Off the Rails (6 page)

‘It ain’t fair,’ the little one wept. ‘Why did she have to go away, Sarah? They could have kept her. It ain’t fair.’

‘Try not to cry, Emma,’ the older one said. ‘You’ll make your eyes red.’

‘I don’t care,’ the little one said and howled again. ‘I won’t eat here. It ain’t fair!’

Then the one called Sarah became aware that they had company and gave her sister’s arm a shake. ‘Hush, Emma,’ she said, in a commanding voice. ‘Sit up.’ And the child sat up and stopped crying.

Jane didn’t know what to say. She’d never had to cope with any grieving children before and especially two who had just lost their mother. The little girls stood and looked at her for what seemed an uncomfortably long time.

Then the older one spoke. ‘There’s nobody here,’ she said. ‘They’re all at the funeral.’ She was quite calm now and spoke sensibly.

Of course, Jane thought. That’s why the house is so quiet. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

‘Why should you be sorry?’ the child asked. ‘It ain’t your fault. You didn’t tell them to go.’

‘No,’ Jane said, thinking what an odd conversation this was to be having with a child.

‘They sent her away,’ the little one told her in an aggrieved voice. ‘I don’t think that’s fair. We didn’t ask them to.’ Her lip was trembling as if she was going to cry again.

‘No. I’m sure you didn’t,’ Jane said.

‘They don’t ask us when they send people away,’ the older girl told her. ‘You know that, Emma.’

‘Yes,’ Emma said sadly. Then she leant forward towards Jane. ‘It was because she married that horrid man,’ she confided. ‘I didn’t like him.’

She’s not talking about her father, surely to goodness? Jane thought.

‘He frightened the horses,’ Emma went on, ‘didn’t he, Sarah?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah confirmed. ‘It was because he was so ugly. Papa said so.’

Jane was completely lost now. If they weren’t talking about their father and mother, then who was the lady who’d been sent away? ‘Would you like to come and see your baby brother?’ she offered. At least she’d be on safe ground there.

‘Not particularly,’ Sarah said. ‘Babies ain’t very interesting. I’ve seen one. They don’t talk or anything. They just lie there. I’d rather have a dog.’

Milly had been following the conversation, turning her head from speaker to speaker and smiling at them all. Now she caught at the last word and joined in. ‘Dogga-dogga-dogga,’ she said.

‘Heavens!’ Sarah said. ‘Is she talking to me?’

‘She talks to everybody,’ Jane explained. ‘It’s her new trick.’

‘Um-mum-mum,’ Milly said, clapping her hands.

‘Heavens!’ Sarah said again.

It’s about time I started looking after them, Jane thought. ‘Are you on your own in here?’ she asked.

‘Polly’s gone to get our breakfast,’ Sarah told her. ‘She’ll bring it up in a minute. Emma won’t eat it. She wants to go to the breakfast room.’

‘I always go to the breakfast room,’ Emma said stubbornly.

‘No you don’t,’ Sarah said. ‘Not now.’

‘I do too. Miss Timmons takes me.’

‘Who’s Miss Timmons?’ Jane asked her.

‘She takes me.’

‘We told you,’ Sarah said. ‘They sent her away.’

Light shone. ‘She was your nurse.’

The door was opening. Someone was pushing a trolley into the room. Polly had arrived with the breakfast. But before she could say anything, Emma threw herself face downwards on the carpet and began to howl again. ‘I won’t!’ she cried. ‘It’s not fair. I won’t. Oh! Oh! Oh! It’s not fair. I don’t want you! I want Miss Timmons. It’s not fair.’

Polly’s face grew more anguished with every shriek. Milly was intensely interested. Sarah tried to pat her sister’s arm and was flung violently aside.

I can’t let this go on, Jane thought, she’ll wake the baby. ‘How would it be if we all had our breakfast together in the nursery?’ she said. ‘We could
set the table in there, couldn’t we, Polly, and I could tell you stories while you ate.’

‘Yes,’ Sarah said firmly. ‘That is a very good idea. Get up, Emma. We’re going to have breakfast in the nursery.’

