Someone Special (6 page)

Mrs Day, knitting a shell-pink jacket for ‘her’ baby, remembered the wedding, how proud she had felt, how she had wept a little weep as the young couple exchanged vows. And wasn’t it only natural that she should feel strongly at such a moment? Had she not nannied for the bride and for her brothers and sisters? Even allowing for the fact that she was delighted with Prince Albert, who, royal or not, was a real gentleman, she still realised that Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon was taking an inevitable step away from her loving care. Unless you could say she was less losing the child than gaining the young man? Ever so polite was Prince Albert, the sort of young man who never let his eyes skim over you just because you weren’t important. No, he’d chat with anyone, would the Duke of York, especially anyone of whom his young wife was fond.

Mrs Day knitted away as the light faded from the sky, but before it grew quite dark she got up, drew the curtains across, shutting out the quiet, refined life of the other inhabitants of Bruton Street and pottered over to the small kitchen. She poured milk from a jug into a pan, added some water, put the pan on the stove, lit the gas beneath it and watched the milk begin to warm. Presently she poured it carefully into a bottle, then stood the bottle in a larger pan of cold water, now and again testing the milk for warmth against her wrist. Presently the bottle was ready, wrapped in a nappy to keep it at blood-heat. Mrs Day stood it in the hearth and went quietly back into the nursery.

Baby Elizabeth was waking up; her head moved on the pillow, her mouth worked a little. Mrs Day, smiling, picked her up and carried her across to the chair by the dying fire. She sat down, waited for the baby to wake up properly and then offered the bottle of warm milk. The baby began to suck at once, her small hands balled into fists, her eyelids beginning to droop with drowsy contentment.

Mrs Day was bringing up the tiny Princess’s wind when the door opened. The child sat solemnly on her lap while Mrs Day massaged the small back, taking no notice of the opening door, nor of the merry, pink-cheeked face which appeared.

‘How is she, Ellen?’ The Duchess kept her voice low but the baby’s eyes opened and the wind which had rumbled so uncomfortably round her small frame left her in a loud belch. Mrs Day and the Duchess smiled at each other.

‘She’s doing very well, m’lady. She likes her food but she’s not greedy, like some, and she’s as sweet-tempered as you were yourself. Do you want to take her while I turn back the covers?’

‘Oh yes, Ellen.’ The girl took the child and cradled her to her breast, her face warm with love as she looked down into her baby’s face. ‘Hello, little one! Oh, isn’t that a lovely smile? Well, what a clever girl to smile for her mama.’ The Duchess continued to murmur lovingly to her daughter while Mrs Day prepared the cot and came back into the room. She smiled affectionately at the picture presented by mother and child, but tapped the Duchess on the arm.

‘Time she was in bed, my dear, and time you followed suit. I’ll just change her before I put her down …’

‘Shall I do that? I’m not terribly tired and …’

‘No, indeed! It’s my job, m’lady, and besides it takes but a few minutes. You come back tomorrow and see
the Princess when she’s all bright and lively. Goodnight, m’lady.’

‘Oh, goodnight, Ellen.’ The young woman bent over the child and kissed the round, rosy cheeks, then the brow, then the tip of the small nose. ‘Goodnight, baby Elizabeth; your mama will see you in the morning.

Mrs Day watched the Duchess out of the room, then turned her full attention to the child once more.

‘You’re a very lucky little lady,’ she said, beginning to unpin the baby’s towelling nappy. ‘Your Mama dotes on you almost as much as I do!’

2

‘BUT HESTER, IT
were always understood, see? I’m not sayin’ you don’t have a point – you do, with the baby an’ all – but it’s … it’s
expected
, like. I’ll keep an eye on Helen, just for an hour or two, if you go up there this evening.’

Hester, up to her elbows in dough, tightened her lips and shook her head. She pummelled the dough as though it were a personal enemy while sweat ran down the sides of her face and anger and obstinacy blazed in her cheeks and brightened her eyes.

‘It wasn’t understood by
me
, Matthew, can’t you see that? I know I’m your wife, but even so, that doesn’t mean the old man should be able to take it for granted that I’ll work for him, too.’

Matthew sighed. He stood there in his worn corduroys and sweatstained shirt, running brown, calloused fingers through his thick black hair, looking miserable and helpless.

