Together for Christmas (4 page)

‘Because if it wasn’t for me, this place would be brought to its knees,’ Hilda argued. ‘Aggie’s about as much use as a lamp without a wick.’

‘She does what she can,’ said Mrs Bell patiently. ‘She’s a trier.’

‘Blimey, is that what you call her?’ Hilda answered rudely. ‘Aggie certainly tries it on, that much I agree with.’

‘Don’t you let her ladyship hear you speaking in such a fashion.’ Mrs Bell’s voice was sharp. ‘She’s fond of Aggie, as I am. Aggie has a big family to care
for and a husband not always in work.’

‘I was very sorry to hear the news of the
Lusitania
sinking,’ Flora said, quickly changing the subject. ‘And that Lady Hailing’s acquaintance was on
board.’

Mrs Bell glanced at Hilda, who kept her eyes down. ‘Yes, it’s a tragedy,’ agreed Mrs Bell as she poured the tea.

‘Though we don’t know the outcome yet. The chauffeur who told me came last night to collect her ladyship’s things. We won’t be graced with a visit for a while. Lady
Hailing will be in mourning, I should think, for her friend on that ill-fated ship.’

‘Wouldn’t catch me on a boat, anyway,’ sniffed Hilda. ‘Can’t swim.’

Mrs Bell ignored this and turned to Flora. ‘Remember the HMS
Titanic
? The unsinkable liner that went down after hitting an iceberg several years past? So many good folk perished
in the icy seas. Gentry and servants alike.’

‘Leaving their big country houses without servants,’ Hilda said slyly.

Mrs Bell waved a wooden spoon in Hilda’s direction. ‘Oh, so we’re back to that kind of talk, are we? Well, hints and threats are water off a duck’s back to me,
Hilda.’

‘You’d put me in chains if you could,’ Hilda mumbled under her breath.

‘What nonsense!’ Mrs Bell exclaimed. ‘It’s your own character that’s against you, Hilda. Believing you’re too high and mighty for your position here. And
letting your feelings show on your face. You had pretty, innocent looks when you first came to us. And now in their place, all I can see is grasping and wanting.’

At this, Hilda tore off her apron and cap and threw them on the kitchen table. With a toss of her brown curls, she stalked out of the kitchen.

‘Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!’ Mrs Bell sank down on a chair. Taking a hanky from her pocket she wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Her ladyship has told Hilda she can leave.’

‘What? When?’ Flora sat up.

‘I suppose Hilda’s hints were listened to.’

‘Hilda didn’t tell me.’

Mrs Bell looked at Flora with a soft smile. ‘Nor me, dear. I suppose she thought we’d try to talk her out of it.’

Flora felt very sad. Only this morning, Hilda had promised not leave Hailing House. ‘Where is it that Hilda wants to go?’ Flora asked with a heavy heart.

Mrs Bell drew her hands together and pleated her plump fingers. ‘To the estate of Lord William Calvey, the fourth Earl of Talbott, in Surrey. The earl fought in the Boer Wars and was an
acclaimed hero. But sadly, his first wife, Lady Amelia, died in childbirth. The infant grew up without a mother’s love, and was governed by his aunt, Lord William’s younger sister, Lady
Bertha. He’s said to be – well, no other words for it, a devilish rake and as unlike his heroic father as a son could be!’

‘But why would Lady Hailing let Hilda go there?’

Mrs Bell sat back with a long sigh. ‘Hilda is to go on loan. Supposedly, only till the men come home from war to take up their jobs again. The Calveys’ housekeeper, Mrs Burns, is
understaffed, you see. All the big houses in England are having to help each other out.’ Mrs Bell shook her head worriedly. ‘Still, Hilda could have refused. But when consulted on the
matter, she agreed without hesitation, the silly wench. All smiles and pretty nods, she was, and yet playing a tight-lipped game with me ever since. As though she don’t trust me. That’s
what pains me the most.’

‘Hilda don’t mean it, Mrs Bell.’

Mrs Bell nodded. ‘I’ve said enough. I shouldn’t have spoken me mind. But I’ve experience behind me that the girl doesn’t have. I’ve worked for Lady Hailing
since I left school at twelve, was a between-stairs maid at the Hailings’ country seat, working seventeen hours a day, seven days a week. I scrubbed till me fingers bled so I know the hard
work the lowers have to contend with. I ended up carting and carrying for the whole household. But I worked me way up, till they made me the cook. It was only five years ago, when my legs started
to trouble me, that Lady Hailing suggested I move here. In all that time, Flora, I saw many a young woman fall victim to vanity. A gentleman might praise her, tell her she was pretty as a picture,
and before you knew it, the maidservant got herself into trouble. She’d be dismissed by the housekeeper and sent away without the lady of the house even knowing it. Of course, the girls would
always say it was through no fault of their own, and sometimes it wasn’t. They were the poor wenches I felt sorry for.’