So the table was set and chairs were carried in for the sisters and a pretty little highchair was found for Milly and they all sat round the table in the sunshine and breakfasted together and Jane told them all the story of Goldilocks and the three bears, which Emma pretended she wasn’t the least bit interested in – but enjoyed very much, especially when Milly echoed ‘Bear, bear, bear’ and clapped her hands.

From then on they breakfasted together every day and Jane told them every fairy story she could remember, and after that they spent their time gossiping. She found out more about her fellow servants from her two outspoken guests than she would ever have done simply from her own observation – that Mrs Denman was firm but fair, that the house steward was called Mr Glendenning, that their governess was horrid, ‘the sooner they get rid of her, the better,’ that grooms were always larking about and gardeners touched their forelocks. ‘That’s how you know they’re gardeners.’

Now and then, they mentioned their parents but they seemed to know far less about them than they did about the servants. They said they rode to hounds and had lots of parties, that their mother had had a good seat and had worn beautiful dresses and their father went to parliament and rode a white stallion, but that was all. They showed no sadness at their mother’s death, which Jane found most peculiar. But they were entertaining company and Milly loved them, clapping her hands and shouting ‘Umma, dumma dumma dumma’ when they appeared.

Towards the end of August, when Felix was three months old, had learnt to smile and chuckle and to recognize that Jane’s arrival by his crib meant food and cuddles, she had a sudden visit from her employer, the great Sir Mortimer himself. He arrived like royalty, with Mr Glendenning attendant at a discreet distance from his elbow and Mrs Denman three paces behind him. Jane was so overawed by the sight of him that she dropped an
instinctive
curtsey.

He was the tallest man she’d ever seen and handsome in a foreign sort of way, with the same thick fair hair as his daughters, dark, shrewd eyes, a long nose, a protruding chin and a decidedly haughty manner, polite but distant, as if he were looking at her from a long way away. He wore the most beautiful clothes, his coat and waistcoat all-over embroidery, and his boots were a wonder to behold. But it was his voice that made her aware
of what a great man he was, for the English he spoke was nothing like the Yorkshire accent she heard all around her and spoke herself. It was quiet, firm, and very definitely superior. She noticed that he seemed to drawl, that he dropped the Gs on the end of his words as if he was swallowing them, that he used words she’d never heard before.

‘I trust you are settlin’,’ he said, ‘Mrs …’ And he looked at Mr Glendenning to supply him with her name.

‘Smith.’

She curtseyed and thanked him kindly at which he inclined his head towards her. Then he walked over to the cradle and looked at the baby.

‘He is a deal less pale than he was the last time I saw him, Mrs Denman,’ he observed. ‘Looks strong enough. Feedin’ well, is he?’

As the question seemed to be addressed to her, Jane answered it. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘No sickness or incapacity of any kind, I trust?’

‘No, sir.’

The great man walked to the window and gazed out at his estate. ‘You have been carin’ for my daughters too, I believe,’ he said, without turning his head.

The question was courteous and seemed kindly but she was suddenly afraid he was going to tell her she shouldn’t do it. ‘Yes, sir. I hope that was in order, sir.’

‘They speak of you warmly,’ he told her, still looking out of the window. ‘Uncommon warmly for gels so young.’ Then he turned away from the view and began his stately walk towards the door, signalling to his two
attendants
that they should make way for him, which they did. But as he passed the rocking horse he suddenly stopped. ‘What’s this?’

Milly was standing very still beside the horse, holding on to its mane and sucking her thumb.

‘If you please, sir,’ Jane confessed. ’She’s my little girl, sir.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes, yes. Of course. Is she healthy?’

‘Oh yes, sir.’

‘Um,’ the great man said and turned to Mrs Denman, ‘should there be any sickness in her whatsoever,’ he instructed, ‘you will remove her from the nursery forthwith. I trust that is understood.’

‘Of course, sir.’

The progress towards the door continued. It was opened for him. He paused. He looked back at Jane. ‘Pray tell Mrs Denman should there be anythin’ that you require for any of the children,’ he said. ‘She will attend to it, will you not, Mrs Denman? This is all quite satisfactory, Mr Glendenning. I leave my family in your capable hands, Mrs Smith.’ Then he
nodded at Jane as if he were giving her permission to continue.

She curtseyed without speaking. It seemed the proper thing to do. Then he was gone.

