Part 7 (1/2)

1844.

'Hurry up, Hope,' Nell whispered. 'He's getting cross.'

Hope said nothing, and continued to tie her bootlaces at the same leisurely pace. Albert liked to ape the gentry, insisting Nell should lay the breakfast table properly every morning and wait on him. He also expected Hope to be completely ready for work before joining him at the table.

She thought it was ridiculous laying the table when there was nothing more to eat than a slice of bread. Her father used to swig his tea down as he got dressed, then grab the bread and eat it on the way to his work. But then, he preferred to spend an extra ten minutes cuddling her mother in bed, and he wouldn't have dreamt of giving her the extra work of laying the table at five in the morning.

Hope couldn't voice her opinion because Albert would take it out on Nell, so the only form of protest open to her was to be so slow getting ready that she didn't have to sit there with him.

Albert got up, his chair sc.r.a.ping on the stone floor. 'Right! Nothing for you,' he snapped at her. 'Nell, clear the table. She's got to learn the hard way.'

Hope stifled a giggle. She didn't want any bread anyway; when she got to the big house Cook would give her porridge with honey on it.

Nell had put his coat in front of the fire to warm it, another thing Albert insisted on. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, then turned to his wife. 'Don't you dare give her anything,' he said, pointing a finger at Hope. 'I shall check the bread when I come back later.'

He left without a goodbye, and slammed the door behind him. Hope giggled.

Nell half-smiled, for she knew about the porridge she always had some herself too. 'I wish you wouldn't tease him that way. Can't you do what he wants, just for me?'

'I would if it made him nicer,' Hope said wistfully, and she went to her sister and hugged her. 'I'm never going to get married if that's what men are like.'

'They aren't all like it,' Nell reminded her. 'Remember Father, and look at the way Matt is. But you'd better go, or you'll be late.'

'Not me,' Hope grinned. 'I'll be there before Albert.'

Once outside the cottage door, Hope broke into a run. Albert was half-way up the drive, but she knew she could beat him to the house easily. She liked running, especially on a frosty February morning like this one, even if it wasn't considered ladylike. She would arrive at Briargate with rosy cheeks, warm inside and out, and it would even make her forget how much she hated her brother-in-law.

She ran past him at full pelt, and once she was well out of his reach turned round to face him and waved cheekily. With luck he would be freezing cold all day working outside. If he'd only learn to be nice to people, Cook would let him into the kitchen to get warmed up and give him porridge too.

It was only four months since her parents had died, but it seemed like years. Some days the ache for them was so acute she thought she could die of it. Their faces were imprinted on her mind, she heard their voices inside her head, and curiously, it was the things that she'd hardly noticed when they were alive that she missed most. The way Father would cluck her under the chin when he came in from work or Mother would always kiss her forehead when she'd finished brus.h.i.+ng her hair. This was tangible evidence of their love for her, for neither of her parents was the type to put their feelings into words.

Yet they had been so big on communication in the family. They wanted to know everything everyone had done each day; no one ever escaped being questioned about who they'd seen or talked to.

Nell had been just the same before she married Albert. Every time she came to the cottage she wanted to know every single thing that had happened since her last visit. Hope's earliest memories were of vying with Joe and Henry to get to her lap first and Nell sitting on the floor so all three of them could have a bit of her. She was so gay and fun-loving, always ready to play with them, but so tender and caring too.

Hope thought she wouldn't miss her parents so much if Nell had still been that person, but she was tense and watchful now, rarely laughing when Albert was there, and for ever cleaning and tidying. There was no conversation at all between Nell and Albert. Nell might ask what he'd done during the day, but his curt replies implied he resented her even speaking. It wasn't even possible for Hope and Nell to talk together, either, for he would glare at them, and that made Nell more nervous.