‘It won’t be hard work,’ he muttered. ‘Just some cleaning an’ that. Come on, Hes, say you’ll do it. That’s rare awkward for me, else. Besides, we could do wi’ the extra money. He’ll pay you, of course.’

Hester made the dough into a big, smooth ball and then divided it into smaller pieces. She had her loaf-tins greased and ready so she put a piece of dough into each tin and then set them down by the oven to prove. Outside, the June sun blazed down on the parched countryside, for it had been hot for a couple of weeks, and Helen slumbered in the broken-down old pram which Matthew had found in the cart-shed weeks before. Hester knew without looking that the child would be lying on her back, one arm above
her head, her small thumb wedged into her mouth.

‘I don’t want …’ a sense of fair play cut the words short. Matthew worked all the hours God sent and still they had a struggle to manage the extras which the baby needed; one day she would need much more, and unless her mother worked how would they pay their way then? But she hadn’t considered working up at the castle; she had always assumed she’d find work either in the village or the town, had even dreamed, vaguely, of getting a job in Rhyl when the little one went to school.

‘I know you work hard now,’ Matthew said, looking down at his feet. ‘You do your best, love, but I mean it’s not as if you’d got a couple o’ kids, or another job …’

Honesty forced Hester to answer. ‘I don’t work hard, not really,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I do my best, but I do have time to spare. You do so much for me, Matthew.’

He grinned, suddenly. He was very attractive when he grinned, showing off his white teeth and the amusement crease in one cheek.

‘Well, I can’t go up to the castle and scrub floors for you, or peel spuds or whatever. I would if I could, but it ‘ud give rise to talk.’

Hester laughed, as he meant her to, but that didn’t mean she intended to give in.

‘Look, suppose I get myself a job, down in the village, perhaps. Would that mean I wouldn’t have to go up to the castle?’

His smile faded; he looked miserable again. Boring, too, Hester thought nastily, carrying her cooking things over to the sink and slamming them in with such force that she was lucky not to chip the stoneware. Why couldn’t he always look handsome and amusing, like he had that day in Rhyl? But that had been before he fell in love. Once that happened, he’d gone soft on her. He was so eager to please her that he let her ride roughshod over him, and though she did her best not to be selfish she knew she
often despised him, even for his kindness and generosity.

‘Hester? I don’t want to throw my weight about, but you aren’t leavin’ me much choice.’

She bristled up at once, turning sharply to scowl at him. She might tell herself she liked him to be masterful, but she wanted her own way more.

‘What does that mean? Do you intend to order me to go up to the castle?’

He loved her and was by nature easy-going, but she could see his complacency cracking at the seams. He crossed the room in a couple of strides and caught hold of her shoulders and there was nothing lover-like in his touch. Uneasily, Hester wondered if she had gone too far; she realised suddenly that she didn’t really know Matthew at all – suppose he became violent, hit her? He had shown no signs of such behaviour over the past months of their marriage, but then she had never defied him before. They had rubbed along, she realised now, without so much as a harsh word.

‘Hester, are you goin’ to do as I say?’

He actually shook her and Hester, unprepared, bit her tongue. It hurt and she gave a little whimper, then tried to struggle free. Matthew didn’t seem aware that she had so much as moved, he was still scowling down at her, his eyes narrowed, his big hands clamped on her shoulders as though he would continue to hold her there, if necessary, for all eternity.

‘Well?’

‘I don’t want to work up at the castle,’ Hester said sulkily. ‘But I suppose, if you’re so set on it …’

He released her at once, the smile back in his eyes.

‘That’s good. I’ll tell the old man you’ll go up this evening, and whatever they want it’ll have to be arranged around the baby. He won’t mind, so long as the work gets done. You could do a bit this evening, come to think. I’ll give an eye to Helen.’

‘Who’ll tell me what to do?’ Hester said, still crossly, returning to the sink. It occurred to her, belatedly, that it would be quite fun to work up at the castle really. She would be a part of things instead of always on the outside. Why had she not thought of that before? To be accepted, a part of a community, had always been a dream. Orphans, even clever ones, are always outsiders. And besides, she was very curious about the castle and its occupants, had been curious ever since she had come back here with Matthew over five months ago. But having tried to get out of it she could scarcely just capitulate now, admit it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

‘Who’ll give me my orders?’ she repeated, wiping round her mixing bowl and heaving it out on to the draining board. ‘A man won’t understand about cleaning and cooking.’

