Dangerous Decisions (8 page)

A fortnight later, the long-awaited day arrived for Molly to leave Broadway Manor. And to her surprise, despite her nervous anticipation and even excitement at the thought of the new life before her, she found her eyes filling with tears when, dressed in her Sunday best, she went to say goodbye to the rest of the staff.

‘I'm really going to miss your cooking,' she said in a choked voice.

‘Nonsense!' Cook's broad face was determinedly cheerful. ‘I wouldn't be surprised if at Graylings they don't have one of those there French chefs.'

‘I don't fancy foreign food. I like your steak and kidney pudding.'

‘Now then, Molly, you'll be fine once you're there,' the butler said. ‘And Miss Helena will be relying on you. So my girl, a stiff upper lip if you please.'

‘I don't know what you're blubbing about,' Ida looked scornful. ‘I mean you were the one who wanted to better yourself.'

‘I know,' Molly dabbed at her eyes. ‘I don't know what's up with me.'

‘I do,' one of the footmen said, looking up from polishing the silver. ‘You're female, that's all. My mam was always blartin'.'

‘Did you never think she might have had a reason,' Ida snapped. ‘I should think having eight kids and no money was enough to make anyone shed tears.'

‘Well, I shall really miss you, Moll.' Annie got up and went to give Molly an awkward hug.

‘Don't forget to write.' The butler stood pointedly aside. ‘A letter now and then would be most welcome, but you mustn't keep Jennings waiting …'

Seconds later Molly was climbing into the Standish carriage, which was also transporting some of Helena's belongings. Several leather trunks were strapped on to the top, while there were so many hatboxes crowding the interior that there was scarcely room for Molly and her modest carpet bag. However, she settled into a corner and leaned back against the cushioned velvet seat to enjoy her first journey, although despite the comfort there was a certain amount of swaying and sometimes jolts when the road surface was uneven.

The passing countryside and the novelty of seeing other villages she found fascinating, but after a couple of hours she was relieved to have the chance to stretch her legs when, in a sparsely populated area, the coachman drew into the yard of an old inn. Jennings helped Molly to descend and then ushered her inside to where, in a smoke-filled room, several groups of working men were ‘swilling beer' as her granny used to say, and Molly wrinkled her nose at the odour of sweating bodies and unwashed clothes. The atmosphere was a distinctly male one, with loud talk and hearty guffaws, and as she paused on the threshold, drawing her skirt away from the sawdust on the floor, one burly man turned and gave her a lewd wink. Jennings immediately hustled Molly away and into a small snug, empty except for an old crone nursing a glass of stout in one corner.

‘Sorry, it's a bit rough, I hadn't realised.'

Molly, knowing that he would never have brought Miss Beatrice or Miss Helena into such a place said, ‘It's all right, you weren't to know.'

‘What would you like to drink, love?' Jennings was a kindly man who had only recently joined the staff at Broadway Manor and while Molly sipped at her lemonade, he told her that the future was in motor cars. ‘Me brother-in-law's set himself up in a little garage, and I go to help him sometimes. I've learned quite a bit, I think that's why Mr Standish hired me. He's got plans to buy one, you know.'

As he wiped his moustache free of froth from his pint of mild, Molly exclaimed, ‘But what about the horses?'

‘Oh, they'll be all right. He'll still keep a carriage on for Miss Beatrice.'

‘I'm relieved to hear it.' Molly looked at him. ‘I suppose you and Mr Faraday's chauffeur had a lot in common, then. I couldn't get a word out of him. Did he say anything to you about Graylings?'

Jennings shook his head. ‘Come to think of it he did seem a bit quiet like if I raised the subject.'

‘Well, I'll soon be finding out for meself.'

‘That's true. Now are you ready, love, or do you …?'

Molly glanced at the disreputable looking old woman in the corner, thought of all the men in the bar, and decided not to risk it. She shook her head, ‘No, I'm all right to continue, Mr Jennings.'

