Paradise Park (8 page)

She dressed quickly, folded up her blanket and made for the door. As she stepped into the passage she cannoned into a man, a gentleman by the look of him. He had a gold watch hanging from the pocket of his well-made suit and his shirt was of the finest linen. He caught her arm to steady her. ‘Careful, child.'

‘Sorry, sir, I'll get out of your way, will I?' Sal recognized him at once: he was Mr Morton-Edwards, a rich man and generous, if what she had heard of him was correct. She heard voices on the stairs and looked round in panic. ‘I've got to hide, sir, or I'll be thrown out.' But it was too late: a plump, balding man came onto the landing and Sal recognized him as Mr May, the owner of the building. With him was an old lady, clutching a bag close to her side.

‘What are you doing here, girl?' Mr May looked down at her. ‘Go and see to your customers at once. It doesn't do to keep the gentlemen waiting.' It was clear he had no idea that she'd been sleeping in the kitchen.

Sal stood still, not knowing which direction to take. Fear made her throat so dry she couldn't speak.

‘Are you deaf and stupid, girl? Get out of our way before I throw you out.'

‘Hold on,' Mr Morton-Edwards said abruptly. ‘Don't talk to her like that. She's only a child.' He turned to Sal. ‘How old are you?'

Sal thought about telling him she was older than she looked but after a moment she thought better of it. ‘I'm twelve, sir, and if it pleases you, sir, my name is Sal.'

‘Where are your parents, child? Do they know you do this sort of thing?'

‘I 'aven't any mam or dad, sir, I'm on my own.' Her hopes rose. If he was a customer perhaps he would just give her money and send her away. She didn't want to lie with him – by her standards he was an old man – but she didn't want him to think she wasn't up to the job either. ‘I'm very experienced, sir,' she said. ‘I don't think you'll be disappointed in me.' She bit her lip, forcing tears to well in her eyes.

Mr Morton-Edwards thrust his hands into his pockets and she heard the jingle of coins – sovereigns, she hoped. But he didn't bring out any money. Instead he looked at her closely. ‘Do you like this work, then, child?'

Oh dear, he was going to try to reform her. She shook her head. ‘Not much, sir, but I got to do something to keep alive, haven't I?'

‘Have you ever tried to get out of it, Sal? Have you looked for work elsewhere?'

‘Oh, aye, sir, I worked for a nice family for a while but the master . . . well, he wasn't so nice.'

‘Didn't you ever have the chance to try to find another decent job?'

‘I did, sir, once. I met a lady, Rhiannon Beynon she called herself. She wanted to save me from this life but that didn't work out because she had no money or job herself.'

‘Rhiannon Beynon, eh?' He smiled down at her. ‘Well, she did find a position. She's working for my daughter.' He hesitated. ‘My daughter might be able to take you on too.'

‘I'd like that but I'm not like Rhiannon – she had experience in a good home, sir.' She sighed. ‘This life is all I know.'

‘Well, you wouldn't be able to work here for very long anyway. I'm considering buying this hotel, and so is Mrs Paisley.' He gestured towards the old lady. ‘Whoever buys the hotel plans to turn it into a decent, respectable place.'

That meant her easy life in the kitchen would soon be over, Sal thought. This time real tears welled in her eyes.

‘Why don't you work for my daughter? I'm sure she'd take you on, and Rhiannon would help you settle in.' Mr Morton-Edwards turned to the owner of the hotel. ‘Mr May, I've had second thoughts about buying the place. It isn't what I expected. I want an establishment that would serve as a railway hotel and this place needs too much work. Still, perhaps you and Mrs Paisley here can come to an amicable agreement.' He caught Sal's arm. ‘Come along, I'm taking you with me now.'

To Sal's surprise, Mr Morton-Edwards took her down the front stairs and dropped some money on the table in the hall. ‘Send for my carriage to be brought round, there's a good chap,' he said affably to the man at the door. The porter looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Sal nearly laughed. He obviously thought Mr Morton-Edwards was one of the customers, and men about unsavoury business did not usually flaunt it in the faces of the lower orders.

On the drive through town, Sal wondered if she was wise to go with this man, who was a stranger to her. For all she knew he might beat her or, worse, murder her and leave her in a ditch somewhere. But, then, if he'd meant her harm, he would hardly be seen with her in full view of the people at the Paradise Park.

Mr Morton-Edwards was silent as they drew up outside the door of a magnificent house. He stepped down from the carriage and gave her his hand to help her. Then Sal knew he was a real gentleman, not like the ones who came to the hotel.