‘Well, well, well,’ she said to Milly when the door had closed behind him. ‘What do ’ee think of that, Pumpkin?’

Milly gave her rapturous smile. ‘Pum, pum, pum,’ she said.  

‘F
AMILIES ARE THE
very devil,’ George Hudson said to Mrs Norridge as they sat over their dinner one cold Friday afternoon in late October. ‘They throw you out soon as look at you. They’re forever standing in your way. They choose the wrong man to be a partner when the best one’s staring ’em in their damned stupid faces. Blamed fools the lot of ’em. Don’t talk to me about families.’ He was more than a little drunk and hideously annoyed.

‘Never thought much to ’em mesself,’ Mrs Norridge confided, filling her tankard from the beer jug. ‘Not if my ol’ man was anything to go by. All sweetness an’ light an’ heart a’ my heart an’ give us a kiss when he was sober. But when he was tight, you should ha’ heard him. Hollerin’ an’ roarin’.’

‘What does that fool know about running a shop?’ George said. ‘I could run it wi’ one hand tied behind my back.’ His speech was slurred but what did he care? ‘One hand tied behind my back. And what do I get? We’re keeping it in t’family. In t’family! I ask you. That won’t get ’em any trade.’

‘Gives you a headache summat chronic does hollerin’,’ Mrs Norridge complained. ‘No good tellin’ ’im. Cos why? Cos ’e never listened to a word I said. Not one blamed word.’

‘They needn’t think they’re going to keep me down,’ George said. ‘I’ll be their equal one of these days, if it takes forever.’ And he slid slowly off his chair. ‘I’ll show ’em,’ he said to the table leg. Then he fell asleep.

Mrs Norridge left him where he was. She was used to drunks and he was much too solid to be hauled into another position. ‘I’ll jest finish off that beer,’ she said to his boots. ‘Be a shame to let it go to waste.’

Although he regretted his drunkenness, because he had such a thick head the following morning, George was not going to be put down. Mrs Bell was a fool to have given her stupid brother a partnership, but a fool can be outwitted and, once his head was cleared, he knew how he was going to do it. If she’d made up her mind that she’d only take a partner if he were a member of the family, he would have to become a member of the family. And the obvious way to do that was to marry Lizzie. She was the most unattractive woman he’d ever seen and almost as stupid as her sister but she was the means by which he could get what he wanted. And of course, her stupidity could be used to his advantage. He would start courting her that very afternoon, as soon as he got back from visiting the local tailors to see the new pattern books.

It was growing dark by the time he turned into Goodramgate and his intended had lit candles in the shop and was outside in the half light closing the shutters. Time for a little chivalry.

‘Let me do that for ’ee,’ he said, stepping forward and putting his hand on the nearest shutter.

She didn’t seem to understand that he was offering her a favour. ‘I allus does the shutters,’ she said. ‘’Tis no hardship.’

It was offputting to be rebuffed and for a few seconds while she finished her task he stood where he was, wondering what to offer next. ‘I’ll sweep the shop then, shall I?’

‘All done,’ she said, walking through the door. ‘There’s only the accounts.’

But there was nothing special about the accounts. Nobody could see them as a love offering. He did them all the time.

She had the candlestick in her hand. ‘I’ll give ’ee good night then,’ she said, and stomped towards the stairs.

Damned stupid woman, he thought. Why can’t she pay attention? Well, I shall just have to think of something else, that’s all. Sweetmeats or summat.

Over the next few days he tried a seed cake – but she said she didn’t like caraway seeds and gave it to Richard – a marzipan frog – she didn’t like that either and gave it to Becky – even a liquorice stick – which she left under the counter until it went hard. It was all a waste of time. She simply didn’t see that he was trying to court her. Any other woman would have taken his gifts and encouraged him. But then any other woman would have jumped at him. He was a good catch, God damn it. Handsome – no one could deny that – clever, well dressed, quick-witted, and he knew how to make money, which was more than could be said for her fool of a brother. If he could just get his feet on the ladder with a partnership, he’d end up a very rich man. Any other woman would be glad to get him.

He was in a fury of impatience and frustration and spent several evenings making brutal use of the local ladies of the night. But nothing he said, thought or did made any difference to the courtship he couldn’t begin.