Her first sight of Graylings was not a fortunate one. As soon as the coach drew up outside large ornate iron gates mounted by a lion's head and a man hurried out of the gatehouse to allow them to enter, the greying sky decided to unload its heavy burden and rain came lashing down, spitting against the windows and obscuring her view. Peering out, Molly could just see the outline of a great country house, grey in the mist. Broadway Manor seemed almost small in comparison and her stomach tied in nervous knots.

Jennings guided the horses round to the back of the house and into the stable yard, and as she leaned down to pick up her carpet bag, she could only wish with despair that Miss Helena had arrived before her.

In London, Helena found herself becoming restless. The General Election had generated some excitement, but that was now over; to Oliver's satisfaction, the Liberal Party had won a landslide victory.

Dorothy had earlier written to her, ‘
In confidence, I've joined the Women's Social and Political Union. My father would have a fit if he knew! There's going to be a huge march on Downing Street to urge the new Prime Minister to introduce votes for women – why don't you join them?'
But her friend, Helena thought, wasn't married to Oliver. While he might accept the concept that women could eventually vote, he would never agree to his wife taking part in a possibly violent demonstration.

And marriage itself also involved a degree of intimacy far greater and more often than she had anticipated. Without exception, each night once the maid had left, the inter-connecting door would open and Oliver, always immaculate in matching silk pyjamas and dressing gown, would come into her bedroom. His words were always the same, a murmured ‘Hello, my sweet,' and he would then ensure the room was darkened before lifting the coverlet and sliding beneath the sheets to lie with her. She had never seen his naked body, only felt his maleness inside her. And she had to admit that he was considerate of her modesty too. It had taken some time for Helena to conquer her resentment after that first appalling scene, which was never mentioned. Gradually, as Oliver's lovemaking became increasingly gentler and more prolonged, she found herself able to respond; he would even whisper endearments, telling her that she was ‘his beautiful wife'. But to her continuing bewilderment and dismay, Oliver always left within minutes, leaving her alone and with a longing to be held close, for him to stay with her so that they could sleep together throughout the night. What must it be like, she wondered, to awake and see his head on the soft white pillow beside her? Once Helena had actually put her desire into words, but his reaction had been one of such sharp distaste that she had felt stung, even humiliated.

‘My dear Helena, for married couples to sleep in the same bed is unheard of in our circles. It is something confined to the working classes. Surely, you can see that it would be not only unhygienic but also most unsuitable. One would hardly wish to be awakened by one's servant in such circumstances.'

And so each night she would watch him leave with an unmistakeable air of complacency, wondering why she felt so … Helena wasn't sure exactly how she did feel, but in the core of her, she sensed that something was lacking. Was it her fault? Was she too young, not woman enough?

Then eventually the time came when it was necessary for her to raise an indelicate subject. They were alone in the drawing room, where Oliver was enjoying a fine French brandy after dinner and, judging him to be in a relaxed mood, it was with some embarrassment that Helena said, ‘Oliver, I do apologise, but it will be several days before I am able again to welcome you into my bed.'

Oliver's hand, which was half raised to his lips, stilled. He didn't answer at first and then said in a low, tense voice, ‘Do you mean that you are indisposed?'

Helena, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, said, ‘Yes, I'm afraid so.'

Again, there was a silence. ‘Then my sweet, I shall rely on you to let me know when …'

Helena nodded. ‘But of course.'

It was with difficulty that Oliver managed to keep his expression bland, to disguise his seething frustration. Perhaps it had been a conceit to think that she would conceive so quickly. As for her female ailment, he knew that some men could disregard such a fact; he had even heard them boast of it. However, to Oliver the act at such a time would be abhorrent, and so without the necessity of indulging Helena with a view to her nightly compliance, there was little need for him to spend so much time with her, at least during the coming week. Not, he mused, as he glanced across to where Helena was leafing through a copy of Vogue, that he had any complaints about his wife. On the contrary, he had to admit to an increasing fondness for her, but he would certainly make the most of the situation and perhaps dine at his club on some evenings, or seek out Johnnie at the gaming tables.

