A Dream of her Own (9 page)
Rosemary turned as she reached the door. ‘When the time comes for me to be presented at Court, you shall have complete charge of my wardrobe; it will save me having to worry about such frivolous things.’
‘Stop blethering and hurry along, girl. It’s getting late!’
‘All right, don’t nag!’ The door swished shut.
Constance wondered at their easy banter. She knew that the Elliot family was immensely rich and that Hannah Beattie, even with the grand title of ‘companion’, was still only a servant. Yet, the two of them behaved as though they were equals. Nobody would have been allowed to talk to Annabel Sowerby in such a way. Everybody, from Mrs Mortimer down, had to address her as
Miss
Annabel.
Miss
Annabel.
The room was brightly lit and comfortably warm. Constance realized, with a twinge of conscience, that she must have been sleeping whilst the maidservant came in to make up the fire. Only yesterday, in the house on Rye Hill, she and Nella had carried buckets of coal up the stairs to every room. They had cleaned out the hearths and got the fires going before the family was awake. And that was after the mammoth task of cleaning and firing the kitchen range.
This morning, rather than a frugal breakfast of yesterday’s bread and weak tea, she was enjoying freshly brewed coffee, toast and a dish of apricot conserve. And instead of sitting at the bare kitchen table in the terraced house on Rye Hill, she was propped up amongst feather pillows in a luxuriously furnished bedroom in a villa overlooking the Town Moor.
Rosemary had thanked the maid who had brought the damask-covered tray, and dismissed her before sitting down on Constance’s bed. ‘I didn’t think you would want anything cooked,’ she’d said. ‘You must be feeling nervous.’
‘Nervous? Why do you say that?’
‘Why do you look at me so strangely, Constance? All brides are nervous and, although it is not proper for me to admit it, I do know why!’
The girl had then poured herself a cup of coffee and stayed for a while to nibble some toast but then she hurried off to issue orders to Hannah Beattie. Her companion had already started bustling in and out with items of clothing from Constance’s box. Constance had been glad to be left alone for a while. Matthew’s young sister was both excited and excitable and, in spite of her kindness, her restless energy was enervating.
After Constance’s light breakfast, Rosemary had insisted on helping her to get dressed. It was then that she had noticed the bruise on Constance’s cheek and she had hurried away to raid her mother’s dressing table. The orange and gold box of powder, the delicate swan’s-down powder puff and the lingering floral scent had brought back memories that had been deeply buried, and Constance had been shaken by their re-emergence and their intensity.
How many years had it been since she had crept into her mother’s room to play with the exquisite little jars and scent bottles on the dressing table? Her mother had caught her experimenting with the tiny papers from a book of
papier poudré.
papier poudré.
Instead of scolding, Agnes Bannerman had brought out the bottles of complexion milk, nail polish and liquid rouge, and an array of coloured pencils and tubes. She explained to Constance how everything must be applied so delicately that no one would ever guess that a lady’s complexion was anything but natural.
‘Come, I’ll show you how to do it!’
When Constance looked into the mirror, she had almost expected to see the reflection of her mother’s face smiling indulgently as she dipped the powder puff into the gold-rimmed box.
But, of course, it was not Agnes Bannerman smiling at her, it was Rosemary Elliot. Constance had not been able to stop the tears brimming in her eyes.
And now, Hannah Beattie had just finished arranging her hair. ‘Stand up and let me look at you. Mm, I can see what you’ve done with the dress. You’ve got rid of the bustle and the train to give it a more modern line.’
‘How can you tell that?’
‘Don’t look so crestfallen, Constance. Nobody but the most avid follower of fashion, like me, would guess that you had altered anything at all. But it must have helped that the dress was very well made in the first place. Did your employer give it to you?’
‘No, it was my mother’s.’ Constance had answered spontaneously and she was disconcerted to see the appraising look Beattie shot her.
‘Your mother’s? I see. Poor Constance, it must have been hard for you being in service. Forgive me for saying this - Rosemary is much too unworldly to have noticed - but I couldn’t help perceiving that your speech and your manners are not those of a servant. At first I thought you might have been a lady’s maid or even a governess, but then I saw your hands.’
Constance glanced down at her work-roughened hands and then she thrust them behind her in an embarrassed gesture. ‘They spoil the effect, don’t they?’
‘Yes. You must wear gloves. Do you have any?’
‘Only knitted mittens. They’ll hardly match my wedding outfit.’
‘Then that shall be my wedding present to you. I have a pair of pale grey silk gloves that I have never worn, and also the dearest little grey velvet toque with a veil.’
‘But I couldn’t ... You mustn’t—’
‘You cannot wear that bonnet, sweet as it is. I have too many hats; they are my weakness. But my round country face was not meant to have a toque perched on top; it will look much better on you.’
‘Quite right, Beattie, dear.’ Rosemary had come back into the room. ‘And I am going to give Constance this velvet cape; I never wear it and it will look much better with her dress than a navy serge coat!’
Constance gazed at herself in the cheval glass. Her new hat tilted forward dangerously on top of the curls which Beattie had piled high; the veil almost matched the smoke-coloured lace she had sewn round the high-standing collar of her dress. Her hourglass figure was accentuated by the fullness of the bodice, the tiny waist and the skirt, which smoothed over her hips and then flared out a little at the knee. If only Nella could see her.
Nella!
Constance remembered how she had promised to wear the necklace she had given her and she glanced over to the bedside table. Had she put it there when she went to bed? She couldn’t remember. She had been so distressed last night that it was no wonder she’d forgotten what she had done with it. But the necklace wasn’t on the table and she frowned as she tried to recall exactly what she had done the night before.