When Christmas came, he hung a sprig of mistletoe in the shop – which she ignored. On Christmas Day they all dined together upstairs in Mrs Bell’s dining room and Mrs Norridge roasted a goose with a plum pudding to follow and the pudding gave him another opportunity because he was the one who found the lucky charm. He made a great to-do over it, explaining to them all that he only had one thing in his life he really wanted and making eyes at Lizzie all the time he was holding it in his fist and wishing.

‘’Twill be for money, sure as fate,’ Richard said.

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he told his rival happily. ‘It’s nowt to do wi’ money. There’s more to life than brass.’

‘Is there any more cream?’ Lizzie said.

In January the snows began and went on for weeks. Their customers stayed indoors by the fire telling one another it was no weather to be thinking of new clothes, nor anything else for that matter. Mrs Bell and her brother and sister all had heavy colds and were red-nosed and miserable. Even George succumbed to the sniffles for a day or two. There was nothing to be done but to get on with his work, feed his dreams and pray for spring.

Jane Jerdon was praying for the spring too; in her case with an ever-present anxiety that kept her wakeful by night and watchful by day. It had been a bad winter, for fever had come to Foster Manor with the chilling weather and the governess had been struck down with the shaking sickness even before the snows began to fall. Sir Mortimer had dismissed her and sent her home as soon as he heard of it, naturally, but now they were all living in fear in case any of the children had taken it. Infections hopped from child to child as quickly and silently as fleas, as they knew only too well, and what could any of them possibly do to prevent it? This was the moment Jane had been dreading ever since Sir Mortimer had given his stern
instructions
to Mrs Denman. His voice had been echoing in her head ever since. ‘
Should there be any sickness in her whatsoever, you will remove her from the nursery forthwith
.’ My poor Milly Millstone, she thought, as she brushed the child’s pretty hair. How would she make out if they took her away from me? She’s only three and a half, poor little mite. No age to be taken from her ma. And no age to take the shaking sickness either.

But in the event it wasn’t Milly who caught the fever. It was Felix. Sir Mortimer was distraught with worry, sending for one physician after another, keeping fires lit in the nursery day and night, so that everyone in
the room, Felix included, was uncomfortably overheated, ordering
medicinal
syrups to be made, which the poor child couldn’t swallow and which Jane threw in the chamber pot as soon as she could, and visiting the nursery two or three times a day to check on his progress and to complain that not enough was being done. Luckily, after ten days of incessant fussing, he had letters from Westminster requesting his presence there ‘
at your earliest convenience
’ and so he had to leave, explaining to Mr Glendenning that it would only be for a day or two and that he would be home again as soon as it was possible.

Jane was heartily glad to see the back of him. Now she could nurse the poor infant in her own way, by following her instincts, giving him sips of water and letting him suck whenever he wanted to, keeping him warm but not too hot, sponging his poor little sweating head and keeping his poor, sore bottom clean and dry. It took her a long time and so many sleepless nights she lost count of them, but gradually and very, very gently, she eased the little boy back to health. By the time his father was being driven home for Easter and the daffodils were shaking their trumpets in the gardens, he was crawling about the nursery again and even riding the rocking horse – with Milly sitting up behind him to hold him steady – pale and skinny but happily alive.

Sir Mortimer declared himself well pleased and explained to Mr Glendenning that this was proof, if any were needed, that the most
efficacious
way to ensure a good outcome to a child’s illness was to insist that the physicians did as they were told. Then, having satisfied himself that the family line was secure, he ate a large supper and took himself off to bed, where he slept soundly until mid morning. But Jane was awake all night.

She lay on her back in her comfortable bed, watching the full white moon as it rose serenely and carelessly from pane to pane in her window and listened to the soft soughing of her babies’ breathing and worried her way through the night. While she’d been nursing Felix she’d had no time to think of anything except how to cure him; now she was wondering what would become of her and Milly when her services as a wet nurse were no longer required. She’d seen how ruthlessly Sir Mortimer had got rid of that poor governess, for all his gentlemanly ways. She would be feeding Felix for another year at least, possibly more, but after that there would be no job for her. If the worst came to the worst, she could probably go back to Aunt Tot and work in the scullery but she’d had a taste of a richer life now and wanted something a bit better than that – and besides it would take her too far from her mother and she’d grown used to seeing her regularly. I think I could make a good housekeeper if I set my mind to it, she thought. Happen Mrs Denman would teach me, if I asked her politely. I could learn a lot by
just watching how she goes on. I’ve a year’s grace and I could learn a lot in a year. I’ll start today, she thought, as the dawn chorus began. The great thing is to be ready and prepared to take anything that offers.