Helena, unaware of Oliver's brooding, resigned herself to idling the rest of the evening with her magazine, her mind running ahead. There was a romantic novel in her room, and the prospect of being undisturbed and to feel again that lovely sense of drowsiness before closing the pages and snuggling down would be absolute bliss. They would also soon be at Graylings where there would be the chance to make new friends. She was longing now to see her new home and to meet the staff. It had surprised Helena just how much she had missed feminine company. At least when her father eventually came to visit he would be bringing Aunt Beatrice with him.

Oliver had personally appointed the butler at Graylings soon after his father's death. The previous incumbent, an elderly man of loyal service but now shrivelled appearance, had been retired on an adequate pension and replaced by a tall, commanding man with the bearing of an Army officer. Edwin Crossley believed in discipline and the upholding of high standards, his features were clean cut and to Oliver he had been the perfect choice.

On the morning of the expected arrival, a groom was directed to ride to the gates and instructions given that when the approaching vehicle was spotted he should then gallop back to Graylings to give the required signal. Already members of staff were hovering in readiness, alert to leave their tasks in order to gather outside the wide frontage of the house.

‘I want you to line up on each side in order of seniority,' the butler told them, ‘the indoor staff on the right, and the outdoor staff on the left. The men will be bareheaded and as the master and mistress pass by the women are to bob a curtsey.'

Honestly, Molly thought with resentment. He must think we haven't a brain between us. She kept a wide berth of Mr Crossley. Not that she disliked him, but she was constantly apprehensive, as she suspected were many of the maids, of doing anything that could incur his disapproval. It was bad enough satisfying the exacting demands of the housekeeper. It was a funny place, Molly thought as she dusted a blue and white Meissen vase in the vast hall, remembering the day when she had first arrived.

Nervous and filled with apprehension, she had been offered warm refreshment in the kitchen – a bowl of soup and crusty bread – and then shown immediately to the housekeeper's office; a spacious, comfortable room with rust velour curtains and a fireplace with a black-leaded gleaming surround above a cosy fire. The woman seated behind a large and slightly shabby desk had upright posture, her sandy hair swept into a chignon. Dressed in black with white starched collar and cuffs, she waved a hand to the chair before her. ‘Do come in, Fox. I hope you had a good journey.'

At first the housekeeper simply asked questions concerning Molly's experience before detailing her new duties, the hours she would be expected to work and the amount of free time allowed. Then she hesitated. ‘At Graylings, we are required to observe a strict rule of confidentiality. Mr Faraday insists that if any member of his staff is found to have discussed his personal affairs or those of his household outside this house, then instant dismissal will follow. I take it you are in agreement with that?'

Flustered, Molly said, ‘Of course, Mrs Birley.'

The housekeeper glanced down at an open ledger before her. ‘I haven't mentioned your wages, have I? You will find that Mr Faraday is a generous employer, which is one of the reasons we are all happy to fit in with his requirements.'

She had gone on to name the most satisfactory sum of twenty-seven pounds a year and that night as Molly settled into her small attic room – the first she had never had to share – although drowsy with weariness she was elated, already planning to save for a little nest egg. Perhaps she had been wrong about Miss Helena's husband; she had even felt worried, especially in view of Annie's strong dislike of him. She might have to accept that it would be difficult for them to resume their original friendship, which was a pity because if she felt a bit lonely at Graylings, then so would her mistress. Molly smiled to herself at the word, because of course that's what Miss Helena was now, her mistress, not the smiling girl who had teased her in the fields at Broadway Manor.

Molly carefully replaced the vase on a polished walnut side table and while waiting for the summons to go outside, reflected that even if most of the staff seemed friendly enough, she still felt a stranger among them. One of the footmen had tried flirting with her, and she didn't mind a bit of harmless fun, but she would never risk anything that threatened her chance of bettering herself.