Albert was a tyrant, just as Hope had suspected. He showed no love for Nell; in truth he treated her as though she was his servant. He never lit the fire for her or brought in a pail of water. He would watch as she struggled to empty the tin bath or chop wood. He looked for things out of place mud on the floor, the rug not straight in front of the fire, dust on the mantelpiece and then he'd drag Nell over to it, pointing at it as if she were a dog who had p.i.s.sed in the house.

Once she'd forgotten to make their bed, and when she got back from Briargate late in the evening, he pounced on her and, holding her by the ear, dragged her upstairs to point out her mistake. He seemed to forget she had a job too, and that sometimes she worked far longer days than him. It was always 'What's this?' 'Why have you done that?' or 'How many times do I have to tell you?' He seemed incapable of praise, grat.i.tude or even plain kindness.

The only good times were when he went to the ale house at Chelwood. Hope and Nell would get right up close to the fire and chat about the past, and things that went on in Briargate. But even then Nell couldn't relax completely for she always had one ear c.o.c.ked for Albert returning, and if he was tipsy he could be even nastier than usual.

Sundays were simply interminable. Nell went off to the big house very early, and Hope had to make the long walk to church alone with Albert. He never spoke, and although once they got to the village the sight of all her old friends and neighbours made her feel the loss of her parents even more keenly, he would not allow her more than the briefest of greetings. If Lady Harvey had guests, Nell had to return to Briargate after church, and Hope had to cook Albert's dinner. Nothing she ever did was right, even though she'd become quite good at cooking since helping in the kitchens.

Later, he would sit right in front of the fire, blocking any heat from her, and he wouldn't allow her to read anything other than the Bible. Those hours alone with him were the ones she dreaded most, for he was a violent man when crossed. He had hit her on several occasions and she knew he often beat Nell, even if she refused to admit it. So, alone with him, Hope had to be extra careful she gave him no excuse to round on her.

Working at Briargate was the only thing that made her life tolerable. She could forget about Albert there because she saw Ruth and James every day, and Cook, Mr Baines and the other servants made her feel she was part of a big family again. Like any family, they were sometimes grumpy and short with her, but she knew in her heart that they liked her, and that went some way to compensate for Albert.

During the time she'd come to Briargate to play with Rufus she had never imagined that one day she'd be expected to scrub pots and pans in the scullery, or spend hours cutting up vegetables, and sometimes she resented that she had to. She so much wanted to go beyond the kitchen, to walk up that beautiful staircase the way she used to and go into the nursery to see Rufus.

But that wasn't allowed. She had to refer to him as Master Rufus now, just like everyone else. The closest she got to him was when she helped with the laundry and had to wash one of his s.h.i.+rts or undergarments. Occasionally he came down to the kitchen to see Cook, and from her position in the scullery she marvelled at his clear, rather high, commanding voice, for she remembered him with a babyish lisp. If she peeped round the door it was hard to believe that the little gentleman in a stiff collar, dark jacket and breeches was the same boy who used to roll around the nursery floor with her, dressed in a sailor suit.

She did, of course, see him at church almost every Sunday. But as the Harveys' pew was right at the front of the church, and her family sat at the back, she only got a glimpse of his blond hair. Before her parents died, Hope had often tried to speak to him in the churchyard, but though his little face would light up when he saw her, Miss Bird, his governess, prevented him from coming to speak to her.

Her mother had always said she'd better learn quickly that gentry didn't want their children mixing with common folk, but Hope didn't see herself as that. She had, after all, been brought up with the story that she was a fairy child, and to her that meant she was destined for better things. While for now she knew she had to keep her place and do whatever she was ordered to do, she comforted herself with the thought that one day she'd be her own mistress.

Baines was very fond of saying that there were few opportunities for girls other than going into service, but then he'd been a servant since he was twelve, so what did he know of the real world? Cook would smile knowingly whenever Hope spoke of wanting to do some other kind of work; she seemed to think marriage was a far better option. But any romantic notions Hope might once have held about marriage had been killed off by observing Nell and Albert. To her, being in service or marriage amounted to much the same thing, a lifetime of drudgery. She wanted something better for herself.

