Sunlight on the Mersey (19 page)

T
HIS TIME
R
OSE WENT
alone on the bus for both her mother and Iris had to open their businesses. She didn’t mind at all, she’d told Kate as she hugged her mother tightly and promised to write regularly and visit when and if she got a weekend off. Both Kate and Iris had said how much they would miss her but would look forward to hearing how she was settling in.

As the bus travelled on towards Mold through the pastureland of Cheshire, now devoid of cattle, Rose thought back to the day Edward Taylor had driven her back to Liverpool. She remembered very little of that journey, she’d been in a daze, unable to believe what had happened. In the months that had passed she had come to terms with her loss; she still grieved for her father but that grief wasn’t as raw as it had been. When
the landscape changed as they entered the Vale of Clwyd the hills now looked bleak, she thought, the heather and bracken brown and dry but the small, hardy sheep still grazed on their slopes.

The bus wasn’t full and there was little conversation amongst the passengers and so Rose had time to try to analyse her feelings. In the time that had elapsed since her father’s death she hadn’t been happy in Liverpool and it hadn’t just been because of the loss of her da. No, it had been something else. Something she had begun to realise in the days and weeks after the funeral, when life had again taken on a semblance of normality. She’d experienced a sense of not belonging any more and it had grown stronger every day, even though she loved her family. She had been born and brought up in a large, bustling city that was also the gateway to the world and the countries of the British Empire that lay beyond the Mersey estuary, and yet a few months in a small, quiet rural village had totally changed her and her outlook. She no longer felt happy and at home in the busy, noisy, crowded and often dirty streets. Things had somehow changed, or maybe it was she who had changed but hadn’t realised it.

Charlie and Iris both had someone special in their lives now and were making plans for the future but she wasn’t jealous in any way; she was glad for them both. She didn’t envisage anyone coming into her life in the near future and she was content with that. She just hadn’t been able to see a happy and fulfilled life for herself in Liverpool.

She was very unsure how she would feel working at Plas
Idris for she had only visited on the few occasions connected with the flower show, but she had no choice and was grateful that Gwen had obtained a position there for her. Gwen was giving her a home and she could not expect more; she had to work to support herself. She was aware that there were customs and ways of working that were strictly adhered to in such houses and of which she had no experience; she had become vaguely aware of them on her visits. The way she and Gwen had gone to the back door and not the impressive front entrance; Mrs Mathews asking a girl in a maid’s uniform to escort them to the Blue Drawing Room; the deference Gwen had exhibited towards Miss Olivia; and the slightly imperious way Olivia Rhys-Pritchard had treated both Gwen and herself. She remembered with embarrassment how she had just barged into the dining room without knocking the day she’d been sent to fetch the forgotten ‘Best in Show’ tickets. She wasn’t averse to hard work – the work both at Black’s and in the shop hadn’t been exactly easy – but the world of the large country house was completely alien to her. Still, she hoped she wouldn’t find it too arduous and she had loved the gardens and the grounds, and at least she could go back to the village each evening.

When she finally reached Denbigh and alighted it was to find Gwen’s brother waiting but this time there was no farm cart hitched to the tractor.

‘So, you’ve come back to us, Rose, then. We were all so sorry to hear about your da,’ Bob Roberts greeted her as he took her case and helped her up. It was obvious that she was
to sit in the cramped space beside him and as the vehicle was open to the elements she was glad she had on a warm coat, knitted gloves, scarf and hat. Her case had been stowed behind the seat. ‘It’s very good of you to come for me,’ she replied as she tucked the rug he’d brought around her knees. ‘It was a terrible shock for us all when Da was killed like that and I just couldn’t settle afterwards. I wanted to come back to Tregarron. Liverpool just doesn’t seem like . . . home . . . now.’

He nodded and they pulled out of Lenten Pool. The noise of the vehicle made conversation a little difficult but she seemed content, he thought, to just sit and watch as the houses gave way to fields.

Gwen heard them coming as they passed the school and came out to stand at the shop door. When Bob had helped Rose down she hugged her. ‘Welcome back, Rose. I hope you’re not frozen stiff, but I couldn’t get Mr Morgan to pick you up in his trap. He’s a martyr to his rheumatism and doesn’t go out much when it’s as cold as this. Go on in, luv, the door is open and there’s a good fire to warm you up. I’ll be in in half an hour.’

‘No, I’m not too cold, Aunty Gwen. Mr Roberts brought a warm rug for me. Oh, I’m so . . . happy to be back!’

