Part 5 (1/2)

'Not here, then?' she said. 'It's nearly seven. She should've been here by now, her first day and all.' She didn't give Maud time to reply, but went through into the scullery. Her whining voice continued, making Maud cringe.

'When she does she can get started in here. There's already plenty to do.'

She traipsed back into the kitchen to get the crockery for the tray.

'Now, now, hold your horses, Gertie. Let the la.s.s get her feet before you start bossing her around. Anyway, Leah'll only be filling in till the new maid comes next week. She'll have her work cut out with all the sewing Miss Fenton wants her to do.' Maud spoke sharply, thinking once again how much she disliked Gertie. She looked through the window again.

'Oh, that must be her now.'

Maud peered through the kitchen window. At the far end of the kitchen garden a small figure paused uncertainly, her hand on the garden gate. Dusting the flour from her hands and arms and then wiping them with a cloth, Maud went to the door.

'I'd better give her a call. She looks like she doesn't know what she's doing.'

Gertie heard Maud's comment from the scullery.

'Well, I hope she knows what she's going to do in here,' she said sourly.

Maud made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. She opened the door and called out.

'Oo, oo. Come on, this way.'

Leah looked up startled. All she could see was a white cap and a face peering round the door. She'd been told to take the side path, although she'd wanted to go right round and have a look at the front of the house. But after what had happened with the man on the horse she felt subdued. She might already be in trouble and she didn't want to add to it.

The truth was she was getting cold feet. What was she letting herself in for? She'd no idea what went on in a big house like the Hall and the thought of working in a kitchen had almost made her change her mind and go back to the mill, because she wasn't too keen on cooking or cleaning. She was relieved when she was told that her main job would be to help with the sewing. She liked sewing, but just couldn't see herself scrubbing pots and pans from morning till night.

When she really thought about returning to the mill, however, she went cold. She'd gone back once with her mother to give her notice. Even that short time had been enough. Why had she never noticed the noise before, or the dankness of it, or how depressing it was? She felt faint even now when she remembered what had happened.

So here she was and there was that head, looking like a dismembered thing and calling to her to come in. As there was nothing else she could do, in spite of her misgivings, Leah pushed open the gate and walked cautiously along the flagged path. On either side of the path were neat rows of vegetables. She stared at them curiously. They'd never had a garden. Fancy, growing your own food, she thought in wonder!

As she drew nearer the door Leah smoothed down her dress and pushed the stray wisps of hair back off her face. Did she look neat enough? She felt all hot and bothered after the episode on the drive. The door was now open wide and the woman in the mob cab stood smiling at her. She wore a long black dress, over which was an immaculately starched white ap.r.o.n.

'Come in, la.s.s, come in,' she said. 'Now, now,' she continued, seeing the look on Leah's face. 'We're not going to eat you. I'm Mrs. Walters, the cook and you must be Leah Hammond.'

Leah nodded shyly and made her way into the kitchen. She relaxed a little at the warm welcome and, feeling more rea.s.sured she stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.

She looked around her. She'd never seen so many pots and pans in her life! There seemed to be hundreds, hanging from the ceiling, stacked on open shelves, on cupboards. They were everywhere. It smelt wonderful, too, in this gigantic kitchen and her mouth watered when she saw what was on the table. She hadn't eaten much breakfast. She'd been too worried. Now she was starving! Maud saw the hungry look.

'What about one of my teacakes, love with some b.u.t.ter on,' she said. She could see Leah was uneasy and Miss Fenton didn't want to see her for another half an hour.

'You've time for a cup of tea as well,' she added with a smile. Leah nodded.

'Oh yes, please, Mrs. Walters.'

'Sit yourself down then,' Maud said and pointed to one of the chairs.

What a lovely looking la.s.s Maud thought, eyeing Leah surrept.i.tiously. Just look at them eyes! She bustled about pouring Leah a mug of tea and placed it, and a teacake covered in b.u.t.ter (not margarine, Leah noted like they always had), in front of her on the table.

Leah sat perched nervously on the edge of the chair, her eyes flicking from Maud's busy figure and then around the kitchen. She was just wondering what the noise was in the scullery, when Gertie Wicklow stomped through into the kitchen. There was a frown of annoyance on her face. Seeing Leah she stopped short, the annoyance changing to surprise.

Gertie, her expression as grim as a gate, quickly took in the small figure sitting on the chair: the auburn hair neatly braided; the wispy tendrils, the milky skin and right down to the c.u.mbersome clogs.

Gertie's gaze raked her like a razor. Leah felt paralyzed by it.

'Oh,' Gertie said, as she looked Leah up and down and then at Mrs. Walters, 'Oh, a cup of tea already? Well, she'd better drink it quick because I've just seen Miss Fenton and she's been asking about her.' She jerked her head at Leah, who had just taken her first bite of the teacake. It now stuck in her throat like a piece of cardboard.