Hope was cleaning some silver in the scullery in the early afternoon when she heard Rose come into the kitchen.

'Captain Pettigrew's come a-calling again,' she said importantly to Cook. 'Funny he always comes when the master is away!'

'Rose!' Cook exclaimed. 'You shouldn't say such things. If Mr Baines was to hear you!'

Hope was out of sight of the two older women but well within hearing distance. She had to hope Baines wasn't too, because Cook was right. Hardly a week pa.s.sed without him reminding them all that they should not repeat anything they heard or saw their master and mistress doing.

Baines was tall and whip-thin, and in his grey striped trousers, tailed coat and stiff wing-collar, with spectacles perched precariously on the end of his overlong nose, he put Hope in mind of a heron.

He had the sharp eyes, grace and patience of the heron too. He missed nothing, not a smear on a knife or a napkin not properly ironed, and he expected all the servants to maintain the high standards he set so much store by. But for all that he was a kindly, fair man, and he seemed to have the answer to any question and the solution to any problem. Cook always said he was the first butler she'd ever worked under who wasn't an a.r.s.e-wipe.

Cook also said that when Rose first came to Briargate, she had set her cap at Baines and been very disappointed when he didn't respond. Now in her late thirties, a plain, angular woman who knew she was destined to remain a spinster, she was over-fond of poking her nose into other people's affairs, be that her master and mistress's or the other servants'.

'The Captain's charming, I grant him that,' Rose went on, seemingly not put off by Cook's warning. 'Devilish handsome too! Nell got all in a fl.u.s.ter when she saw him.'

Hope's antennae became finely tuned at Nell's name, and although she continued polis.h.i.+ng the candlestick in her hand, she slowed down so she wouldn't miss anything.

'I'd get in a fl.u.s.ter over a charming man too if I was married to Albert,' Cook retorted and chuckled.

Hope smiled; she was always glad when one of the servants admitted they didn't like Albert. They were discreet in front of Nell, but away from her they agreed he was pompous, self-righteous and entirely lacking a sense of humour. Hope could easily have added half a dozen more bad traits, but for Nell's sake she kept those to herself. She had never admitted to anyone, not even James and Ruth, how bad it was living with him.

'I don't mean that I think Nell's sweet on him,' Rose said quickly. 'It's more like she saw Old Nick come through the door. Is she afraid for the mistress? Or has the Captain done something to her?'

'If you know what's good for you, you'll keep such thoughts to yourself,' Cook retorted sharply.

Hope was br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with curiosity now; she had to take a look at this man who fl.u.s.tered Nell.

Unfortunately she had no excuse to go anywhere in the house. She was a kitchenmaid, and the kitchen was where she had to stay.

Cook always had a little rest between three and four in the afternoon. Mostly she just sat in her chair by the stove and dozed a little, but that afternoon her legs, which often troubled her, were very swollen and she said she was going to have a lie-down in her room.

'If I'm not back here by four, put the kettle on for tea and come and get me,' she said to Hope.

Baines was in his parlour busy with his accounts, Rose was in the dining room laying the table for supper, and Ruby had the afternoon off and had gone down to the village. With everyone gone, Hope got on with scrubbing the kitchen and scullery floor. When she came back in from tipping the dirty water away out in the yard, she was surprised to see it was almost four, and Cook wasn't back.

This had never happened before. Cook always asked to be called, but it was never needed. While it was the excuse Hope had wanted to go beyond the kitchen, she was suddenly nervous. She put the kettle on, changed her ap.r.o.n, straightened her cap, and after a few minutes' hesitation went out into the hall.

The backstairs on the east side of the house that led from beyond the servants' hall right up to the attic rooms were the ones she was supposed to use, but she wouldn't catch even a glimpse of the Captain that way. But if she took a chance on crossing the hall, going up the main staircase and then nipping along the landing past the master and mistress's rooms, if anyone saw her before she reached the backstairs, she'd be in trouble.