she had heard the servants mutter about a passing resemblance between them, but now, despite the difference in their clothes and the way they wore their blonde hair, looking at Marianne Winter was like seeing a mirror image of herself. She was aware of sideways glances from the kitchen maids as they bobbed curtseys. Elsie remained stiffly upright. Such a show of subservience seemed very feudal and outdated, and she was not dependent on the Winter family for her living. If anything her brief experience of labouring in the kitchen made her even more determined to find herself a well-paid job so that her mother need never return to menial work.

Marianne smiled graciously and had a few words with Mrs Tranter and Cook, briefly acknowledging the underlings before entering the house to be greeted by her aunt and uncle. Soames, the butler, closed the double doors and Mrs Tranter ordered everyone to return to their work.

Phyllis fell into step beside Elsie. ‘Did you see the outfit she was wearing? I daresay it was straight from Paris. It must have cost a fortune.'

‘I expect it did.'

‘Aren't you envious, Elsie? I know I am.'

‘Not really. I don't think she's happy.'

Phyllis stared at her open-mouthed. ‘How can you say that? How could she be miserable when she's got looks and money?'

‘I don't know. It's just a feeling.'

‘You and your feelings,' Phyllis said, giggling. ‘I remember when we was in Miss Murray's class at school, you was always making excuses for the old bat, when the rest of us hated her.'

‘She had a miserable home life. Her father was a drunkard and a bully. He went to prison for beating a man half to death.'

‘Stop dawdling, you two.' Mrs Tranter's voice echoed round the stable yard. ‘There's work to be done.'

Later that afternoon, Elsie arrived home to find Dr Hancock just about to leave Tan Cottage. He greeted her with a serious look on his lined face. ‘Monique tells me that you've been doing her job at Darcy Hall.'

‘I'm just filling in, doctor. I hope to find war work so that I can make life easier for my mother.'

He shook his head. ‘She is a very sick woman, my dear. You will need to be very strong for her, but you must prepare yourself for the inevitable.'

‘I know.' Despite her determination not to cry, Elsie's eyes welled with tears and she swallowed hard. ‘I've seen her slipping away from me, day by day.'

He laid his hand on her arm. ‘Have you anyone you can call on to be with you?'

Elsie shook her head. ‘No, sir. Ma's family disowned her when she married an Englishman. I've never met them.'

‘What about your father's family?'

‘He was brought up in an orphanage and enlisted when he was just a boy. There is no one.'

‘Call me day or night if her condition worsens.' He gave her a tired smile and went to untether his horse. He climbed onto the trap and at a flick of the reins the animal ambled off down the lane.

Elsie hurried into the house and went upstairs to tell her mother about Miss Marianne's return home, and to pass on messages from the kitchen maids wishing her a speedy recovery. A smile hovered on Monique's lips as she drifted off into a laudanum-induced sleep, and Elsie went downstairs to eat her supper of bread and cheese. Miss Marianne would be dining on trout caught in the river that ran through the estate, followed by grouse which only the day before had been roaming in the heather. Sent by train from Scotland, the birds would be roasted and served with a red wine sauce. Cook had been preparing the crowning glory of the welcome home meal that afternoon, and the sight and scent of the strawberry parfait had made Elsie's mouth water.

She finished her meal and made herself a cup of tea, which she took into the small garden at the back of the cottage. She had not had much time to weed the vegetable patch, coming home late every evening from Rose Hill. Convolvulus had all but strangled the white roses that her mother loved so dearly, and nettles grew where once she had tended potatoes, carrots, parsnips and onions. In winter there had been cabbages to pick and the root vegetables they had managed to store, but this year there was nothing other than weeds and wild poppies.