George was taking delivery of a new batch of ribbons ready for the spring trade and was examining them carefully for flaws.

‘They’re pretty,’ Lizzie observed, as she passed his counter. ‘That yellow’s like daffodils.’

The comment was so unexpected it sent his thoughts spinning. He’d never heard her say anything about the stock, not once in all the time he’d been there. Happen the spring’s getting to her, he thought. Is this the chance I been waiting for all this time? A ribbon?

‘Come and have a look,’ he said, holding up a handful of assorted colours. ‘There’s nowt to do in t’shop.’ Which was true enough for it was early morning and the customers hadn’t started arriving.

She stood beside him at the counter and took the ribbons rather daringly into her hand. ‘We’re not supposed to handle the goods,’ she said.

‘I won’t tell her,’ he said, giving her the full beam of his smile. ‘Which do ’ee think is the prettiest?’

She considered them, taking it very seriously. ‘The green,’ she said.

‘’Tis yours,’ he said and cut off a length with a flourish. ‘Your first sale of the morning.’ And he took the coins from his waistcoat pocket and laid them on the counter. ‘An excellent choice, madam, if I may be permitted to say so. Exactly the colour of your pretty eyes.’

She blushed. Progress at last. ‘My eyes aren’t pretty,’ she said, gathering up the coins.

‘They are,’ he told her earnestly, putting his right hand over hers, coins and all. ‘You should have a new gown all in green to match ’em.’

‘That wouldn’t look right at all,’ she said.

‘’Twould look gradely,’ he assured her, still wearing his earnest
expression
, ‘and so would you.’

Her blush deepened into a really ugly red. She pulled her hand away. ‘Where would I wear it?’

‘At t’theatre for a start. ’Twould be just the thing.’

‘I don’t go to t’theatre,’ she protested.

‘You could though. You could come with me.’

She was so surprised her mouth fell open. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘What would Becky think?’

‘Don’t tell her.’

She was shocked. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘Why not?’ he said, teasing her. ‘What the eye don’t see the heart can’t
grieve over. Anyroad, why shouldn’t ’ee see a play once in a while? There’s nowt like it. An evening out wi’ your young man.’

‘You’re not my young man.’

Why did she have to make everything so difficult? ‘But I could be.’

‘You’re an apprentice.’

‘I shan’t always be,’ he told her. ‘Give me another two years and I shall run my own company. I’m going to be a rich man.’

Her eyes widened but she didn’t argue.

‘Tell ’ee what,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the fashion books down for you and you can chose the style and the cloth and I’ll get it made up for you. You’ll feel quite different about the theatre if you’ve got the clothes for it.’

It took her two weeks to decide that she would actually quite like a new dress and another two to persuade her sister to let her have it and to choose the pattern for it. By the time it was made and ready for her to wear, the summer had come, the city gardens were full of roses and songbirds and the walls of the Minster were creamy with sunlight. It was the perfect time for courting.

But it was all wasted on Elizabeth Nicholson. The first time he took her to the theatre she fell asleep in the middle of the second act and although she told him it had been ‘reet gradely’ she hadn’t seen more than a third of it. The second time she was certainly snoring before the interval. So he stopped wasting his money on tickets, abandoned theatre-going as a bad job and started to take her out for long walks in the country, usually on Wednesday afternoons when Richard was in charge of the shop. At least she couldn’t fall asleep if she was walking about. But being alone with him made her
speechless
and although it was pleasant enough to tell her of his ambitions and brag a little, it didn’t give him the chance to edge towards any sort of proposal.

It wasn’t until October, when they were walking along High Ousegate towards the river, that he finally got his opportunity. They were passing the Church of All Saints when a wedding party came chattering and giggling out of the door, the bride very grand in a blue silk gown and an elaborately feathered hat, and all the men in top hats and carrying canes. To his great satisfaction, Lizzie paused in her walk to watch and admire.