He rapped on the door with his cane. It was opened at once by a neatly dressed maid, wearing a spotless apron and a starched cap, who bobbed a curtsy then stood back to allow him inside the elegant hall. ‘I'll tell Mrs Buchan you're here, sir.' She looked doubtfully at Sal, then disappeared across the hall and into one of the rooms. Mr Morton-Edwards didn't wait for the girl to reappear. ‘Stay here, there's a good girl,' he said, and then he, too, vanished.

Sal hopped from one foot to the other, wishing again that she had shoes. She envied the maid her beautiful house slippers in soft satin. They were plain but expensive, if Sal was any judge.

‘I'll see the girl, of course, Father.' The voice came from one of the rooms. ‘I don't promise to take her on, but I'll talk to her.'

Mr Morton-Edwards came into the hall with a woman Sal guessed was his daughter. She was pretty in a delicate way with soft pale gold hair, just like her father's. Her eyes rested on Sal and studied her.

‘This is Sal,' Mr Morton-Edwards said. ‘I believe she knows Rhiannon. Now, don't jump to conclusions, Rhiannon was trying to get the girl off the streets.' He smiled. ‘It seems Rhiannon has the same impulse as you to save unfortunate women.' He glanced at Sal. ‘Though in this case she's more of a child than anything else, which is why I thought you might take her in out of the goodness of your heart.'

‘Why don't you?' Mrs Buchan asked. ‘I'm not setting up a home for poverty-stricken harlots. Father.'

‘Well, I brought her here because I've more servants than I can cope with.'

‘That's true.' Mrs Buchan smiled. ‘There was a time when you ran your house with as few servants as you could manage. Now you seem to have a multitude.' She looked at Sal again. ‘Are you willing to work, girl, and to stay away from the menfolk of my household?'

‘Oh, I am, Mrs Buchan. I'll work my fingers to the bone. As for men I've had a gutful of them,' Sal said.

‘All right, then. Go down to the kitchen and Cook will take care of you. Tell Rhiannon that you are to share her room. Now come along. Father, and tell me just how you came to meet this girl you're trying so hard to rescue.'

They went into one of the rooms and the door was closed firmly behind them. Sal looked around her, wondering how to find the kitchen. She saw a darkened passage that led, she guessed, to the back of the house. From there a flight of stairs took her downwards. Sal paused, her feet cold on the bare steps, and listened to the sound of voices coming from below. This was where her new life would begin.

Rhiannon was putting a joint of beef into the oven when the door opened and a small, vaguely familiar figure came slowly into the kitchen. The girl was wearing odd clothing that hung on her slight form like washing pegged to a line. Then she recognized the tip-tilted nose and the bright blue eyes. ‘Sal!' she said in astonishment. ‘What in the name of all the angels are you doing here?'

Mrs Jones looked up from rolling out the pastry for a meat pie and raised her eyebrows. From the scullery, Violet and Hetty came into the kitchen and all of them stared at Sal in open curiosity.

‘I got a job here.' Sal stumbled over the words, overwhelmed by the attention she was receiving. ‘Mr Morton-Edwards was out on business and, well, he saw me and brought me here.'

‘Why did he bring you here instead of taking you to his own house, girl?' The cook looked at her suspiciously.

‘I think I know the answer to that, Mrs Jones,' Rhiannon said quickly. ‘Did you tell the master we'd met before, Sal?'

Sal nodded. ‘That's right, and it's because of you I'm here. I'm so pleased to be off the streets that I'll work hard and do anything that's asked of me.'

‘Well, you can start with the dishes,' Hetty said spitefully. ‘I'm fed up of doing them. Just look at my poor hands, red and chapped and splitting with the cold, they are.'

‘I'll decide what the girl does.' Mrs Jones glowered at Hetty. ‘Now, first of all I want you, Vi, and Hetty and you too, Rhiannon, to fetch your spare shoes down here for the girl to try on. Can't have her walking on the cold flags with bare feet, can I?'

‘I can't spare any of my shoes,' Violet said. ‘I'm nearly through these as it is. What about you, Cook? You got more shoes than any of us.'

‘Don't talk daft, Vi. My feet are like canal barges and my shoes would never fit this child. Now, no more arguing, do as you're told.'

When the girls had gone, Mrs Jones ushered Sal into one of the chairs. ‘Now, then, tell me exactly how you came to meet Mr Morton-Edwards 'cos your story about Mr Morton-Edwards picking you up from the street don't fool me for one minute.'