Constance remembered how she had promised to wear the necklace she had given her and she glanced over to the bedside table. Had she put it there when she went to bed? She couldn’t remember. She had been so distressed last night that it was no wonder she’d forgotten what she had done with it. But the necklace wasn’t on the table and she frowned as she tried to recall exactly what she had done the night before.
She had taken her clothes off in the bathroom and left them there ... Rosemary and Hannah Beattie had gathered them up and sorted them out for her. This morning, Miss Beattie had packed all Constance’s things neatly into her box. The necklace must be there. But wait a moment ... the chain ... hadn’t she felt ... no ... Hastily she suppressed an unwelcome memory.
‘Is something worrying you, Constance?’ Rosemary was looking at her anxiously.
‘No ... no, nothing at all.’
‘Then, please stand still, if you don’t mind,’ Rosemary ordered, ‘whilst I arrange the cape around your shoulders.’
Constance turned back obediently. She had decided not to make a fuss about the necklace now. But she was sorry to break her promise to Nella ...
‘It’s a pity that this cape is black.’ Rosemary stepped back and stood with her head tilted to one side. She looked at Constance through narrowed eyes. ‘But at least it is short, and if you take this matching muff,’ Rosemary had been holding a muff made of black velvet and now she gave it to Constance, ‘I will pin a little nosegay of silk flowers on it. They are the same violet-blue as your eyes. You will have a bridal muff instead of a bridal bouquet!’
‘But this was meant to be a quiet wedding,’ Constance started to protest. ‘John said there would be no fuss.’
‘It is hardly making a fuss to have you looking beautiful on your wedding day. And you do look beautiful, Constance, very beautiful indeed!’ Rosemary clasped her hands together, her eyes were shining.
Beattie smiled approval before turning to chivvy the girl. ‘Come along, child, let me dress your hair. We mustn’t keep Matthew waiting.’
Constance stared at them. ‘Are you coming with me?’
Rosemary answered. ‘Of course we are. I was horrified when I learned that my brother had intended simply to take you to the church and then leave you there with no friends to see you married.’
‘But that’s all right. John said that his family would be sure to make me feel welcome.’
‘That may be so. However, Beattie and I have persuaded Matthew that you must have some family of your own!’
‘Nella, stop daydreaming. Take Alice with you and carry more coal to the rooms upstairs. Did you hear me, girl?’
Nella and the new girl, Alice, had just finished washing and drying the family’s breakfast dishes. Nella dried her hands on a kitchen cloth and turned to face her tormentor.
‘Yes, Mrs Mortimer.’
‘And for goodness’ sake wipe that crabby look off your face. It’s enough to turn the milk sour.’
Mrs Mortimer didn’t see Nella’s even crabbier response because she turned immediately to a thin-faced, smartly dressed little man who was sitting at the table with a large cup of tea and a slab of fruit cake. An open notebook and pencil lay on the table next to his plate.
While the cook settled herself opposite to him, he looked up and his narrow features cracked into a sly smile as he gave a wink in the direction of the two girls. Nella knew it wasn’t for her benefit, it was for Alice’s. The new girl was pretty and, although she was only twelve, she already had the rounded figure of a ripe young woman.
Mrs Mortimer had not noticed this by-play and by the time she was seated, the man was concentrating on sinking his sharp, white teeth into the rich, dark cake.
‘Now, Mr Askew,’ the cook said, ‘let me give you our order for next week.’
The cook-housekeeper began the important task of ordering the weekly groceries for the Sowerby household. Nella knew the reason why she wanted everybody out of earshot. With Isabelle and Martha still tidying and dusting upstairs, and herself and Alice safely occupied with the fires for the next half-hour or more, Mrs Mortimer would be able to order whatever stores she pleased.
Mrs Sowerby, like most of the mistresses round here, gave her cook-housekeeper complete charge of the books, only checking them cursorily once a month. Mrs Mortimer controlled the stores, the still room and the linen cupboard, and as she dealt with all the tradesmen there was ample scope for a little cheating. Mr Askew was a high-class grocer but Nella was sharp enough to have worked out long ago that he must be in cahoots with all the cooks round here.
I’ll have to remind Constance about what goes on, she thought. Constance had told her that she didn’t know how many servants John and his mother kept. Well, whatever the situation was, Nella didn’t want her friend to be cheated.
Ee, Constance,
she thought, and her mind flew back to what she had found that morning and her fruitless search in the street.
she thought, and her mind flew back to what she had found that morning and her fruitless search in the street.
‘Nella! I thought I told you to see to the fires? Get along with you!’ Mrs Mortimer was having difficulty remaining ladylike. If Mr Askew had not been there, she would have been bellowing by now.
Nella became aware of Alice snivelling at her side. ‘Stop that!’ she hissed. ‘If she thinks you’re frightened, it will only make her pick on you whenever she can. Now, hawway!’
She pushed the poor girl before her out of the room and then she deliberately let the door slam shut. ‘Sorry, Mrs Mortimer!’ she yelled over her shoulder. Then she mouthed the words, ‘Noisiness is considered Bad Manners!’ in the direction of the closed door to the astonishment of the ever more frightened Alice.
Nella looked at her compassionately. ‘Come on then.’
‘What are we supposed to do?’ The girl’s voice was hardly raised above a whisper.
‘We’re gannin’ to climb all them stairs and see to every fire in every room. We’ll clean and tidy the hearths and we’ll fill the coal scuttles.’
‘But—’
‘Yes, that means gannin’ up and down with buckets of coal until every blessed fire and scuttle is seen to. And not just this once - we’ll do that regularly all day long and that’s only part of our duties here.’
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