‘A man? No, you’re right there, the old feller wouldn’t know how to start, you probably won’t even see him. Mrs Cledwen will tell you.’

Hester, humping the big black kettle over from the top of the range, tipped it laboriously up so that the contents splashed, boiling hot, all over her cooking things and then turned an enquiring face up to her husband’s.

‘Mrs Cledwen? Who’s she?’

‘She lives up at the castle, sees to things,’ Matthew said after a moment’s thought. ‘Been with him a year or two, now. She’ll tell you what needs doing.’

‘All right, I’ll go up this evening, then,’ Hester said, still sounding a little sulky but unable to keep the interest entirely out of her voice. ‘Why didn’t you mention Mrs Cledwen before?’

‘You never asked and I never thought,’ Matthew said equably. He picked up a tea-towel and began to dry up as Hester washed. ‘You must have knowed someone had to do the housework, didn’t you? We’ve talked about Willi and Dewi because you see ’em going past … Haven’t
you ever seen Mrs Cledwen? Mind, she probably does out t’other gates; nearer town, see? Now you go there right after we’ve had our tea and when you come back I’ll have a surprise for you, perhaps.’

Matthew rarely talked at such length, which might mean that the surprise was a nice one. But surprises, in Hester’s experience, were a two-edged sword. Her life before Matthew had not been exactly crammed with pleasant surprises and the unpleasant ones, well, she had no wish to repeat a single one of them.

‘What sort of surprise?’ she said, therefore, immediately suspicious.

He shrugged, putting a dried plate carefully on the table. ‘Wait an’ see, eh?’

Tea was rather a quiet meal. Homebaked bread, cheese, the pickled onions which Hester had bought from the village shop. Then a piece of apple pie each with thin custard poured over it. And tea in the big brown pot, of course. And all the while they ate Hester wondered about the castle; she had quite made up her mind that she would never get to go up there, and this had disappointed her in a way, because of a perfectly natural curiosity, but somehow she had never seen herself working there. Scrubbing floors, peeling spuds – she had quite enough of that at home, thank you, she could well manage without any more.

But Matthew said she would be paid, which would help. And there was this woman, Mrs Cledwen … she had wished often enough that there was another woman near, someone with whom she could discuss the difficulties which arose from time to time. Why had Matthew never mentioned her? Was she an unpleasant sort of woman? With a name like that she might speak nothing but Welsh, and she would be old, that went without saying, and probably cross, and if she was Mrs Cledwen where was
Mr Cledwen? Matthew had never mentioned him either. But there was no point in cross-questioning Matthew; she would find out for herself soon enough.

‘I’ll have to feed Helen before I go,’ Hester said, when the food was finished. ‘I’ll take her through.’

Helen could smile now, and frequently did. Lying in her pram, she smiled at the dance of the bright new leaves on the branches above her head; lying in her mother’s arms, she smiled at the familiar face so near her own. Hester, walking across the kitchen, felt her own smile start; she did love her pretty little daughter. Happiness was holding Helen, kissing the baby’s petal-soft cheek, playing with her until that big, innocent, take-it-all smile broke out on the small trusting face.

She and Helen still slept in the small room and she fed Helen there when Matthew was home. She opened the back door and bent over the big old-fashioned perambulator. Helen was just waking, two fists waving idly as she stared sleepily up at the blue sky above her. Hester picked the baby up and turned back indoors. Matthew was at the sink, clattering dishes. He was good, she acknowledged that; he usually cleared away the tea things while she fed the baby. She went to go past him but he shot out a large, capable hand and caught her arm.

‘Hes? Why not feed the little’un in here? Then we can talk.’

Hester wavered, then hardened her heart. Look what had happened over her working up at the castle; the moment she gave Matthew an inch he would undoubtedly take a mile, and for some reason which she had never tried to analyse she dreaded the resumption of ‘all that mauling’, which had stopped with the baby’s birth.

‘All the baby things are in the little room,’ she said now. She shook his hand off and continued across the kitchen. ‘It’s easier to do her in there. I shan’t be long.’