Bob took her case as Gwen returned to the shop and as Rose entered the small, warm and cosy room she felt a sense of contentment envelop her. She felt utterly at home here. After Bob had gone, she took off her coat and hat and pushed the kettle on to the hob to boil. Then she went upstairs to the small bedroom where Gwen’s brother had deposited her case.
Everything looked just the same, she thought as she crossed to the small window and looked out. Of course there were no flowers in the garden now and the trees in the distant copse were bare, their branches black and skeletal against the grey January sky, but she felt happier than she had done since the morning she’d been woken with the tragic news about her father.

By the time Gwen came in she’d unpacked, set the table and had a pot of tea waiting.

‘My, but it’s cold today. Coldest it’s been so far; I shouldn’t wonder if we didn’t have snow before long. Have you thawed out yet? It’s a long, cold journey by whatever means you make it. At least with Bob it’s quicker. Pour the tea, luv.’

Rose did so as Gwen cut slices of bread in the tiny kitchen at the back and then brought the plate through with the butter dish, a plate of home-cured ham and a jar of chutney, which she placed on the table. ‘We’ll just have a bite now. There’s a good thick meat stew simmering in the oven for supper and I’ve an apple and blackberry pie ready to go in later, if you’ll keep your eye on it for me. Then we can have a proper gossip over supper and I’ll tell you all about what’s been going on here and about your job at the big house.’

Eagerly Rose tucked into the food, suddenly feeling very hungry.

She learned from Gwen that evening that she was to start work at Plas Idris at six each morning, which meant she would have to leave the village at a quarter to, earlier if the weather
was bad. During her stay in the summer she had borrowed a bicycle but Gwen now informed her that Bob had picked up a second-hand one in Denbigh for her for a couple of shillings and one of his boys had given it a fresh coat of paint and had fixed a small basket to the handlebars. Mona Mathews would instruct her on her duties and of course Nancy, the other housemaid, would be on hand as well. She was expected to stay until half past seven; fortunately the family did not dine late and never entertained these days, and Nancy and young Beryl, the scullery maid, managed the clearing away and washing up between them. She would have Wednesday afternoon off and each alternate Sunday afternoon off too.

Rose had ventured that the hours were long but that she didn’t mind, sometimes she’d been in the shop for almost as long. When Tom Morrissey had dropped off the produce she’d often helped Iris to wipe it and stock the shelves before they opened and as Mrs Duncan (amongst others) was prone to leaving things to the very last minute they sometimes hadn’t closed up until well after half past six.

‘But you had more time to yourself, Rose, every evening and all day Sunday. One afternoon a week plus one afternoon every other Sunday isn’t a lot but it’s what the others get,’ Gwen had informed her.

‘I expect I’ll get used to it. At least I’ll be coming home each evening and in summer it doesn’t get dark until late and people are out in their gardens or talking a stroll. And I’ll have this Nancy and Beryl to talk to during the day,’ Rose added. ‘I take it they live in? And the parlourmaid?’

Gwen had nodded. It was unusual for maids of whatever standing not to live in but she had been determined that Rose wasn’t going to. The fact that decent staff of any kind was difficult to get and that Rose was reliable and known to them had worked in Gwen’s favour. She’d heard that those attic rooms allotted to the servants were freezing cold in winter and like ovens in summer. ‘The parlourmaid is called Nora, she’s from Ruthin. Nancy’s home is near Wrexham, and young Beryl is from a farm on the edge of the moors so it’s too far for all of them to travel. I’ve no idea where Mrs Mathews or Mr Lewis, the butler, or Henry Jones, the only footman left now, come from. They’ve been with the family for years and don’t have a great deal to do with the village folk. Of course the handyman and the gardeners are all local, none of them live in.’

Rose hoped that the other maids would not resent the fact that after dinner she wouldn’t be available to help with the chores but would cycle the few miles back to the village at the end of the day.

When she awoke next morning she drew back the curtains and found that during the night it had snowed. Everything was covered with a pristine white blanket with the dark edges of the dry stone walls protruding sharply, but the sky was now blue and the sun was shining.

Gwen was already up, dressed and preparing breakfast.

‘You should have woken me,’ Rose said. She felt a little guilty for before she started at Plas Idris she intended to help Gwen as much as she could.

‘I thought I’d let you sleep on, see. We’ve had quite a bit of snow overnight. After breakfast I’ll have to get the shovel and clear it from in front of the shop.’

‘I can do that, Aunty Gwen. I brought my Wellington boots. I can clear the path in front of the cottage too.’

Gwen smiled at her. ‘It’s a good girl you are, Rose.’

