Sinful Seduction (3 page)

Moll looked at her shrewdly and clapped her hands. ‘Emily, make a pot of fresh tea,' she ordered. ‘And fetch a couple of slices of that cold game pie from the larder, for me guests.'

Emily hurried to do as she was told - and if she had any thoughts about the pitiful state of Mrs Hardcastle's ‘guests', she was wise enough not to express them. Or at least not until she was safely out from under her eagle eye.

Ten minutes later they were comfortably sitting in front of the range, drinking steaming hot tea. Maggie spooned in more sugar, bit into her slice of game pie, wiped the juices from her chin and smiled blissfully. This was the life - a roaring fire and a full belly. She wiggled her toes inside the tight boots with the sheer pleasure of being warm and well fed, and then unexpectedly emitted a belch. She turned scarlet again and looked round furtively to see if it had been noted. It hadn't. Luckily everyone was too preoccupied to notice her lapse of manners. The kitchen maids were bustling about their tasks and ma and Mrs Hardcastle were making polite conversation.

The amenities over, her mother got down to brass tacks. ‘I'm looking for a favour, Moll,' she said bluntly.

Mrs Hardcastle looked apprehensive. ‘Depends what it is,' she said cagily. ‘But if I can help, I will.'

‘I need a place for our Maggie,' her mam went on. ‘Any chance of you taking her on?'

Maggie squirmed on her chair as Mrs Hardcastle looked her over with the air of someone offered a pig at market and discovering it was the runt of the litter.

‘I don't know,' she muttered doubtfully. ‘She's a scrawny little thing, ain't she. Don't look very healthy.'

‘Don't you believe it!' exclaimed her mother eagerly. ‘Strong as a horse that one, for all she's small. Never been sick a day in her life. And she's a grand little worker.'

Mrs Hardcastle plucked thoughtfully at her lower lip. ‘Well... I suppose Mrs McAlister could do with another tweenie.' She pointed to one of the girls who was rolling out pastry with a dreamy expression on her face. ‘Ellen there's going off to get married.' She snorted. ‘Silly young madam! Being some man's slave will soon wipe that smirk off her face. At least in here you get paid for working your arse off.' Mrs Hardcastle's title was strictly honorary, and she had every intention of keeping it that way.

‘Where was I?' she asked. ‘Ah yes. If I move young Mary up to kitchen maid, then your Maggie can take her place. Nine pound a year all in.' She sat back with the smug smile of one who has manage to do a good turn at absolutely no inconvenience to themselves. ‘How's that suit yer, love?'

‘God bless yer, Moll,' gasped Maggie's mother, sagging with relief. ‘How soon can she start?'

‘No time like the present,' beamed Moll, subjecting Maggie to another looking over. ‘Course, we'll ‘ave to clean her up a bit. Can't ‘ave her working here looking like that.' She clapped her hands again. ‘Mary! Leave them veg just now and go and get the bath out. Ellen, put some water on to boil.' She fumbled a key off the huge ring at her waist and handed it to Emily. ‘Go to the store cupboard and look out a couple of uniforms and aprons from the bottom shelf - one for work and one for best. Oh, and see if you can't find a pair of old boots somewhere till we can buy new. Them ones she's wearing ain't fit for nothing.' She sniffed in disapproval. ‘They can go in the fire along with them rags she's wearing.'

‘Oh no, please, you can't do that!' exclaimed her mother in dismay. ‘They ain't mine.' Her cheeks turned a dull red with shame. ‘I had to borrow them.'

Mrs Hardcastle's face softened with pity. Poor Kate. To be reduced to this. ‘Righto, love,' she said with forced cheerfulness. ‘You sit there while we get the young ‘un spruced up and we'll wrap her stuff up in a nice bit o' brown paper to take home with yer.' Her shrewd eyes noted Kate's trembling hands. ‘And how about a little drop o' something while you're waiting? To celebrate, like?'

Maggie's mother nodded in dumb gratitude.

 

Half an hour later Maggie found herself sitting in a galvanised iron tub in front of the range. Her initial shock at having to take off all her clothes and submerge herself had melted as the hot water seeped into every pore of her body. Her hair, turpentined, scrubbed and sluiced within an inch of its life was pinned up in a wild tangle on the top of her head. ‘We'll take the lice comb to that little lot, once you're out,' Mrs Hardcastle said grimly.