‘But why do you think this might happen to Hilda?’ asked Flora.

A little quiver spun around the cook’s lips. ‘Hilda’s very impressionable.’

‘But Mrs Bell, this is 1915!’

‘I can see you don’t believe me.’ The cook’s back straightened. ‘But why put temptation in Hilda’s way? Who will be there to keep an eye on her?’

‘You have been very good to her,’ Flora agreed, ‘but even Hilda has to grow up.’

‘Yes, perhaps I’m just a silly old woman, fearing the worst.’ The cook nodded slowly. ‘Go and tell Hilda I shan’t breathe a word more on the subject. For better or
worse, the die is cast.’

After finishing her tea, Flora made her way up the back stairs of the servants’ quarters. Pausing at one of the high windows, she gazed out through its dirty panes. Before her was spread
the Isle of Dogs. The island, a horseshoe of land that jutted out into the River Thames, was the very heart of the East End. The blue sky above it was cloudless. A few tugs and small boats bobbed
on the river’s calm surface. The dome of Greenwich Observatory sparkled in the sunshine. Her gaze drifted downriver to the Pool of London; she sighed with pleasure. She and Hilda were living
in one of the most famous ports in the entire world!

But as Flora continued along the passage, she began to feel troubled. What would Mrs Bell do without Hilda for company? The house only came to life when Lady Hailing made her visits. But was it
fair to try to persuade a girl of sixteen to stay in this rambling old house, with no younger staff?

As Flora reached the last flight of stairs, a cobweb touched her face. She had never noticed before how dark it was up here, or how musty the air smelled. The carpet on the landing had worn away
to shreds. The banister wobbled as she grasped it.

Flora knocked on Hilda’s door and was not really surprised when it flew open and Hilda fell into her arms, sobbing.

Flora sat beside Hilda on the rickety bed. The room was very cold. The two windows which overlooked the winding roads of the island were grey with soot and grime. A pair of
faded curtains hung limply at their paint-peeling frames. Suddenly Flora saw Hilda’s quarters in a very different light.

‘You’re about to scold me for being rude, aren’t you?’ Hilda said resentfully.

‘Mrs Bell has been a good friend.’

Hilda blinked tearfully. ‘I’ll bet she gave you an earful. About what terrors are certain to befall a wayward girl like me.’ She picked at the frayed seams of the faded floral
bedcover, then wiped her red eyes with a hanky. ‘I know I promised you I wouldn’t leave, but how I wish I could!’

‘Then you must go, Hilda.’

‘What?’ Hilda’s tears dried immediately. ‘You’d let me go?’

‘It’s not up to me to keep you.’

‘I won’t regret leaving here, Flora, I won’t. It’s not as if I’m leaving on the sly, or even giving me notice in. It was Lady Hailing herself who gave me the
offer.’

‘Yes, Mrs Bell told me.’

‘And you ain’t cross?’

‘I only want what’s best for you. And so does Mrs Bell. But you must follow your own path.’

‘Do you mean that?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Flora gazed around the room. A cold draught whistled up at her feet from the cracks in the floorboards. Even in May there was no warmth in the attic. The ceiling, like the passage, held trails
of cobwebs that clung to the crumbling plaster. Even the little study, once lit by a gas lamp, was cloaked in darkness. Had it always been so dingy, Flora wondered? Perhaps it was all for the best
that Hilda left.

‘Oh, Flora, Adelphi Hall is in Surrey, and it is beautiful,’ Hilda began, her eyes shining. ‘I looked the earl’s name up in a library book and found a picture. The house
is very big with white pillars at the front and dozens of sparkling windows above. Oh, what a dream it looks!’

‘Did the book tell you about the earl?’

‘No, only that he fought in the African wars.’

‘What about the rest of the family?’

Hilda nodded. ‘The mistress of the house is Lady Bertha Forsythe. If only I can become her maid!’

‘Hasn’t she got one already?’

‘She’s probably old and stuffy,’ Hilda said with a shrug. ‘It’s fair to say, don’t you think? I’m young and have an eye for fashion. Given the chance,
I’d be a real asset to Lady Bertha’s boudoir. All I have to do is make myself known to her.’

‘Do you think you have a chance?’

Hilda looked surprised. Tossing back her ringlets, she nodded. ‘I’ve read books and magazines. I know much more than you think.’

‘Will we still be friends?’ Flora asked quietly.