The sun was plummeting in a fireball and the sky was streaked with scarlet and orange. Purple shadows lengthened and a cool breeze ruffled Elsie's hair, but the smell of the kitchens still lingered on her clothes and her hands were red and sore from the use of washing soda and strong soap. The feeling of fatigue was overwhelming, and when Elsie finished her tea she went indoors to get ready for bed. She had shared her mother's room until her illness but now she slept on a flock-filled mattress in the corner of the kitchen. She checked on Monique before lying down to sleep, but even at rest she slept lightly, waking at the slightest sound, ready to answer the faintest call from the sick room.

When she arrived at work next morning she expected to find the usual bustle of activity as the family breakfasts were prepared. In winter the housemaids would be rushing around clearing grates and lighting fires before the family had awakened. The parlour maids would be poised ready to take the silver dishes filled with fried eggs and crisp bacon, devilled kidneys and buttered eggs to the dining room, ready for Mr Winter and Miss Marianne to select whatever took their fancy. Mrs Winter always had her breakfast brought to her room, and never rose from her bed before mid-morning. Elsie had learned all this from her mother and she found it hard to imagine living in such idleness and luxury.

She sniffed appreciatively at the delicious aromas that tantalised her taste buds as she walked through the scullery. In the kitchen Mrs Tranter and Cook had their heads bent over a sheet of paper, and they were clearly unhappy.

‘How does she expect us to sort this out at such short notice?' Cook complained.

‘You're the expert, Mrs Coker. Surely you learned the French names for all these dishes when you were training as a cook.'

‘No,' Mrs Coker said flatly. ‘It never came up. We're in England and we don't do fancy French stuff.'

‘But Mrs Winter wants to impress the guests.'

‘I started working in the kitchen at Belvedere Castle when I was ten, and they didn't have menus written in French, English or any other language. It would have been considered very vulgar and not done.'

‘Well, Mrs Winter wants it like this and who are we to argue?'

Mrs Coker lowered her voice. ‘She's not top drawer. Her father was in trade, we all know that, and it shows.'

‘Shh.' Mrs Tranter glanced round anxiously, but the kitchen maids within earshot were either too busy to listen or feigning deafness. ‘Not so loud.' Her gaze fell on Elsie and she beckoned to her. ‘I want a word with you.'

Elsie hurried over to them. ‘I'm sorry if I was a bit late, but I had to make Ma comfortable.'

‘This would have been something that came easily to your mother, Elsie. Did Monique teach you to speak French?'

‘Yes, Mrs Tranter. I spoke French before I learned English.'

‘But you were born in Sutton Darcy, weren't you?' Mrs Coker fixed her with a penetrating stare.

‘Yes, Mrs Coker.'

‘Never mind that,' Mrs Tranter said impatiently. She thrust the menu into Elsie's hand. ‘Can you translate this into French and write out twelve copies in a neat hand? Mrs Winter wants one put at each place setting this evening.'

‘Yes, I can.'

‘You may go to my office and Phyllis will take your place for as long as it takes you to complete the task.'

Phyllis muttered something beneath her breath as she headed for the scullery.

‘If you've anything to say then speak up, Phyllis Piper.'

‘It was nothing, Mrs Tranter,' Phyllis called from the depths of the scullery.

‘There's a lot to do today,' Mrs Tranter said firmly. ‘We must do our best to make Miss Marianne's twenty-first birthday dinner a truly memorable event. All the guests are important but there is a family from Paris amongst them.' She turned to Elsie with a thoughtful look. ‘Are you fluent in French?'

‘A little out of practice, but yes, I think so.'

Mrs Tranter's stern expression melted into a beaming smile. ‘A French-speaking maidservant would be certain to impress the guests. Come with me, Elsie. I'll see if we have a black dress that will fit you. There are plenty of caps and aprons in the linen cupboard. You can go to my office when we're done.' She marched off, leaving Elsie little option but to follow her.

‘I have a black dress at home, Mrs Tranter. Until recently I worked for Mrs Tonbridge at Rose Hill.'

‘You are a trained lady's maid?' Mrs Tranter said, glancing over her shoulder.