Wrapped in a warm towel, she sat on a high stool as Mrs Hardcastle set to with a vengeance. ‘Oww! Stoppit, that hurts!' she protested, pulling away.

‘None of your nonsense, miss,' snapped Mrs H, yanking her back. ‘It's got to be done. You ain't scratching like a monkey in my kitchen. T'ain't healthy.'

By the time she'd finished, Maggie felt as if her scalp was red raw - but her hair fell in a smooth cascade down her back, gleaming red-gold in the light from the range fire. Mrs H stepped back and admired her handiwork. ‘Lovely,' she decided. ‘Who'd ‘ave thought it?' She smiled at Maggie's mother. ‘Wouldn't surprise me one bit if she's a beauty once she's put a little weight on. Just like ‘er mum.'

Maggie's mouth fell open in surprise. Mum, a beauty? Well, there was a turn up for the books. Then she sighed; living with Bert would wipe out any woman's looks pretty sharpish. You couldn't exactly be ‘a beauty' with your teeth knocked out and your face a mass of bruises. And the gin didn't help either.

‘Come on, girl, don't sit there dreaming,' Mrs H said briskly. ‘Let's get you dressed. Let your mum ‘ave a look at yer before she goes.'

The brown frock hung on her skinny frame like a sack and the boots were cracked and worn and at least two sizes too big, but from the look on ma's face she might have been one of the little princesses herself. ‘You look a proper treat, love,' she said, her eyes shining with pride. Tears welled up and she dashed them away with a grubby hand. ‘Well, I'd best be off now, pet,' she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. She kissed Maggie's cheek and forced a smile. ‘Now you be a good girl and do whatever Mrs Hardcastle and Mrs McAlister tells you and you'll get on fine.'

Maggie flung her arms around her mother's thin body and clung to her tightly. ‘You take care, ma,' she whispered. ‘I'll visit every month on my afternoon off.'

Her mother pushed her away and shook her head. ‘No love, I don't think that's a good idea, do you? I'll try and come here instead, if I can get away from His Nibs.'

She turned to Mrs Hardcastle. ‘Thanks again, Moll,' she said fervently. ‘You don't know how much this means to me. You'll get your reward in heaven, just see if you don't.'

‘I'll see you out, Kate,' said Moll, patting her hand sympathetically. ‘Oh, and before I forget, here's them old clothes back.' She picked up a brown paper parcel, thrust it into Kate's arms and winked. ‘And there's a bit of cold meat, some bread and butter and a few eggs in there too, so mind and not drop it.' She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘That lot won't miss a few odds and ends from the pantry.'

Kate opened her mouth to thank her again, but nothing came. Turning on her heel she walked out of the kitchen, before she broke down completely. Moll followed her, and at the door she turned round. ‘You lot look after the little ‘un while I says goodbye to me friend.'

Suddenly bereft, Maggie stared after, trying not to cry, and at a sound behind her she whirled round to face the other girls, prepared to do battle if necessary to establish herself. She looked at the circle of curious faces.

The one called Emily grinned at her and she relaxed. ‘Cheer up, love,' she advised. ‘It ain't that bad ‘ere.'

‘Yers,' chimed in Ellen. ‘Mrs McAlister, the cook, is a decent old stick. You do right by her and she'll do right by you. She ain't ‘alf strict, but she's fair with it.'

‘And the grub's good,' added Mary, patting her belly. ‘Soon put a bit of meat on yer bones.'

Mrs H bustled back in and they scattered back to their work, leaving Maggie standing. ‘Right,' she said briskly. ‘You can start by giving Mary a hand with them vegetables.' She wagged a finger. ‘Now mind, I want them peeled fine. We'll ‘ave no waste in this house.' Maggie bobbed a curtsey and Mrs H smiled. ‘Nice to see your ma's brought you up proper. Now off you go and get on with it.'

 

An hour later Maggie was finished. Mrs H examined her handiwork and nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good girl,' she said. ‘Now, while Ellen's putting them on to boil, Mary can take you for a quick look round and show you where you'll be sleeping.'