Hilda threw her arms around her. ‘Fancy asking that. You’ll visit me, of course, perhaps in spring when it’s warmer. The perfect time of year.’

‘Surrey is a long way away.’

‘Not as far as Scotland or Wales.’

Flora smiled. Hilda always had an answer.

‘Oh, Flora, I knew I could count on you.’

‘When will you go?’

Hilda shrugged. ‘I’m to have an interview first.’

‘I hope you’ll be happy.’

‘Do you mean that?’

Flora nodded. ‘Of course I do.’ She smiled. ‘But you’ll have to watch your Ps and Qs.’

‘And I won’t drop me haitches neither.’ Hilda started to laugh.

Suddenly, the room seemed brighter as they sat on the bed, laughing. Hilda, thought Flora, was happy at last.

It was Monday morning two weeks later when a letter arrived from Will. Flora recognized his large, looping handwriting and was about to open the envelope when a shadow passed
over the window. A man carrying a small child in his arms came down the airey’s steps. Flora pushed the envelope into her uniform pocket and opened the door.

‘Me name’s Riggs and this is me little girl, Polly. Please, nurse, help me. She’s ill.’

Flora looked at the child. She was lying with her head against her father’s chest. Her eyes were closed and it was clear that she was struggling to breathe. ‘Come along,’ she
said, quickly closing the door to the airey behind her.

Flora hurried up the basement steps to the surgery door and let them in with the key that she kept strung on her belt. The ground floor of Tap House smelled of carbolic and the sharp tang of
Friars’ Balsam.

Flora was surprised that the doctor had not yet come down from his rooms above. It was his habit to speak with his daily help, Mrs Carver, and make his way down to the surgery on the stroke of
eight.

Flora glanced at the longcase clock standing at the foot of the wide staircase. Its ornate hands showed that it was already ten minutes past the hour. After asking Mr Riggs to sit with Polly in
the waiting room, she hurried up the stairs. There was never much light reflected from the tall, heavily draped windows on the landing; Flora always found the air rather stuffy. The doctor’s
door was at the end of a long passage. On the wall hung portraits of Dr Tapper’s relatives. The painting that Flora liked best was of the doctor’s only child, Wilfred. He sat together
with his mother, Edith, whose hand rested on his shoulder. Had she lived to see Wilfred go into the military, Flora decided, she would have been very proud of her son.

Flora knocked softly on the doctor’s door. She expected to see Mrs Carver’s, thin, smiling face. But when the door opened, it was not Mrs Carver, but the doctor himself. With some
surprise, Flora saw that the doctor – who always wore a black frock-coat – was not yet fully dressed. He stood in just his stiff-collared shirt, waistcoat and trousers. His silver fob
watch had not yet been pinned in place. His lined face regarded her blankly, as if he was wondering why she was standing there.

‘Good morning, Dr Tapper. Is everything all right?’

‘Oh, Flora . . .’ He nodded, frowning slightly.

Flora waited for the sounds of Mrs Carver moving about. But she heard none.

‘Has Mrs Carver arrived yet?’ asked Flora.

‘Yes, but I’ve sent her home,’ Dr Tapper muttered without further explanation. ‘Have we patients downstairs?’

‘Yes, I’ve asked Mr Riggs to wait. His little girl looks very ill.’

‘I’ll come immediately.’

Flora knew the doctor tried very hard not to keep his patients waiting. She watched him reach for his jacket. Without further ado, he led the way downstairs.

‘I can’t rouse my Polly,’ Mr Riggs said, as they walked into the waiting room. ‘She won’t wake up.’

‘Follow me,’ Dr Tapper said calmly. ‘Bring her to my room.’

After the child had been laid on the examination couch, Flora watched Dr Tapper peel away the collar of her dirty, torn coat to reveal an even filthier garment beneath. Her skin was covered in
an unsightly rash. Dr Tapper lifted her eyelids, which showed nothing but two white orbs and closed quickly together again.

‘How long has she been like this?’ the doctor asked as he examined the swollen glands of her neck.

‘Dunno,’ replied the father. ‘I came home this morning and found her like it. I work nights, see, and with the missus gorn last year, I have to leave the kids to look after
’emselves. Polly here’s the eldest at eleven. She ain’t been her old self for a while.’

Flora saw that Polly had turned a ghastly bluish colour. The doctor took a wooden tube from his Gladstone bag, which he kept packed and ready for night-time emergencies, and put it to her chest.
He rested his ear on the other end, and his face looked grave. Quickly, he pulled a small brown bottle from the bag. Lifting Polly’s head, he placed the smelling salts under her nose.