‘Then later I was thinking I could go up to Plas Idris. I don’t mind walking. It’s not that far and it’s a lovely crisp, bright winter day.’

‘Are you sure? I doubt you’d be able to cycle until that lane has been cleared a bit.’

‘I’d like to see Mrs Mathews and meet Nancy, Nora and Beryl and see the house and grounds again. They must look wonderful in the snow,’ Rose mused aloud.

‘Like something on a Christmas card, I should imagine, though I’ve never been there in winter myself. You make sure you wrap up well and don’t leave it too late before starting back. It goes dark early and it will start to freeze once the sun has gone and then it will be very treacherous underfoot,’ Gwen advised. ‘And I don’t want you falling or getting lost in the dark. You’re used to street lighting.’

Rose set out mid-morning and called and waved to the people who were clearing their paths as she passed by. She was welcomed back cordially by everyone. When she reached the lane she saw that a few vehicles had obviously ventured along it, judging by the tracks in the snow. The hedges rose on either side, the bare branches of the hawthorn and blackthorn now a white tracery and she marvelled at the silence,
broken occasionally by the rasping cry of a rook or crow. The snow that covered the fields sparkled in the sunlight and as she trudged on she began to hum happily to herself.

At last she turned in through the huge wrought-iron gates and began to walk up the driveway, glancing up at the dense evergreen foliage of the yew trees standing like white frosted sentinels on either side of the path. Beyond them the grounds stretched away like a shining white sea. When she turned the bend at the end of the drive she stood and stared around her, breathing in the cold, sharp air. The branches of the rose bushes and the shrubs in the borders drooped under the weight of the snow; the stone urns that flanked the walls of the house were empty now but where the snow had adhered to them they looked as if they had been dusted with icing sugar. The snow had been cleared from the steps leading up the front door, she noticed, and the grey stone walls of the house rose steeply from the snow-covered gravel; they too seemed to shimmer, frosted like the urns. The long sash windows reflected the sun’s rays and the heavy layer of snow that covered the roof glinted in the brilliant light; the icicles hanging from the guttering looked like slivers of silver. It was beautiful. Gwen had been right, she thought. It looked like a scene from a Christmas card and the resemblance was heightened by the stillness that enveloped everything. She’d been right to come back, she thought, as she walked on towards the house. She wouldn’t mind the long hours or the menial work just as long as she could look out on such tranquil beauty each day.

After Rose had gone Iris determined that she would tell her mother of Tom’s proposal.

‘So you’ve come to an understanding,’ Kate replied after Iris had imparted the news.

‘On what he earns, Mam, it will be ages before we can think about getting married. I don’t mind though, I’m just happy to know that he loves me and that one day we will get married. You don’t mind, do you? I suppose he should have spoken to you first but I don’t think he intended to ask me so soon.’

Kate smiled at her. ‘Of course I don’t mind. I’m pleased, Iris. I like him. He’s hard-working and you seem very suited to each other. I take it there is to be no official announcement or anything?’

Iris shook her head. ‘You mean like our Charlie and Florence? No, he can’t even afford a ring yet but I don’t care. I’m not one for show, Mam, you know that. He wants to marry me and that’s all that matters,’ she said firmly.

Kate nodded, thinking of the evening she’d spent with Florence’s parents on New Year’s Eve. She had been a little over-awed by the size of the house and the furnishings; she didn’t have anything in common with Ethel Taylor except Florence’s friendship with Iris and her engagement to Charlie. In fact only Iris and Charlie had seemed at ease and she’d noticed that even Charlie didn’t have much to say to Ethel. She and Rose had definitely found the evening rather strained. Of course she’d met Florence’s father before and she liked him; he’d made every effort to make her feel welcome and at
ease but his wife had been a different kettle of fish. Even though she seemed to have accepted the fact that Florence was going to marry Charlie at some time in the future, Kate could not forget that the woman didn’t feel that her son was good enough for Florence. She had also felt that the serving of champagne in expensive crystal glasses, the effusive toasts, the silver cutlery and bone-china dishes on which the sumptuous, beautifully cooked meal had been served had been an attempt on Ethel’s part to emphasise the differences in their backgrounds and status. She’d been very relieved when it had all been over but from the hints Ethel had dropped about the wedding and what she had in mind for that occasion, she knew she would have to come into close contact with the woman again in the future. ‘Well, I’m delighted for you, Iris, and now that Rose has gone and will be earning a wage of her own, I think you should keep a little more of the takings from the shop. You’ll need every penny if you are going to start saving up.’