By the time she had finished her guided tour, Maggie didn't know whether she was coming or going. Her head was spinning as she tried to remember her way round the warren of the servants' quarters. Numbly she followed a chattering Mary up a narrow flight of wooden stairs to the top floor.

‘‘Ere we go,' announced Mary, flinging open the door. ‘This is our room.' She looked at Maggie suspiciously. ‘Yer don't snore, do yer? The last girl used to snore sumfink dreadful. Could hardly get a wink of sleep for the racket.' Maggie shook her head. ‘That's good,' beamed Mary, and waved a hand. ‘So what do yer think of it?'

Maggie stared round and nodded again. An iron bedstead with a thin mattress and an equally thin coverlet took up most of the room. A framed embroidery reading God Bless this House hung above it, the only spot of brightness on the bare whitewashed walls. There was a chair on each side of the bed and a rickety chest-of-drawers beneath the window, with a few cheap gee-gaws lying on it. Maggie gasped; compared with a cellar, shared by three people, it was a palace.

‘Not bad, is it?' said Mary condescendingly. ‘And once yer gets yer pay, we can go down the market on our ‘alf day and yer can get a few things of yer own.

Make it more homelike.' She grinned. ‘Seen enough yet? It's dinnertime and I'm starving!'

Maggie stared at her. It was barely two hours since she'd had the slice of pie and they were going to eat again? She grinned back. Talk about a cushy life!

 

By the end of the day she wasn't quite so sure. There had been dishes to wash after the midday meal in the servants' hall, and more vegetables to prepare for dinner at eight. Coal and hot water to carry up three flights of stairs, and the fires to sort while the master and mistress were eating. There were more dishes to wash after that, the porridge to put on to soak overnight, and the table to set in the hall for breakfast. Finally, there was the range to clean out and the fire to bank in readiness for next morning.

Maggie smiled despite her exhaustion; at least she hadn't let ma down. Even the cook, Mrs McAlister back from her afternoon off and confronted with the new arrival, had finally given her grudging approval.

‘Better blow out the candle and get some sleep,' advised Mary with a jaw-breaking yawn. ‘We'll be up again at five to clean out them hearths and light the fires. Then there's the hot water to fetch... and the... the...' her voice trailed off into sleep.

Lying in a strange bed, wrapped in one of Mrs Hardcastle's voluminous cast-off nightdresses, with a warm body beside her and more food in her belly than she normally saw in a week, Maggie stared wide-eyed into the darkness. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, she could hardly believe it. A whole new life, and what a life too! There were so many things to think about, she'd never get to sleep in a month of Sundays!

Five minutes later she was sound asleep and, despite her promise to Mary, snoring like a small contented pig.

 

 

 

Eighteen! Maggie could scarcely believe it. The time seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye. She stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. The bright-eyed girl who looked back was a far cry from the scrawny lice-ridden waif who'd had to be scrubbed down in front of the kitchen fire two years ago. And she was a young lady to be reckoned with now - head kitchen maid, if you pleased!

No more peeling mounds of spuds and scouring pots. She was the one who gave the orders now. She smiled ruefully. Or at least, passed on Mrs McAlister's.

Hard work and good food had worked wonders. She eyed herself critically. Perhaps her bottom wasn't quite as voluptuous as fashion demanded, but her bosom and hips curved softly and she could almost span her waist with two hands. Her hair was neatly coiled and pinned just now, but when she let it down at night it fell almost to her waist in a dark, shining cascade.

She winked at her reflection. Mrs H had said she'd grow up to be a beauty. Well, that might be pushing it a bit, but she wasn't half bad. Not if Thomas the footman's reaction was anything to go by. He'd been after her for months now, waylaying her in the corridor, his mouth eagerly seeking hers.

‘Come on, Maggie,' he moaned, his hands fumbling at her breasts beneath the heavy serge of her uniform, his excitement obvious by the bulge in his tight breeches. ‘Yer know I wants yer.'

For a few moments she'd allowed herself to enjoy the strange new sensations his clumsy gropings produced - before pushing him firmly away. ‘I wants don't get!' she said tartly. ‘Just you keep your hands to yourself, Thomas Watkins. I ain't that sort of girl.'