Sal glanced around nervously. ‘I told you, Mr Morton-Edwards was out on business.'

‘What you tell me will go no further. Come on, girl, before the rest of them come back. That Hetty couldn't keep her mouth shut if she tried.'

‘Well, it's none of my business but Mr Morton-Edwards was at the Paradise Park. Not as a customer,' she added quickly, ‘he was thinking of buying the hotel but he changed his mind.'

‘Quite right too! A decent man like Mr Morton-Edwards should have no truck with a place like the Paradise Park.' The cook looked closely at Sal. ‘So what were you doing there? Working, was it?'

Sal nodded miserably. ‘I don't want to shock a nice lady like you, but it's true I have worked at the hotel. Going with men was the only way I could earn a living, see?'

‘All right, I'm not blaming you,' Mrs Jones made a wry face, ‘but I'm surprised Mrs Buchan took you on.'

Violet and Hetty could be heard arguing as they clattered down the stairs and Mrs Jones winked at Sal. ‘Right, we'll say no more about all that. You just keep your mouth shut about Mr Morton-Edwards's business.'

Rhiannon came into the kitchen behind Violet and Hetty, and an array of shoes was laid out before Sal. She looked down at them, scarcely believing she was really going to have a pair for herself.

The only ones that were anywhere close to fitting her belonged to Rhiannon. ‘Have them and welcome, Sal,' Rhiannon said. ‘I'm good on shoes, a pair lasts me ages.'

‘Oh! They're lovely.' Sal admired her feet in the neat boots. ‘I can't believe you're all being so kind to me.'

‘Don't think anything of it,' Mrs Jones said. ‘Soon we'll get you some slippers as well, to wear when you're above stairs.' She clapped her hands together briskly. ‘Now, let's get to work, shall we? Otherwise the food will never be cooked and the kitchen will stay looking like a pigsty.' She pushed the kettle onto the fire. ‘Vi, you and Hetty can do the vegetables and don't cut the potato skins too thick. We're trying to keep the bills down so as Mr Buchan's happy.' The two girls went into the scullery grumbling to themselves and the cook smiled. ‘Right then, Rhiannon, little Sal here looks half starved so fetch out the bread and a nice fresh bit of cheese, will you?'

Sal looked down at her boots and twisted her ankle admiringly. Mrs Jones tapped her arm. ‘Sit down by the table, Sal, and get your fill of good food. I don't suppose you've eaten anything today, have you?'

Sal shook her head. ‘I could eat a scabby horse between two cart shafts I'm so hungry!'

Rhiannon laughed and even Mrs Jones smiled. Sal looked down at the bread and cheese. ‘
Duw
! This is a lovely bit of grub.'

‘We don't want any more of those coarse sayings round here, miss.' Mrs Jones's tone was brisk, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘You learn to speak properly by here or I'll put you out in the scullery with Vi and Hetty and those two will work you to death.'

Sal looked suitably abashed but she tucked into the food with relish while Mrs Jones went on making a meat pie, and Rhiannon whisked a dozen eggs in a bowl ready for a custard tart. Sal could see that everyone ate well here, including the servants. Although her place in the household was probably the lowest, she knew that she would be better fed than the upstairs maids who thought themselves superior to kitchen staff.

It was early evening when Mrs Buchan summoned Rhiannon and Sal to the drawing room. ‘She's not going to chuck us out after all, is she, Rhiannon?' Sal's voice held a tremor.

‘I doubt it,' Rhiannon said. ‘She's not the sort of lady to take you on in the afternoon and change her mind by the evening.'

Mrs Buchan was seated in an easy chair, her skirts spread out like the petals of a flower around her dainty feet and her soft hair like spun gold in the lamplight. Sal had never been so much in awe of anyone.

‘I've come to a decision,' Mrs Buchan said. ‘I hope you're both going to be pleased with what I've planned.'

Sal swallowed a sigh of relief: it didn't sound as though she was going to be dismissed on her first day at work.

‘I want to train you up to a better station in life,' Mrs Buchan said. ‘My house steward has marched out in high dudgeon – I never did get on well with menservants, they tend to be too arrogant for their own good. Anyway, I want you, Rhiannon, to take over eventually as housekeeper. What I propose is that you learn the correct way to set out cutlery and china for an ordinary meal and also for a banquet. You were housekeeper to Mr Cookson for quite a long time, I know. Do you think you could cope with the responsibility of a large establishment like mine?'