'Is she,' Maud said, immediately sensing Gertie's antagonism. 'Well, she can wait another five minutes till Leah here gets her breath back after that long walk from Harwood. I know Miss Fenton won't mind. Anyway, Gertie, this is Leah Hammond.'

Gertie made a quick ungracious nod of her head.

'Leah, this is Gertie Wicklow, parlour maid at the Hall.'

'Head parlour maid you mean,' Gertie said, pressing her lips together and straightening her ap.r.o.n importantly.

'Aye, well, seeing that you're the only parlour maid here,' Maud replied sarcastically, 'Then I suppose you're the head parlour maid. And if you are then you'd better get cracking, because the mistress has been ringing for her tea these five minutes past.'

'Well, I've only got one pair of hands and as I've said a million times before, we should have another maid for upstairs, in this big place. It's all right for some who've got time to sit on their b.u.ms and have tea,' Gertie said, with a quick scathing look at Leah. 'But some people have their work cut out for them from dawn till dusk.'

Leah sat with the teacake lodged in her throat, looking at Gertie's red, indignant face in bewilderment. What had she done? She'd been as quiet as a mouse and as far as she knew hadn't made one wrong move, but somehow she'd managed to rile this girl with the big b.u.m and horrible face.

Leah knew instinctively that she had an enemy here. She sensed the hatred, which seemed to seep out of every pore of this obnoxious person, like poisoned gas. Leah turned quickly to Maud, who stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Gertie.

'Now listen, Gertie. Keep a civil tongue in your head. This is Leah's first day here and she's feeling a bit strange, as you should be able to understand. You were new here not that long ago, if I remember rightly, so just have a bit of thought for someone else, for a change.'

Gertie snorted and stamped over to the scullery, muttering under her breath. She could only go so far with Maud and from the look on Maud's face, she'd reached that limit.

Maud shook her head. When would Gertie learn to keep her mouth shut? She looked at Leah who hadn't touched her teacake since that first bite.

'Now, la.s.s, don't you worry about Gertie. She has her ups and downs. Just drink your tea and then I'll take you to see Miss Fenton. And you don't have to worry about her because she's a real nice woman. She'll treat you right if you do right by her, and I'm sure you will, so there's nowt to worry about.'

Leah wanted to cry and call for her Mam, like she'd done when she was small. Here she was in a strange place with strange people. She'd just lost her best friend; Darkie would be going away to war soon and even thinking of these two things made her want to put her head down and howl.

Then this Gertie, for no apparent reason, had taken an instant dislike to her and from the look of it was going to make her life here a misery. And on top of everything, and she went cold at the thought, she'd called the dark man on the horse a silly sod! She should have stayed in the mill! She put her cup carefully back on the table. She couldn't drink another drop because she was too choked up.

Maud had been watching Leah anxiously. I could murder that Gertie, she thought, as she began to prepare the last of her baking.

'Now, la.s.s,' she said. 'Don't let that nasty piece bother you. People like that,' she nodded her head in the direction of the scullery where they could hear dishes being banged around, 'They usually get their just desserts, sooner or later.' And I hope it's sooner she thought. 'Now, finish your tea and we'll go and see Miss Fenton.'

'I...I don't want any more tea, thank you Mrs. Walters,' Leah said in a quavering voice.

'Aye, well, all right then. We'll go on up now. Just remember what I said. You've got nothing to worry about, nothing at all.'

Gertie suddenly emerged from the scullery. She was carrying a silver tray (as though they were the Crown Jewels, Leah thought). It was set with a white damask cloth with lace edging, and she carried it haughtily to the sideboard without looking at either Maud or Leah and banged the tray down. She took a fine porcelain cup and saucer from the cupboard, a small silver teapot, sugar basin and milk jug, making a great fuss of straightening the cloth, moving the handle of a cup and so on and so forth. Still ignoring Maud and Leah, who were watching her, (Leah in a kind of fascinated fear, Maud with intense irritation), Gertie poured boiling water into the teapot and milk into the jug. Then, without a word, she walked heavily out of the kitchen with the tray almost resting on her ample bust, which stuck out like the prow of a s.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER SIX.

George Townsend often wonders whether houses could be termed as animate. He is, however, quite sure that Hyndburn Hall lives and breathes: this house is part of him, a presence he returns to rather than bricks and mortar. The windows are benevolent eyes watching, the open door welcoming arms. The house seems to digest him when he enters. He is absorbed by it, his memories and desires echoing off the very walls. He is aware, too, of others from a bygone era, can hear whispers, feel soft breath on his face, catches glimpses, so he says, of insubstantial figures flitting down hallways.