Helena, seated beside Oliver on the leather seat of the car while his chauffeur negotiated the roads leading to Graylings, found her nervousness mounting with every passing mile. To see for the first time – for no painting could compare with the actual experience – Graylings, yet knowing that her arrival would be the subject of many curious stares was daunting to say the least. She tucked a stray strand of hair beneath her emerald green hat, trimmed extravagantly with ostrich feathers and bought for the occasion. ‘Make a grand entrance,' Beatrice had recommended. ‘Remember your position despite your youth. If necessary, adopt an air of arrogance. Believe me it will pay dividends in the future.' And Helena reminded herself that she had been a married woman for a month now.

The coach, laden with their trunks, had set off earlier; Oliver seemed to have planned everything to the last detail. As they journeyed he told her the names of the senior members of the household, ones she would need to greet personally. He himself would introduce the estate manager and butler, who in turn would present the housekeeper and cook. ‘And Helena, only a smile for your maid from Broadway Manor, if you please; it wouldn't do to single her out.'

‘I understand, Oliver.'

The sight that met her as the chauffeur drove up a private road surrounded by parkland was one she would never forget. Despite earlier threatening clouds, when she had wondered whether Oliver would expect his staff to stand out in the rain, the weather was fine. Even from a distance, Graylings seemed larger than she'd expected; built of grey stone in the mid-18th century of Georgian Palladium style, it was four storeys high and bore an air of almost forbidding grandeur. Helena felt a rush of inadequacy, being acutely conscious of her youth, her inexperience, especially as she saw waiting outside the magnificent south frontage opposite lines of staff; the footmen in livery of maroon and gold, the maids in black, with white aprons and mob caps.

Helena saw them watch expectantly as the car came to a halt. The chauffeur opened the rear door on Oliver's side first, and then both men walked round the car, the chauffeur standing aside so that Oliver could assist Helena. A sable tippet around her shoulders, she placed her gloved hand on his arm, lifted her skirt and, after taking a deep breath, she stepped out with a smile.

Helena was unsure whether she would ever be able to think of Graylings as her home. Accustomed to Broadway Manor with its golden oak, the almost black panelling of the hall and staircase seemed gloomy. It was a much older house of course, but although well cared for, some of the furnishings seemed to her both heavy and oppressive. She was hoping that perhaps after a decent interval Oliver would allow her to arrange some of the rooms to her own taste. Their private apartments again had an inter-connecting door, and were situated in the west wing, where to her delight the view from her bedroom window overlooked the rose gardens that Oliver had described. And she had to admit that in this particular room, the furnishings chosen by Oliver's late mother were pleasing and light in colour, including a beautiful Japanese silk screen similar to that in the London House. Rosalind Faraday must have chosen that too. How strange and sad that she, like Helena's own mother, had died so young and in childbirth. Helena felt a slight shiver at the thought, and then reminded herself such tragedies were the exception rather than the rule. There was no reason to believe that the same thing would happen to her.

They had been in residence for three days when one afternoon in the drawing room, as they waited for tea to be served, she said, ‘Oliver, there is the question of my maid. The one who accompanied me from London has only been a temporary arrangement.'

‘Yes, of course. I have not been remiss in this, Helena. Mrs Birley already has a short list of applicants for you. She is well aware of my requirements.'

Helena stared at him. ‘I'm sorry Oliver, I don't understand? I would have thought that it would be
my
requirements that would take preference.'

‘My dear girl, don't be so prickly. Naturally, it will be your choice. I just prefer to be surrounded by pleasant countenances. Mrs Birley will have weeded out anyone unsuitable.'

‘Oh, I see.' Helena watched him leave the room, remembering how he had enquired about Molly and his relief when Helena had described the maid as ‘the pretty one'. Well, there was nothing wrong in preferring beauty to ugliness, but it seemed harsh on those unfortunate ones who were not blessed with good looks. As an image of Annie flashed into her mind, followed by the disturbing memory of Oliver's expression of disgust, Helena was deep in thought as she crossed over to the silken bell-pull to summon the housekeeper. There was so much she needed to learn and to understand about this husband of hers.