‘I am.'

‘Well don't get ideas above your station. This is only a temporary position. Tomorrow you will go back to washing dishes and scouring pans, and then only until your mother is sufficiently recovered to return to work.'

Elsie spent all morning in the housekeeper's office translating the menu into French and copying it out twelve times in her best copperplate. Mrs Tranter inspected each one, even though she had admitted she did not understand a word of French. ‘Excellent,' she said with a smug smile. ‘I'll show these to Mrs Winter. By the way, she wants you to take Nancy's place when the guests arrive this evening. Mr Soames will tell you what to do.'

‘I'll do my best, Mrs Tranter.'

‘In the normal course of events you wouldn't speak to the guests, but Mrs Winter wants you to pay particular attention to the rich French banker and his wife. Mr and Mrs Bellaire are coming with their unmarried son, Henri. Do you understand what I'm saying, Elsie?'

‘Yes, Mrs Tranter.'

‘And you are to assist Mr Soames in the dining room. Nancy will be there too and you will do as she does. Now, you may go home and get your dress.' She glanced down at Elsie's scuffed shoes. ‘I hope you have a better pair than that.'

Monique was thrilled to learn that Elsie had been promoted, even if it was a temporary measure. ‘They have seen that you are special, chérie,' she said breathlessly. ‘You've been chosen to impress the guests.'

Elsie plumped up the pillows. ‘It's only because I speak French. Who are these people that Mrs Winter wants to impress?'

‘Madame Bellaire and Miss Marianne's mother met at finishing school in Paris. When the colonel was posted to Delhi, Miss Marianne was sent to boarding school in Buckinghamshire, and she spent every summer with the Bellaires in the south of France.'

Elsie nodded her head. ‘I remember now, although I wasn't very interested at the time. What went on at Darcy Hall was like something I read about in books.'

‘Mr Bellaire owns a bank in Paris and he's very rich. His son would be quite a catch and all the servants know that Mrs Winter is keen to see her niece married and out of the way. Miss Marianne is and always has been a bit of a handful, as you know. She turned the whole house upside down when she was younger.' Monique covered her mouth with her hanky as a bout of coughing overcame her.

‘You mustn't overtire yourself, Ma,' Elsie said anxiously. ‘I'll get home as soon as I can and tell you all about it.'

Monique lay back against the pillows, pale and exhausted, but her eyes were shining. ‘Perhaps Mrs Winter will offer you a permanent position.'

‘Maybe, Ma. We'll see.' Elsie measured out the prescribed dose of laudanum and dropped it into a glass of water. ‘I wish I didn't have to work tonight. You will be all right, won't you?'

‘Of course I will. You must remember every little detail to tell me.'

Elsie waited while her mother drank the medicine. She refilled the glass with water and set it on the small table at her bedside. ‘I'll get my dress and shoes and then I'm off. Wish me luck, Ma. I've never waited on table for a posh party.'

‘You'll be fine. You're a clever girl; you can do anything if you put your mind to it.'

Wearing her black dress with a starched white headband and freshly ironed apron, Elsie waited nervously in the oak-panelled entrance hall, standing just behind Soames as he opened the doors to admit the guests. Mr and Mrs Winter waited in the drawing room to greet them but Marianne had not yet put in an appearance. It was a warm evening and one by one the chauffeur-driven limousines pulled up outside the manor house, depositing the affluent owners in style. There were no coats to take but the gentlemen sported white silk scarves, gloves and top hats, which they handed to Elsie without so much as a second glance. The ladies glittered in their beaded silk-chiffon gowns with diamond earrings and necklaces adding an extra fiery sparkle. Soames wafted them to the drawing room and Elsie was left alone, but at that moment the last guests arrived and Monsieur and Madame Bellaire were admitted by Fred, who was a gardener by day but had been compelled to put on an ill-fitting footman's livery for the occasion and was sweating profusely.